When I came home, the world called me a Hero. The Great Hero, even. But I never felt like one. I was just the person with the power, and my choices led to the deaths of millions.

There was a slight chance that Vincent had miscalculated. He was standing in the center of the Pit, essentially an arena created in the ruins of the old subway tunnels beneath the city. He could just barely see the several hundred spectators in the stands, given that the fighting area was literally a pit some super had blasted into the ground, and he was easily twenty feet below the viewing area. More than that, bright lights were shining down on him from every angle, making sure that everyone had a clear view of the upcoming excitement.

Had it really only been an hour since they’d been in Dollar Bill’s office? Vincent didn’t believe it was simply coincidence that the stands were already full, and the fact that a half-dozen of the most dangerous gangs in NTC were present only reinforced the likelihood that this was always the expected outcome. Perhaps if he’d refused, Dollar Bill himself might have dragged him down here for this spectacle. The only way this turnout was possible was if they’d coordinated ahead of time, after all.

Vincent sighed, and tried to focus on what was coming next. It was warm underground, the humid air reeking of the ancient sewers and more recent blood. He made a show of moving to one of the arena walls, his shoes sinking into the thin layer of sand that had been brought down here to cover the floor. Quite the undertaking, given the arena was as large as the footprint of many of the buildings in this part of town.

Vincent casually removed his dark overcoat, leaving his father’s watch in one of the pockets, then hung it on one of the countless rusted spikes protruding from the walls. The jeering and taunts from the stands were deafening as he made his slow way back to the center of the arena, carefully undoing the buttons at his cuffs, and rolling up the sleeves on his red dress shirt as he walked.

He stopped and looked around, trying to focus his hearing so the crowd became white background noise, but it wasn’t easy as so many of those gathered seemed to know him.

“You’re a dead man, Villari!” came a call from a group to his right, dressed in camouflage clothing. The Rangers were a gang apparently named after an old sports team, but they’d adopted the military aspect of the title as well. Vincent hadn’t approached the group directly yet, but he and Robert had disrupted the operations of several gangs connected to them, denying their normal Gamma tributes.

Vincent’s jaw clenched as he considered his friend. Robert would have been remarkably at home in this arena, but Dollar Bill hadn’t trusted him to stay back with Vincent in danger. The Berserker was currently waiting for him on the streets above.

Robert had wisely insisted on a hostage before agreeing to stay behind, meaning Maria–Dollar Bill’s top lieutenant–was with him now, likely wondering if the giant had been serious when he claimed he would ‘crush her bones to dust’ if Dollar Bill betrayed them.

Of course, Robert was always serious when it came to threats.

“When they’re done with you, we’re gonna burn your body to ash!” another voice called, and Vincent had to turn around to see that the Ember Gang was in attendance. Interestingly, Ember himself was barely visible through the glare of the lights, but staying silent. Apparently the lessons he’s learned when facing Vincent last time hadn’t quite been forgotten.

Vincent turned back to the ‘owners box’ near the arena’s main entrance. The brown walls, partly wood, partly old brick and concrete, ended abruptly where a surprisingly white and clean platform rose above the rest of the crowd. There he could see Dollar Bill, his skin reflecting the light like a living treasure trove, as he discussed the details of the upcoming bouts.

Vincent didn’t know the names of the other men and women with him, but from their dress he could tell it was the leaders of several other gangs. Camo indicated the woman in charge of the Rangers, while blue and orange distinguished the leader of the Knicks. The rest were harder to identify individually, but they all seemed to be arguing enthusiastically for the joy of claiming Vincent’s head.

“Veridicus can’t protect you this time, Villari!” another voice called, but Vincent’s mind was growing increasingly focused as he prepared. Arthur had picked up where the limited training from the Farm had left off, and that included a number of concentration techniques for moments like this. Fights between supers, especially large groups of them, were like stimulus bombs. Flashy, distracting powers were everywhere, and if your senses were unprepared, your fight would be over quickly.

That was only the beginning of Arthur’s teachings, however, and Vincent expected to rely on the martial techniques as much as the mental to survive this day. Bringing up his own class abilities, he cursed that this fight couldn’t have come just a day or two later.

Name: Vincent Villari

Class: Specter [Restricted]

Rank: Initiate 4 [98%]

Primary Attribute: Intellect

Unlocked Abilities:

Phantasm (Rank 6)

Physicality:

* Strength: 17

* Agility: 13

* Endurance: 18

Mind:

* Intellect: 26

* Empathy: 6

* Ingenuity: 23

Once again surviving a near-death experience had allowed his endurance to take a large step forward, but Vincent simply hadn’t had the time for improvement that he needed since sustaining his injuries. He thought about Robert having left Initiate rank behind with some envy, and lamented that everyone in the crew was farther ahead with their powers than he was.

Individual strength wasn’t core to Vincent’s plans, but for moments like this, it was essential.

Finally something happened, as a static-laden screech filled the arena, and the crowd begrudgingly quieted. Dollar Bill was at the front of the owner’s box now, holding a polished silver microphone of ancient design. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Pit!” he called out, and his voice echoed through hidden speakers around the arena. A burst of cheering and applause answered him.

“We’re here for a special match today, which I’m sure you’re all very excited to witness,” his salesman’s voice was now more showman, and the crowd was barely containing their excitement. “We built this hallowed hall to solve our differences in an ancient way. We all know who the true enemy is, and we can’t allow ourselves to be weakened enough to invite the NGG to our door!”

More screams of agreement, and hundreds of feet stomped rapidly and with inhuman strength, the vibration stirring the sand at Vincent’s feet. “And so we settle things with spectacle and dignity! We settle them with blood, and with victory!” More cheers, and Vincent found himself getting caught up in the energy and fervor of the moment.

“This man,” Dollar Bill said, pointing an accusing finger down at Vincent, “has been sent here to disrupt our order. Such is the way of things, and the inevitability of change, that he has been allowed to do so. But not without consequence! Vincent Villari is the agent of the Puppet Master, the one who calls himself Veridicus, and he has wronged many of you!”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Puppet Master? Vincent thought. He hadn’t heard that description before, and he wondered what reputation Veridicus may have earned in the Villainous underground. “Now he will face those he has hurt, and live or die by the strength the Gamma has given him! Three rounds he must survive, three rounds he must be tested!” More stomping followed the man’s words, and Vincent felt adrenaline rushing through his body in anticipation.

“Your leaders have chosen their champions for the greatest of spectacle, and they cannot be held back any longer. It is time, my friends, for the trials of the Pit!” The screaming was so loud then that Vincent thought his ears might burst, but he quickly put the pain aside to focus on the massive iron door rising beneath the owners box, and the six who charged out, murder in their eyes. It had begun.

Vincent had a plan. He always had a plan. Turning his right hip toward the charging gang members and adjusting his weight, he considered that the caliber of those plans might be varying more than he’d like. Still, he’d been in worse situations, and part of him–a small part–considered the pain he was about to experience to be a fair price for what he’d done, and what he knew he would do.

His KD flickered over his opponents, just long enough to confirm they were all Basics, as expected. Four men and two women, from a mix of gangs and colors, and certainly none intended to be a real threat. This was a test of his powers, and these were the sacrifices. Time to disrupt the narrative.

The first to arrive was a large man, a head taller than Vincent, with shoulders twice as wide. He was bald, with dark skin, but incongruously blue eyes. The man clearly hoped to overwhelm Vincent with speed and rage, maybe even take him down before the man’s lack of powers could become a deciding factor. But who needs powers against Basics?

Vincent spun, his back leg sweeping up, heel forward. The man’s momentum met with that of the spin, and his blue eyes widened as Vincent’s versatile dress shoe obliterated most of his facial bones. There was enough force behind the strike that the rest of the man’s body continued forward, and Vincent had to push off with the same foot to avoid colliding with the man’s heavy limp form.

He landed a few feet back, returning to a neutral stance as Arthur had taught him. One down, five to go, all of which had slowed down to look at the fallen body that had been felled like a tree with a single strike. Vincent’s face was impassive as he noticed the group exchanging looks. They were clearly used to dealing with other Basics, whose strength and speed were a reflection of their appearance.

Vincent was more than that. Vincent was a Specter. He’d likely reached his maximum height at five foot nine, and he weighed barely a hundred and fifty pounds, but his body was saturated with power in a way these Basics would never experience.

He became aware of the crowd booing as the fighters remained frozen, the single death not coming close to satiating their bloodlust. Vincent obliged, choosing to see this as an opportunity to test the limits of his enhanced strength and speed. The five reacted by trying to group together, refusing to be isolated and killed, but that suited Vincent, and in a moment, he was among them.

The fight seemed to happen in flashes, as Vincent used his size and speed to his advantage, moving between attacks, and taking advantage of every opening. Each of his attackers was burned into his memory in a different way. One of the two women wore a heart-shaped locket. One of the men had a scar from his right ear to his nose, another was missing two fingers on his left hand. Vincent’s mind absently recorded these details as he went about his precise work.

Vincent went low, delivering an elbow to the stomach of a man wearing all red. From there he planted a hand on the ground to brace himself for a backward kick, the crack of a knee bending sideways announcing the strike’s success. He rolled forward from the momentum, nearly cartwheeling back into a standing position. A smaller body leaped onto him from behind as he did so, and the fight grew more interesting.

Of the five remaining, one was struggling to stand, gripping his abdomen, as a second was writhing on the ground, gripping his ruined knee. Vincent turned and saw Locket charging at him, while Scar leaped a dozen feet into the air, leg extended for a deadly kick. The remaining man was in blue, and he appeared to have lost his footing, falling behind the others as he fell in the slick sand.

That meant it had to be the second woman on Vincent’s back, which became clear when one arm circled his neck, while the other began scratching at his eyes. Her nails were long, and sharpened, but it was the numerous golden rings which caught Vincent’s attention. He ignored the pressure on his throat, grabbing the other hand to hastily protect his eyes.

At the same time, he shifted both of their weight, and braced himself as solidly as he could on the poor footing. Scar was unable to arrest his aerial momentum as he soared toward them, and Rings screamed and coughed blood over Vincent’s shoulder as the man crashed into her back, crushing her between them. Vincent fell to one knee from the impact, but judging by the crunch of bones and gurgling wheeze in his ear, there were now only four threats remaining.

He grabbed Ring’s now limp arm with his other hand and spun rapidly, the woman’s broken body whirling around him like a human flail as he turned to face Scar, still picking himself off the ground. The man’s eyes widened in shock and horror as Ring’s body crashed into him with a sickening wet sound.

Vincent quickly turned his attention to Locket and Blue, who were both charging him from opposite directions. He decided to indulge his curiosity after seeing Scar soaring through the air, and after bending his knees briefly, Vincent sprung forward. He didn’t go for height, as he felt the arcing nature of Scar’s attack had been part of what made it so easy to counter. Instead, he flew almost directly parallel to the ground, knee raised to strike.

Blue surprised him, however. As if trying to make up for the embarrassing way he’d slipped earlier, the man moved like liquid, deftly dodging the attack. Vincent slid to a halt, sand blasting outward from his landing like a small explosion. He turned just in time to meet Blue’s counterattack, fists striking furiously, and with deadly purpose.

The man was wearing a mask, but his brown eyes looked furious, and he moved like he was possessed. Vincent was quickly confronted with the unfortunate truth that the man was more skilled than he was. Strikes seemed to come from all angles, and while Vincent needed his full concentration to keep up, he also had to be aware that Scar, Locket and Red had to be moving in on him.

Accepting how increasingly unlikely it was that he would get through this untouched as a real specter, Vincent changed tactics. The next time Blue maneuvered him into position for a powerful haymaker, Vincent moved toward the attack instead of away, angling his head downward so the man’s hand crashed into his forehead. The enhanced endurance earned through numerous beatings and explosions made itself known as the man’s bones splintered and cracked as if he’d struck a solid wall.

Vincent didn’t come away from the exchange unscathed. He could feel blood trickling from his forehead, but Blue was far worse off. Falling backward and screaming, the crushed and mangled remains of his right hand cradled in his left, he was no longer the threat he had been. Vincent made sure the man was no further threat at all with a swift kick to the throat.

As Blue collapsed, gasping for air in vain, the remaining three moved in. Scar was drenched in blood from being struck by the crushed body of the woman in rings, and he was the first of the final three to fall, his confidence already shattered. Vincent moved to him rapidly, and attacked relentlessly as the crowd cheered for more and more violence, and in moments Scar was another unmoving form on the arena floor. Two left.

Locket and Red managed a surprisingly coordinated assault only seconds later, and Vincent found himself retreating. Red swung high. Vincent dodged low. Locket kicked for his exposed face. Vincent blocked with both forearms. Red used the opening to drop an elbow on Vincent’s exposed back. Vincent exploded upward, the pain like fuel in his veins. An uppercut caught the woman in the jaw, and her locket seemed to crack open in slow motion, revealing a ragged picture of a young girl. One.

Vincent blocked another strike from the man in red, but the fight was already over. A few more exchanges and Vincent was inside the man’s guard, a right cross pistoning into his face. Two more strikes to the torso actually kept the man upright even as his body failed him. At last he was allowed to collapse in a heap, out of the fight. Zero.

The crowd was erupting in cheers and boos in equal measure, and Vincent turned slowly to survey them. He noted Dollar Bill smiling, the gems reflecting the light and satisfaction both. Vincent noticed the man whose knee he’d destroyed slowly dragging himself across the arena, and sighed as he walked, fixing his now torn and untucked red dress shirt as he did so.

Dollar Bill’s static voice was already echoing through the arena. “Apparently this little warmup wasn’t worthy of Master Villari’s powers!” The crowd booed in unison. “We’ll have to see if we can raise the stakes for round two!” Cheers replaced the boos instantly, but Vincent wasn’t listening. He was looking down at the man who’d stopped trying to escape.

“Please, I’m sorry! Please let me go! Please, please, please…” The man just kept repeating himself as Vincent stared impassively, taking in the ragged appearance of the broken Basic. His colors suggested he might have been an Ember, the orange, black, and red being iconic for the gang. A swift kick was all it took to end the man’s begging.

Vincent kept staring, even as he heard the iron gate opening once more. A single thought managed to fight through the haze of adrenaline and the surreal detachment of the situation. Am I still the good guy?