I woke up early, or late, depending on your perspective. Lydia and I had passed out while the sun was still up, so a fitful rest still left it the middle of the night. My skin still crawled, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t get back to sleep.

I went to Lydia’s room and checked on her. She was as I left her, except her skin had taken on a weak yellow tinge. She shivered and tossed back and forth.

‘Fuck. What happened?’

I adjusted her blankets to warm her before I skulked out of the room.

My mind raced, and I couldn’t sit still.

‘I need a distraction.’

I grabbed one of the books that I had purchased earlier in the day: “A History of King Joshua and His Knights.” My attempts to read proved frustrating. I was only seeing the words rather than comprehending them. Again and again, I failed. Collecting myself, I used a strategy I had taught my students to refocus in such moments. I went word by word, memorizing them in sequence, forcing myself to understand. My tension eased as I made it through the first page.

Congratulations, You have unlocked the Skill: Memorization (Text).

Memorization (Text): Skill governing your ability to commit text to memory. (1/10).

Skill detected, “Autodidact,” would you like to transfer 3000 experience points to level Memorization? Y/N.

Energy shot through my body, collecting at my skull. A sharp pain seared behind my eyes, then passed. I swore I felt myself changing, my thought process suddenly different. I dropped the book, stood up and paced, unable to quiet my thoughts.

‘I need to get out of here, and do… something, anything.’

I approached the door, but unlike last time where my thoughts drifted to Lydia, I focused on something different--need. Need so raw and undiluted that it was an emotion unto itself. Satiating it was all I could think of. I needed to get out of this room. I needed to unleash this energy. I needed to… break something. Rather than taking a moment to challenge that thought, I altered my appearance with Cell Realignment and bolted the room. Hurrying to the front desk, I asked where I could find some action. The clerk appraised me, took out a pad and wrote down two sets of directions.

“Depends on what you want. The first,” he pointed to the top, “is a club where you can do low class things with high class women. The latter,” he pointed below it, “is a gladiatorial arena if you're looking to gamble or fight.”

‘Combat. Perfect.’

I snatched the paper with such force that the clerk flinched.

‘Whatever.’

My mind focused only on my goal. I strode into the cool air, breathing deeply. A crowd bustled in all directions, partaking in the active nightlife. I slid into the throng and sped to my destination. Upon arrival, I saw a giant circular building. It was reminiscent of the colosseum, except it was solid, black and enclosed at the top. A team of bouncers blocked the entrance. No one was entering at the moment, so I walked straight to them.

“Cover is 1 GSU.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “That seems steep.”

“Don’t like it, don’t pay it.”

Hesitant, I handed him a coin and glowered. “If you’re scamming me, I'll be back.”

Unimpressed, he responded, “Good. It would liven up the night. Do you have any weapons or spatial rings to declare?”

Repressing my desire to beat the smug off of his face, I answered simply, “None.”

They patted me down, checked my hands, and let me pass.

A short hallway later, I emerged into a gigantic open room. Numerous low stone barriers marked rings that encircled a large central pit. Each ring was encapsulated by a translucent barrier, presumably to shield the spectators, who packed themselves as close as they were able. While there was no action in the pit that I assumed was the main stage, fights occurred everywhere else. The crowds screamed and cheered. I gazed at the match closest to me just in time to see its finale. The pommel of a dwarf’s battle axe smacked into his opponent's skull, causing his opponent to collapse to the ground. I winced as I watched his skull bounce off the floor. The huge majority of spectators held up match slips, cheering, while the rest hissed and cursed at the fallen warrior. As the dome receded, the human’s wounds vanished. He rose to his feet, obviously in agony, but walked out unassisted.

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Shaking with desire, I beelined to the counter. In contrast to the long line for bets, the one labeled registrants was entirely empty.

“Name?” the woman behind it asked.

“Goliath.”

“Weapon of choice?” she asked.

“Fists.” My pulse quickened. I needed to feel the snap of bones.

She looked at me curiously. “This information is only to establish a profile. No matter what you say, your opponents will still have weapons.”

“Fists.”

She shrugged. “Have it your way, but you won’t be allowed to change that midfight.”

I nodded.

“Level?”

“…”

“Fists and unclassified, huh. Fair warning, the unclassified division isn’t to be trifled with. I wouldn’t refuse a level classification if you're just shy.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, since you’re unclassified, I’ll skip the skill and stat assessment. Prize is ten GSUs for a win, none for a loss. In addition, the winner receives anywhere between one and ten percent of the total betting pool, depending on the volume. Death match is turned off by default, but in any non-fatal combat, the pain settings are increased to 200 percent. Combat continues until one person is unconscious, suffers what our system determines would have been a fatal wound outside the ring, or submits. Do you have any questions?

“No.”

She took out a huge glowing parchment and placed it on the table. “Here is the contract detailing the arrangement. The owner has already filled in their portion. Read it and press your thumb under the competitor to bind the parties."

I studied the contract closely, looking to see if they were trying to screw me. It was pure legalese, fucking lawyers, so I maxed my Delian Common. Essence energy flushed into my veins.

‘Fuck, I need to grind something to dust, NOW!’

Upon a second reading, the contract was as promised. I forced my thumb onto the paper. The parchment turned red, sealing the agreement.

“When can I start?”

She consulted something behind the counter. “Gimolt is signaling for fresh meat. We don’t lay odds on someone we’ve never seen, so there’s no betting delay. Go to the ring and await the announcer.”

She pointed to the dwarf that I had just watched. I headed towards him, grinning like a madman. My worries drifted away as I focused on what laid ahead. If I had reflected for a moment, I might have found my behavior unusual. However, no such self-awareness was forthcoming. Preparing to duke it out, I maxed out Brawler and entered the ring.

Another jolt to my system. ‘I’m going to break him in fucking half!’

I gnashed my teeth and tasted metal. Liquid pooled in my mouth. I spat some on my fingers. It was red.

‘I must have bit my tongue. Odd.’

The atmosphere around the ring deflated as I approached. The spectators did not know me. They checked their betting slips and saw no option to lay action. Finding out I was brand new, most grew disinterested.

Gimolt spat. “Did they seriously send me an unarmed newbie? Fuck! This isn’t even worth my time. Nothing personal kid, but I’m going to have to teach management a lesson about sending me fish.”

“...”

The idiot misinterpreted my silence. “Scared? Good. You should be.”

The audience became intrigued again. Even if they couldn’t bet, they could at least watch a thrashing.

The announcer introduced us. I wasn’t paying attention because I didn’t give a fuck what he said. All I could do was visualize ripping Gimolt to shreds.

“BEGIN!”

The dwarf held up his axe and roared to the crowd.

‘Moron.’

I shot forward too fast for anyone to follow. From the audience’s perspective, I had simply vanished. Before Gimolt had time to register shock, let alone lower his weapon, I drove my fist into his face, pulverizing his orbital bone. A sickening crunch echoed throughout the huge hall, drawing the attention of even those at adjacent rings. He flew off his feet and into the forcefield behind him. The ricochet then sent him flying over my head, almost entirely across the ring. He landed on the ground with another crunch, his arm now bent in the wrong direction.

The silence that followed was deafening: three seconds, five seconds, ten seconds. No one in the crowd dared whisper. Finally, the announcer regained his composure.

With uncontained excitement, he bellowed, “The winner, by deathblow, is Goooooliiiaaath!”

Cheers burst out around me, screaming applause. Brutality is what the crowd paid to see, and they were delighted with what they got.

I didn’t care. Cheer, Boo, who gave a shit? Only one thing mattered, my need. That fight had been completely unsatisfying.

With his loudspeaker, the announcer cut through the din. “Does the victor have anything to say?”

There was only one response I could give.

“Who's next?”