“You want to go to a boxing match?” Gilgamesh said.
Dellen waited for the door to close and the carriage to lurch into the sky.
“I did say I was going to explore the idea of gambling.”
Dellen kept an eye out the window as he tried to follow the carriage’s path above the city, but between the constant movement and the grime on the glass, he had only a faint idea of where they were headed. Soon enough, they touched down.
Dellen stepped out of the dilapidated carriage and stood in front of an unassuming warehouse in a darker, more industrial part of the city. The warehouse looked like any other in the area, large, with tall metal walls and soot-stained windows. A faint hum of machinery echoed from within.
He found himself unsure of how to proceed.
“If you’re looking for the entrance, talk to the large fellow over there.” Whispered their driver.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Gilgamesh said from his side.
“Do you have a better one?” Dellen asked, not breaking stride and approaching the warehouse. He cautiously approached the man indicated by their driver. “Excuse me,” he said with just a touch of hesitancy in his voice, “I heard you might be able to help me find the entrance to the… Ah, the event.”
The intimidating man looked him up and down before responding. His voice was rough and suspicious. “You don’t seem like the type that usually comes round here, but if you want to get in, find the hidden brick near the shelf in the corner, press it, and the door will open.” He pointed towards a brick wall that wasn’t visible from the warehouse entrance. “Be prepared for anything.”
Dellen nodded his thanks and walked over to the shelf in the corner. The cement around one of the bricks in the wall was noticeably worn away, making it stand out from its neighbors. He pressed it, and of its own accord, it sunk in deeper.
A section of the wall wide enough to accommodate three men standing shoulder to shoulder slid back, revealing hidden stairs leading down.
“What do you hope to accomplish here?” Gilgamesh said.
“Stefan told us the banks weren’t going to help house Northcote; I’m going to try my hand at gambling, and, perhaps I’m wrong, but dens of inequity such as these may find me rubbing shoulders with another class of people with deep pockets.” They might also know a bit about skulking around the city and looking for bombs, but Dellen wasn’t going to say that out loud where he could be heard.
Dellen made his way down the stairs; he noticed that they zigzagged back and forth several times, descending the equivalent of four or five storeys. The further he descended, the more the atmosphere grew oppressive and intense. The sounds of the underground chamber reverberated through the stairwell, echoing and amplifying with each step he took. Despite what he’d said to Gilgamesh, Dellen couldn’t help but feel a sense of trepidation.
They reached the bottom of the stairs and took in what felt like a new world. The room teemed with illicit activities, animal fights, drugs, gambling, and the ironclad boxing that Dellen had come to see. The pungent smell of sweat, blood, and alcohol permeated the air, a testament to the room’s infrequent and inadequate cleanings.
With a start, Dellen realised that they had ventured beneath the cog, the room hung below Copperopolis, clinging to the underside. The floor had crumbled away in some areas, revealing gaping holes that opened into an abyss of darkness.
Dellen navigated the room cautiously, acutely aware of the treacherous holes beneath his feet, unable to entirely trust his footing.
A spectator tripped over him, pouring beer down the front of his shirt and jacket before stumbling off.
Dellen glanced at his clothes, then sighed. “At least this coat is already ruined.” He looked over at the nearby boxing match, it was held inside a large, circular enclosure with cage-like walls, and the floor was riddled with dangerous holes. Spectators placed bets on the fighters, raising coins and paper in the air, their voices a crash of cheers and jeers.
After seeing Copperopolis collapse and his trial with the Aetheric Cultivators, the match looked tame enough. None of the combatants seemed to be even as forged as Dellen.
He looked at a nearby patron whose swaying gait indicated that he wasn’t quite sure which surface was the floor, and which surface was the wall. “Who do I see about volunteering for the next match?”
“Are you insane?” Gilgamesh screeched at him. “I agree you need money; I don’t think you should descend into a cage and have your teeth sprayed over the floor like an exotic new form of tile.”
The man looked at him, letting his eyes take turns focusing on him. “You, you wanna fight?” He said, losing focus on Dellen completely and focusing on the wall next to him. “You gots to talk to Big Rollo.” The man’s wavering finger pointed a bit to the left of a man who towered over many of the spectators.
Dellen was willing to make the deductive leap of who was actually being pointed out.
“You Big Rollo?” He said to the man.
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Big Rollo looked at Dellen with an unimpressed eye, his gaze lingered on Dellen’s forged hands, then he let out a snort. “You? Alright, if you insist. I’ll put you in the next match.” He laughed. It wasn’t kind. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
A few minutes later the match ended with the loser collapsing onto the floor.
Dellen was ushered into the ring, announced by Big Rollo. “A warm welcome to our newest fighter, from the softer side of town, but for tonight only slumming it with the likes of us, give a warm welcome to The Dandy.” His announcement started out low, but towards the end was louder and full of mock-goodwill and excitement.
A chorus of jeers met the words. Dellen could feel the crowd’s derision all around him.
There was a bell, and Big Rollo spoke again. “Put your hands together and show some love for a crowd favourite, an up-and-coming champion known for his brutal strength and relentless power, The Iron Mauler!” Rollo’s words ended in a roar.
Dellen felt his stomach drop.
The Iron Mauler, as he was colourfully known, was about Dellen’s height, and like Dellen, he bore signs of aetherforging, his hands were covered in steelskin, but unlike Dellen, who was in a jacket with a rumpled shirt, the Mauler wore an ironclad boxing frame over his clothes. The specialized exoskeleton was a collection of interlocking gears and support struts that ran in lines along his arms, legs, and spine, with articulated plates running up the backs of his hands and over his knuckles.
The Mauler’s movements were less fluid than Dellen’s own, but it was clear that he was comfortable moving in that equipment. A series of mechanical whirs accompanied each step.
The frame itself was an impressive work of engineering, its dull metallic surface etched with intricate patterns and symbols that attested to the skill of its creator. Its design was functional and intimidating, giving the Iron Mauler an appearance of near invincibility.
Dellen’s mind scrambled for advantages, any advantage. The Iron Mauler was an experienced combatant, unlike himself, but the Mauler looked a little slower; he was going to have to lean into that. Judging by the gear-work on his boxing frame, Dellen guessed that The Mauler had an affinity to Kinematic Aether, which would make him faster than he should be in that heavy suit.
The bell rang, cutting off his thoughts. The Iron Mauler sprang into action; he rushed toward Dellen with the inevitability of a freight train. Dellen dodged to the side with a scant fraction of a second to spare, feeling the wind of the Mauler’s passage rip past his shoulder.
Dellen whirled and rushed at the Mauler’s back, looking to grab and damage part of the frame.
The Mauler backhanded Dellen, a glancing blow, but it was enough to knock him from his feet, and something went pop in his shoulder. A sensation of red and white heat flared in the joint.
Ignoring the pain, Dellen circled, cautiously, knowing that distance was his friend, eyeing his opponent looking for any weakness in his stance or movements. The Mauler lunged at him again, and again Dellen dodged to the side, just missing the Mauler’s crushing force.
“And The Dandy earns his name, dancing not fighting, did he perhaps get confused and think he came to a ball?”
Raucous laughter answered the question.
“You have Electrical Aether!” Gilgamesh yelled, his voice overwhelming the crowd, “It is your one advantage! Use it!”
Dellen glanced down at his hands and then back at the Mauler. He hadn’t had the chance to experiment much with his forging, but his hands were covered in steelskin, and he was stronger.
He felt for the Aether flowing through his body, and sent it to his fists.
The Mauler charged by, and Dellen dodged, only to spin on his feet and chase the Mauler, slapping his hands onto the boxing frame. He felt a light charge leave his palms and traverse the steel.
Muscles spasmed in the Mauler’s frame, and Dellen channeled Electrical Aether into his opponent. For a moment, it looked like he was getting the upper hand. Then the Mauler roared in frustration. He spun on feet that seemed much too agile and slammed a jab into Dellen’s midsection, sending him flying.
Dellen landed on his injured shoulder. For a moment, all that he saw was white.
When his vision cleared, he saw The Iron Mauler charging at him. Dellen rolled to the side, causing fresh spikes of pain to shoot through his shoulder, but managed to avoid being stomped underfoot.
A bell rang, signaling the end of the round.
Dellen kept his eyes on the Mauler to ensure he didn’t take advantage of an unwary moment. Once his opponent was sufficiently far away, Dellen collapsed against the cage and took a breather.
“You’re doing surprisingly well,” Gilgamesh said through the cage.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Dellen said; he put a hand to his injured shoulder and winced.
“So…” Gilgamesh said, “You have some kind of plan other than getting beaten to a pulp, right?”
“Of course, I have a plan,” Dellen said. “I’m going to trick him into smashing a larger hole in the ground and then push him into it. Simplicity itself.”
“So you don’t have a plan then.”
“Not as such, no.” Dellen groused. “No one else was wearing a frame; I didn’t expect this kind of mismatch.”
The bell rang once more, signalling the start of the second round. Still recovering from his exhausting first round, Dellen pushed himself away from the cage wall and resumed his evasive tactics. His shoulder throbbed, but he couldn’t afford to let it slow him down.
The Iron Mauler thundered in his direction. Dellen sidestepped at the last moment, earning a roar of frustration and a renewed chorus of jeers.
The Mauler was all force and no subtlety; he was fast but somewhat predictable. By the third pass, Dellen noticed that to do his frame-assisted charge forward, the Mauler first needed to perform a quick double step. His punches were devastating, but a whir came from his frame before they were unleashed.
If Dellen was going to try even to tie, he was going to have to get in close, where the Mauler was strongest, and try to retaliate.
The Mauler charged by once more, and Dellen spun and charged after him. He slammed his hands into the Mauler’s frame and channeled Electrical Aether into his hands. He felt his Spark Core flare in his chest.
He needed more power. He strained to pull in more power, and sent the Aether to his hands. Electricity arced across his knuckles.
The Mauler roared again, with a mix of pain and fury.
Moments later, the Aether in his arms sputtered out.
The electricity on Dellen’s hands faded between one swing and the next, but Dellen’s hands were still steelskin, his fists were still forged, and he had an entire exposed back to work with.
Dellen swung.
Steelskin over aetherforged bones hit flesh.
The Mauler groaned.
Dellen’s left plowed into the Mauler’s back, questing for his spine. Dellen swung again, and the Mauler spun, catching the blow on his side. Dellen ducked and jabbed.
This time the Mauler caught his fist, pulled him closer, and delivered a hook to his stomach.
The hit shoved Dellen back. The Mauler’s follow-up kick drove him into the cage wall. A glancing uppercut slammed his head into the steel bars and exposed his neck.
Punches came faster and faster.
Dellen put his hands up to block, but the Mauler’s hits blew through them, cracking steel fingers and fleshy forearms alike. Ribs compressed and snapped. Blood bubbled from Dellen’s mouth.