Clang!
The iron gates slammed shut behind him.
Holden stood at the edge of the pit, his black cloak hanging still around his body. His mask reflected the spotlight in thin, pale lines. Above him, the crowd roared. Hundreds of voices screaming bets, insults, and excitement.
Inside the cage, Fifty fighters sized him up.
Every one of them was Rank 2. Some were 1-Star. A few were 3-Star. All of them had survived the underground long enough to be dangerous.
A massive man with a shaved head and a spiked club stepped forward.
"The masked freak," he said, loud enough for the whole cage to hear. "Asura. You think you're special because you killed Varga?"
A wiry man with two daggers laughed. "Varga was old and slow. You got lucky."
"Lucky," a woman with a jagged scar across her throat repeated. "That's all he is."
