The atmosphere in the arena was electrifying, the crowd never experienced a dull moment all night as cheers echoed endlessly, and the boisterous audience engaged in lively wagers choosing the fighter they favoured. Laughter and exhilaration permeated the underground ensemble. However, the merriment came to a breathless standstill as they witnessed the impossible –a lone human overpowering the newly crowned champion. Shock and awe rippled through the masses, till the tone was replaced with stunned silence, thick with bated breath.
Amidst the hushed silence, a woman sitting at the furthest row from the match, leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with amusement. A chortle escaped her lips, loosening unapologetic mirth. Rising to her feet, she reeled in the masses, positioning herself at the heart of their intrigue.
“The mortal feed beats the living shit out of the newly crowned champion. You all see fit to trap him in a cage to hide your disgrace, pray tell?” The woman continued her playful stroll beaming past the rows of spectators, wiping a tear off her cheek.
“Wow, wow, hold it there, lady!” said the commentor. A hint of venom creeping into his voice.
“Hold what?” The woman forged on, unaffectedly weaving her way through the audience towards the caged canvas ring. Each step she took was elegantly knit, her form shimmering in and out of cognizance as she moved. A leather jacket and a pair of breathable midnight pants framed a lithe physique masked by a grey tunic. Magenta hair spilled over her shoulders, her cerise eyes laser-focused on a single target.
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The yak-faced and bull-faced guards appeared before the audacious woman, crossing their arms and fixing her with stern glares as she crept closer to the ring. Their imposing presence and fierce expressions made it clear they weren’t keen to permit any admittance.
The woman met their challenging gaze with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Her lips curled into a playful smile, and she raised an eyebrow as if daring them to stop her.
“No further,” said the yak-faced guard, holding up a hand.
“You buffoons should do your homework on who you oppose.” The woman held up a hand, cocking her index finger at the bull-faced demon. “Bang!”
The yak-faced guard snickered, clapping the bull demon’s shoulder. Drawing his hand back, he felt a wetness at the edge of his fingertips.
Mulling over the sudden change, he shifted his gaze towards his colleague. Met with the bloodied remnants of the bull-faced guard’s lower jaw attached to a fountain of blood gushing out his head, he staggered backwards.
“Open the damn cage and scram.” The woman cocked her fingers at the last remaining guard, slipping a smile over her lips.
Gulping against a lump in his throat, he moved aside, producing a console from his jacket pocket, and pushed a button. On cue, the cage rattled and moved upwards, granting access to the ring.
Ducking under the cordoned off ropes bordering the ring, she walked to the centre, towering over a depleted redhead. “Are you actually a mortal?” she asked, placing an elbow on a bent knee.
“Last I checked,” said the crimson haired male, catching his breath. “Though I am beginning to question it.”
“Good.” The woman grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him to his feet. “This next part might hurt.”
“Wait, what–” He was cut short by a sharp jab to his abdomen. His eyes rolled back into his head, hanging loosely off her hands.
