The sudden clamor of the arena bell shattered the tense silence, and Sen sprang into action. He had no time to dwell on the grotesque appearance of his foe; survival demanded focus and reaction.

  In a fluid motion, Sen closed the distance between himself and Vhassir, dodging the monster's initial swipe with a graceful sidestep. He seized the opportunity to launch a rapid barrage of punches, aiming for exposed areas of the creature's face and torso.

  Vhassir retaliated with brutal efficiency, its multiple limbs slashing and pounding in a dizzying array of strikes. Sen danced and weaved, evading the worst of the assault while landing several solid hits whenever openings presented themselves.

  The clash of fists against scales echoed through the arena, punctuated by the heavy thud of Vhassir's ground-based attacks.

  Sen barely managed to avoid the deadly slashes, his reflexes honed from years of surviving on the streets. As Vhassir's diagonal swipe threatened to send him crashing to the ground, Sen threw himself sideways, using the momentum to spin around and catch hold of the monster's wrist.

  With a grunt of effort, Sen yanked Vhassir's arm downward, leveraging the monster's own strength against it. Vhassir stumbled forward, momentarily off-balance, and Sen seized the opportunity to drive a knee into its sternum with all his might.

  The force of the blow sent Vhassir staggering back, gasping for air.

  As Vhassir recovered from the blow, it brought down a crushing fist.

  Caught off guard, Sen barely raised his arm in time to block Vhassir's thunderous hammer fist. The impact sent shockwaves through his forearm, numbing his hand. But Sen refused to yield.

  Recoiling from the blow, Sen swiftly followed up with a spinning kick, targeting Vhassir's already winded stomach.

  Vhassir, still struggling to recover from the relentless barrage of kicks and punches, didn't stand a chance against Sen's frenzied onslaught.

  Quickly, he slammed his heel into the left side of Vhassir's skull, followed by a lightning-fast pivot that brought his other heel crashing into the monster's right temple with equal force. The double heel strike would have incapacitated even a hardened warrior, but Sen wasn't done yet.

  Spinning twice in midair, Sen plummeted toward the prone creature with deadly intent, his arm extended overhead. A bone-crushing vertical elbow blow connected squarely with Vhassir's skull, pulverizing bone and rupturing cerebral tissue.

  As the announcer's authoritative voice echoed throughout the arena, Sen stood panting, surveying the unconscious form of Vhassir at his feet. The crowd's deafening roar slowly receded, replaced by a reverent hush.

  Eyes gleaming with a predatory intensity, Sen slowly raised his arms in acknowledgement of the win, basking in the adoration of the spectators. Their cheers and accolades meant nothing to him – he'd merely survived another battle, and his instincts told him there would be many more where this came from.

  Still, a wry smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as he caught sight of the announcer approaching, an expectant expression on his face.

  The announcer halted before Sen, a mixture of awe and trepidation in his eyes. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain a sense of professionalism amidst the electrifying atmosphere.

  "Folks, we've just witnessed a truly remarkable display of skill and tenacity! The mysterious newcomer, known only as 'Unknown', has emerged victorious against the formidable Vhassir the Withering Fang!"

  The crowd erupted into a frenzy of applause, their voices rising to a thunderous crescendo. Sen listened impassively, his gaze fixed on the announcer.

  "Now, Unknown, the people demand to know your name! Who stands before us, wielding such incredible prowess in the arena?"

  Sen's smile widened, his eyes glinting with amusement. He knew the game they played – the desire for drama, for a compelling narrative to cling to.

  With a shrug, Sen let out a low chuckle, the sound carrying across the arena. He met the announcer's expectant gaze, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  "Why bother with names when actions speak louder? Just call me 'Deadly Fist'. That's all anyone needs to know."

  The crowd responded with a mix of gasps and excited murmurs, clearly enthralled by the enigmatic fighter's bold declaration.

  Sen watched disinterestedly as Vhassir's motionless form was removed from the arena, leaving behind a pool of dark crimson. He'd grown accustomed to the sight of death and violence – it was just another part of the bleak tapestry that was his life.

  As the trainers approached, Sen lifted an eyebrow at the prospect of being led to some sort of quarters. It wasn't like he had much of a choice, but he preferred to maintain control wherever possible.

  "Lead the way,"he said brusquely, gesturing for the trainers to proceed."And don't get any ideas about locking me up."

  As he followed the trainers through the dimly lit corridors, Sen's thoughts drifted back to the battles he'd survived thus far – the horned beast and now Vhassir. Each opponent had presented unique challenges, testing his skills and resilience in different ways.

  A flicker of unease crept into Sen's mind at the realization that he'd need to adapt even further to survive in this unforgiving realm. He had no allies, no information, and no real understanding of the world he now inhabited – merely his wits, his combat prowess, and an indomitable will to live.

  "So, what's the next test?"Sen muttered under his breath, a grim determination burning in his gut."I'll find out soon enough, I suppose..."

  Eventually, they arrived at a modest door, which the trainers pushed open to reveal a spartan room with two bed, a wardrobe, a table and basins.

  Sen stepped into the room, his eyes quickly taking in the modest furnishings and decor. Two beds, a small wardrobe, a table, and basins comprised the essentials – nothing extravagant, but sufficient for his basic needs.

  His gaze fell upon the humanoid lion sitting on one of the beds, watching him with a calm, appraising expression. Sen's posture relaxed slightly, recognizing a potential ally or, at the very least, someone with valuable insights about this strange new world.

  "So, who's the furry guy?"Sen inquired, nodding in the lion's direction."Looks like we'll be sharing a room, assuming I don't decide to sleep under the table instead."

  "You a fresh face? You don’t look like you belong here. That griffon lured you in with an offer, didn’t he?" The lion-man regarded Sen, his eyes observing him with keen interest.

  Sen's lips curled into a wry smile at the lion's perceptiveness. He hadn't expected the creature to be so astute, but then again, in this bizarre arena, one had to be prepared for anything.

  "You're sharp one, aren't you?"Sen replied, his tone tinged with amusement."Yeah, the griffon fella did bring me here. Said something about fighting for the Crimson Coliseum and potentially finding a patron."

  "Care to share your name, Rookie?" asked the lion-man.

  Sen then let out a dry laugh at the term "rookie," knowing it implied innocence or inexperience he didn't possess.

  "Not 'rookie'. Deadly Fist,"he corrected, a hint of pride underlying his gruff demeanor."Or, you can simply call me Unknown – whatever suits your fancy, as long as you don't start getting attached. I've got no use for permanent connections here."

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "I go by Vane." he offered simply, eyes narrowing as if deciding whether to share more.

  Vane's name slipped smoothly off Sen's tongue, his keen senses registering the subtle shift in the lion-man's posture – a slight relaxing of the muscles, a flicker of warmth in those piercing yellow eyes. Sen noted the reactions, storing them away for future reference.

  "Vane, eh?"Sen echoed, his tone neutral yet assessing."Well, it's not every day I meet a fellow outsider with a knack for reading people. Might be useful to have you around – in this chaotic place, information is power, and I'm willing to take all I can get."

  Sen's gaze snapped to the door as a trainer's knock echoed through the room. He rose to his feet, his expression unreadable as he strode towards the exit with purposeful strides.

  "Looks like my payday awaits,"he remarked over his shoulder, addressing Vane."Gotta collect my spoils before they decide to dock them for damages or some nonsense. See you around, Vane. Try not to get yourself killed while I'm gone."

  After collecting the meager rewards from the match – a pouch filled with bronze coins and a handful of worthless trinkets – Sen navigated the winding hallways back to his room, his footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls.

  Upon entering, he found Vane seated on one of the beds, idly playing with a length of leather cord. The lion-man glanced up as Sen approached, his gaze holding a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

  "Well? Get anything useful in there?"Vane inquired, jerking a clawed thumb toward the administration office."If not, might as well try your hand at the undergrounds. Place teems with scoundrels, thieves, and worse, looking to exploit a newcomer."

  Sen tossed the pouch containing his winnings onto the table, the clinking of coins drawing Vane's attention. With a nonchalant shrug, Sen leaned against the wall, eyeing the leather cord in Vane's hands with interest.

  "Undergrounds, huh? Sounds like the perfect place for a loner like me to blend in. Or maybe cause some chaos – either way, it's bound to be entertaining."

  As the evening dragged on, Sen leaned against the cold stone wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He glanced at Vane, who was busy knotting some leather cord like it held the answers to life’s problems.

  Sen leaned back, arms crossed. “Alright, Vane. What’s your deal? You don’t strike me as the type who picked this life for fun.”

  Vane's expression turned contemplative, his fingers working the leather cord into intricate patterns as he spoke."Got myself into a bit of a mess, that's all. Made some enemies, owed some debts... Figured joining the arena would be a good way to settle accounts and start anew."

  Sen scoffed. “Yeah? And you actually buy into that? Place like this, they don’t let people ‘start fresh.’ They bleed you dry, then toss your corpse to the next idiot looking for glory.”

  Vane's eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his face at Sen's blunt assessment. He set the leather cord aside, leaning forward to meet Sen's gaze with a measured intensity.

  "I'm not naive, but I'm not dead yet either. Maybe I can turn things around, make a name for myself here. It's not impossible – look at you, for instance. You're doing just fine without any noble patrons or grand ambitions."

  Sen snorted, rolling his eyes at the notion."Yeah, well, I've got nothing to lose. Born on the streets, abandoned by everyone who claimed to care. Here, at least, I can fight back, make people remember my name before I die."

  The night wore on, conversations ebbing and flowing as each fighter sought their own paths amidst the uncertainty. Eventually, with a soft creak, Sen unfolded from the floor where he'd been leaning against the wall.

  "Gonna turn in,"he announced curtly, a gesture towards the unoccupied bed."Wake me when breakfast is ready or some lunatic tries breaking down the door with a sledgehammer – whichever comes first."

  With a brief, cryptic glance at Vane, Sen shuffled toward the bed and sprawled onto it with an exhausted grunt, surrendering to the inevitable rest that eluded him in times of tension.

  _____________________

  The Morning

  Sunlight pierced the room through the narrow slit window, illuminating the clutter of personal items and discarded garments that littered the floor. Sen stirred from a restless slumber, his eyes snapping open with a reflexive alertness as he sat upright, immediately taking stock of his surroundings.

  A faint, lingering scent of cooking wafted through the doorway, a tangible reminder of the day ahead and the expectations it would bring.

  Adjacent to his bed Vane was already up, splashing water on his face in the basin.

  Sen observed Vane with a critical gaze as the lion-man washed his face, taking note of the meticulous way he scrubbed at the rough patches on his skin – a habitual practice born of hardship, no doubt.

  "Ahead of the game, I see,"Sen remarked, a hint of amusement coloring his voice as he stretched languidly, feeling the stiffness of the makeshift bed in his joints."Figures the clean-cut guy gets to enjoy breakfast before the scum of the streets stumbles out of theirs."

  Clearing his throat, Sen drew himself up and ambled over to the basin, mimicking Vane's actions with mechanical precision. He splashed cool water onto his face, feeling the sting invigorate his senses.

  As the refreshing water cascaded over his skin, Sen couldn't help but reflect on the peculiarities of this new reality. From the grueling matches to the meager rewards, every aspect of his existence now revolved around survival and the pursuit of power.

  Shaking off the lingering chill, Sen straightened, his eyes meeting Vane's in the mirror's reflection. A calculating glint danced in their depths as he spoke, his tone low and measured."Think we should explore those undergrounds today, Vane? See what kind of trouble we can stir up?"

  Vane nodded, a smirk playing on his lips as he dried his face with a corner of his shirt."You got a nose for trouble, Deadly Fist. Alright, let's go sniff around. But watch your back, yeah? Those alleys ain't kind to solo players like us."

  With that warning, the unlikely duo set off into the labyrinthine corridors, their footsteps echoing through the shadowy passages.

  As they delved deeper into the seedy underbelly of the Crimson Coliseum, Sen's senses remained on high alert, his eyes scanning the dingy taverns and cramped backstreets for signs of danger or opportunity. The air reeked of stale ale, sweat, and desperation, a potent cocktail that stirred his instincts to action.

  A group of burly men, their faces etched with cruel intent, blocked their path, forming a semi-circle that effectively cut off escape.

  "Think they’d mind if we ‘borrowed’ some of their coin?" Vane mused, smirking as he sized up the thugs.

  slow, calculating grin spread across Sen's face as he regarded the thugs before them, weighing the risks and rewards of such a brazen act. Vane's suggestion had merit, but Sen's nature inclined him toward more proactive measures.

  "Might work if we're dealing with idiots, but these look like seasoned crooks,"Sen mused aloud, his eyes never leaving the men."Better to strike first, catch them off guard. I bet they haven't seen this coming."

  As Vane engaged the thugs, Sen burst into action, his movements a blur of precision and fury. He targeted the largest thug, landing a series of rapid-fire punches that cracked against bone, sending the man stumbling backward.

  The other thugs lunged at Sen, but he sidestepped their clumsy attacks with ease, exploiting their momentum to send them crashing into the nearby walls with bone-jarring impacts.

  Panting slightly, Sen stepped back to assess the aftermath of the brief melee. Three incapacitated thugs lay groaning on the ground, while Vane stood over a fourth, who clutched his broken jaw in agony.

  Together, they rifled through the fallen men's pockets, relieving them of the promised loot and adding the pilfered coin to their growing hoard.

  As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the dusty streets, Sen and Vane continued their rampage, targeting any thugs foolish enough to cross their path. Their pockets bulged with the ill-gotten gains of their exploits, a testament to their cunning and skill.

  Eventually, the pair decided to call it quits, retiring to a secluded alleyway to divvy up their spoils.

  "Now that was a decent score,"Sen remarked, examining the contents of his pouch."Might be time to invest in something worthwhile with these coins. Gear, maybe some info on our opponents."

  Vane's eyes gleamed with interest as he listened to Sen's suggestions, his clawed fingers drumming against the pouch containing their hard-won earnings.

  "Invest in gear, huh? Could be wise. These matches are brutal, and having the right tools makes all the difference. As for opponents... might be worth poking around for whispers on who's next on the schedule. The more we know, the less surprises we'll face in the arena."

  "What’s the payout per win?" Sen asked, cutting straight to the point.

  Vane shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he considered the question."Depends on the stakes, usually. Sometimes it's just extra coin, maybe a few trinkets if you're lucky. But higher-level matches can net you more substantial prizes - rare artifacts, magical items, even slaves or servants if you're really pushing your luck."

  He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper."Of course, there's always the option to gamble, to put your winnings on the line for a shot at bigger riches. Just watch your back in those games - the house doesn't take kindly to losers."

  "Think you can bet my coins for me on my matches?" Sen asked, his tone cool and calculating.

  Vane's eyebrows shot up, surprised by the request. A sly grin spread across his face. "Bet your coin on your fights, huh? Well, I suppose I could handle that for you, seeing as you seem to trust my judgment already."

  He paused, studying Sen's expression for any signs of hesitation or doubt."But understand, this isn't charity. I'll take a cut of your winnings, of course. Fair's fair, after all."

  "Six to four," Sen negotiated, his voice unwavering.

  Vane’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the challenge. "Six to four, huh? You drive a hard bargain, Deadly Fist. Alright, deal. I’ll manage your bets, and we split the profits accordingly."

  He extended a clawed hand, sealing the agreement with a firm shake."Just remember, I warned you. Betting's a game of risk, and the house always wins in the end if you're not careful."

  As if on cue, their stomachs chose that moment to protest loudly, a symphony of growls and rumblings that echoed through the alleyway.

  Vane chuckled, clapping a paw on Sen's shoulder as they made their way back to the relative safety of their room."Guess our negotiations can wait until after we eat. Starving bellies don't take bets well, do they?"

  As they entered the modest lodgings, the enticing aroma of cooked meat and spices greeted them, courtesy of the Crimson Coliseum's catering service.

  Sen's stomach rumbled in anticipation as he spotted the steaming platters of food on the table, the savory scents mingling in a mouthwatering bouquet. He grabbed a hunk of bread, tearing into it with relish as he surveyed the spread.

  "Hmm, looks like we scored a decent meal tonight. Guess the management wants to keep us in fighting shape for the next round of matches."

  With a satisfied hum, Sen dug into the hearty stew, savoring the rich flavors that danced on his tongue.

  As Sen finished his meal, his senses perked up at the sound of unfamiliar wings fluttering in the corridor outside. His eyes narrowed instinctively as a tall, elegant figure stepped into the room - none other than Zolgrath, the griffon who had brought him into the Crimson Coliseum.

  "Well, well," Sen drawled, setting down his spoon with deliberate slowness. "What brings you back so soon, Zolgrath? Expecting me to start performing miracles already?"

  Zolgrath smiled, his gaze locking onto Sen's with a hint of mischief in its golden depths."Oh, not just yet."

  "Let's hear him out," Vane suggested, leaning back in his chair as he watched Zolgrath with a critical eye. "Could be nothing, but at least we'll know what he wants."

  Sen nodded, though his expression remained guarded. He gestured to the empty chairs across from them, inviting the griffon to sit.

  "So, out with it," Sen said bluntly, resting his elbows on the table. "Who's this patron, and why do they want to meet me?"

  Zolgrath settled into a seat, his plumage rustling softly as he arranged himself. He fixed Sen with a serious look, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper.

  "Raijin Kurogami. They call him The Stormbearer, He is a ruthless and calculating warlord fiercely loyal to his clan yet driven by pragmatic desires. His intent is to enlist your skills to eliminate pivotal figures—commanders, generals, and, if the opportunity arises, warlords of opposing clans during skirmishes and military confrontations in this ongoing conflict."

  Sen tapped his fingers against the table, absorbing the intel. He let the silence linger before speaking, his voice edged with cold calculation.

  "Big targets. Big risk. That means big pay. What’s the offer?"

  Zolgrath’s beak curled into something resembling a smirk. "A contract like this? You’re looking at wealth beyond the pit fights, influence, and if you impress him an actual seat at his table."

  "I see the bait," Vane rumbled, eyes narrowing. "Lots of shiny coins and promises. I've seen warlords fatten their prey before the slaughter. What makes you think Sen won’t be another carcass on their battlefield once he’s outlived his use?"

  Zolgrath inclined his head, acknowledging Vane's concerns. "I understand your apprehensions, but allow me to assure you that the Kurogami Clan operates with a sense of honor and loyalty to those who prove their worth. Should Sen accept this opportunity, I can guarantee him a place of respect and influence within the clan."

  Sen fixed his eyes on Zolgrath, clearly issuing a challenge. "I'll accept this deal, but only if I get to work on my own terms. I’ll pick my missions based on what makes sense and what pays off. If the situation gets too risky or I sense trouble, I'm out. Otherwise, I'm fully committed."

  Zolgrath regarded Sen thoughtfully, weighing the proposal laid before him. "Your conditions are certainly...fascinating, Sen. Yet, I must urge you to tread carefully. Raijin Kurogami is not a man to be underestimated, and his ambitions may not align with your quest for independence."

  He took a moment to gather his thoughts before proceeding. "Nevertheless, I will relay your terms to the warlord. The decision to accept or decline rests solely with him. Should he choose to agree, you will have the opportunity to meet him directly to iron out the specifics."

  Rising from his chair, Zolgrath unfurled his formidable wings, readying himself for departure. "In the meantime, stay sharp and brace yourself for what lies ahead."