"I don't think this is a good idea, boss," Isaak said, following closely behind Ezrik down the narrow stairwell.
His voice carried unease over the muffled roar of the underground fight ring below. The air grew thicker the lower they went. Heavy with sweat, smoke, and bloodlust.
Ezrik didn't slow down. "Normally, I don't care about the damn payments," he muttered, his cigarette glowing between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around his sharp jawline.
"But I need the money and just because I busted some idiot's neck, they're withholding it." His tone dripped irritation, his boots hitting the concrete hard enough to echo.
When they entered the ring area, the noise intensified. Cheers, jeers, the sound of bodies slamming into each other. The crowd parted instinctively at the sight of Ezrik Veyne, whispers rippling through them. Some grinned, others stepped back. Everyone knew better than to get in his way.
