Episode 14: The Extraction
Thirty minutes before the fight.
Odd stood in the corridor outside the fighter preparation area, rolling his shoulders, trying to keep his breathing steady. His heart was beating faster than normal, adrenaline already starting to pump through his system in anticipation of what was coming.
But he wasn't panicking. Wasn't spiraling into worst-case scenarios like he'd been doing earlier.
King's words kept echoing in his head. Focus on what you can control. Adaptability matters more than planning when you don't have complete information.
It was simple advice, but it had cut through the noise in his mind, given him something concrete to hold onto. He didn't know what Son Tec could do. Didn't know what abilities he'd be facing. But he knew his own capabilities, knew how to read a fight, knew how to adapt.
That would have to be enough.
He checked the clock on the wall. Twenty-eight minutes until his match. He needed to head to the medical area soon for the pre-fight check—standard procedure to ensure fighters weren't using performance-enhancing drugs or entering the arena with hidden weapons.
As if anyone here actually cared about fairness.
Odd started walking down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. The facility always felt more oppressive before a fight, like the weight of what was about to happen pressed down on everything.
He turned a corner and nearly walked straight into someone.
King.
The younger fighter stood in the middle of the corridor, seemingly waiting. Those royal blue eyes locked onto Odd with that same unreadable intensity they always carried.
"King," Odd said, slightly startled. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"You're heading to medical," Lucius stated. Not a question.
"Yeah, got about twenty-five minutes before the fight. Gotta get cleared first."
Lucius nodded once, then spoke with that characteristic bluntness. "Don't show your abilities first."
Odd blinked. "What?"
"Your opponent. You don't know what he can do yet. Don't reveal what you can do until you've assessed his capabilities. Let him show his hand first if possible."
It was tactical advice, delivered with the same matter-of-fact certainty that had helped calm Odd's nerves earlier.
"Unless you're in a tight spot," Lucius continued. "If the situation forces your hand, then adapt. But if you have the option, observe first. React second."
Odd absorbed the words, nodding slowly. "Right. Yeah, that makes sense. Don't give him information he can use against me."
"Exactly."
There was a brief pause. Odd shifted his weight, then said, "Thanks, man. For all of this. The advice, the... I don't know. Just thanks."
Lucius's expression didn't change, but he gave a single nod of acknowledgment. "You'll do fine."
Then he turned and walked past Odd, heading toward the arena seating area.
Odd watched him go for a moment, then continued toward the medical check. King's confidence—that absolute certainty in the way he spoke—was strangely reassuring. Like the outcome was already decided and Odd just needed to show up and make it happen.
He could work with that.
For his daughters, he could do anything.
---
The contestant viewing section was filling up when Lucius arrived. Fighters who'd already won their matches occupied various seats, along with a handful who hadn't fought yet and were studying the competition. The atmosphere carried a different energy than earlier fights—this was the afternoon session, people were more relaxed, more talkative.
Lucius scanned the section and spotted Seung sitting in one of the middle rows, closer to the arena than Lucius usually preferred. The executive had a glass in his hand and a nearly empty bottle of red wine on the floor beside his seat.
Lucius made his way over and sat down next to him.
"King!" Seung's greeting was slightly louder than necessary, his face flushed. "There you are! I was wondering if you'd show up."
Lucius glanced at the wine bottle, then at Seung's glass. "You've been drinking."
"Just a little," Seung said, waving his hand dismissively. "Well, maybe more than a little. But you know how it is—pre-fight nerves. Not for me, obviously. For the bet. Big money riding on this one."
"How much did you put down?"
"Enough that I'll be very happy if your analysis is correct," Seung said with a grin. He took another sip from his glass, then frowned. "I've been so damn thirsty today. I don't know what it is. I've been drinking since I got here and I still feel parched."
Lucius said nothing, his expression neutral.
Seung grabbed the wine bottle and refilled his glass, nearly emptying it completely. "Anyway, your boy Odd is fighting today. You think he's got a chance?"
"He's capable," Lucius said simply.
"That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."
"He'll adapt. That's what matters."
Seung chuckled and took another long drink. "You're always so damn cryptic. Just once I'd like a straight answer. 'Yes, Seung, he's going to win.' Or 'No, Seung, he's going to get his ass kicked.' Simple."
"Fighting isn't simple."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Variables, adaptability, all that tactical stuff you love." Seung shifted in his seat, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Damn, I really am thirsty. This wine isn't helping."
The arena was getting louder as more people filled the seats. Conversations overlapped, bets were being discussed, odds were being calculated and recalculated. The energy was building toward the main event.
Liu Yan sat several rows down, his attention focused on the empty arena floor. William Walker was nearby, along with a few other fighters whose names Lucius had cataloged but hadn't interacted with directly.
The viewing screens positioned throughout the arena flickered to life, displaying the fight card and upcoming match details.
FIGHT 12 - ROUND ONE
ODD VS SON TEC
Seung leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "Son Tec. You know anything about him?"
"No."
"Well that's helpful," Seung muttered. He finished his glass and set it down, then picked up his tablet from where it had been resting on his lap. "Guess we're going in blind on this one. What's your read?"
"Too many unknowns," Lucius said. "Both are new fighters. No previous tournament data."
"So it's a coin flip?"
"No. But the variables are wider than previous matches."
Seung nodded, tapping on his tablet to pull up the betting interface. "Odds are pretty even. Could go either way based on ability matchup."
He scrolled through the betting options, his other hand absently reaching for the wine glass again only to find it empty. He frowned, looking disappointed.
The lights in the arena began to dim slightly, signaling that the pre-fight presentation was about to begin. The crowd's volume increased in anticipation.
Jamal "The Voice" Johnson's voice boomed through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen! Are you ready for Fight Twelve of Round One?!"
The crowd roared in response.
"We've got two fresh faces stepping into the arena today! Two fighters looking to prove they belong in this tournament! This is going to be BRUTAL!"
Haurang "The Analyst" Brown's calmer voice provided counterpoint. "Both fighters are making their debut in the tournament circuit. This will be an interesting matchup to observe their tactical approaches and ability applications."
The entrance to the medical area opened, and Odd emerged, walking toward the arena floor.
He was a stocky man in his late thirties, standing around five-foot-nine with a barrel chest and thick arms that spoke of years of physical labor. His brown hair was cut short and practical, with streaks of gray at the temples. His face was weathered, lined with the kind of exhaustion that came from too many hard years and not enough rest. A small scar ran through his left eyebrow. He wore simple black athletic shorts and a plain gray tank top that revealed multiple scars on his shoulders and forearms—the kind you got from street fights and desperation, not training.
His expression was focused but carried the weight of someone who had everything to lose.
The opposite entrance opened, and Son Tec appeared.
He was younger—mid-twenties at most—with a lean, athletic build that suggested formal martial arts training. He stood about six feet tall with a wiry frame, all compact muscle and efficient movement. His black hair was styled back, and his Asian features carried a confident, almost cocky expression. He wore red fighting shorts and a black compression shirt, both clean and professionally fitted. His hands were wrapped in proper fighting tape, his stance practiced and controlled.
He moved with the swagger of someone who believed in their own abilities, who'd visualized this moment and convinced himself of victory.
Both fighters took their positions at opposite ends of the arena.
"Here we go!" Jamal's enthusiasm was infectious. "Who's going to walk out of here and who's going to be carried out?!"
Seung was tapping rapidly on his tablet, pulling up the betting window. "Alright, I'm putting money on Odd. Your instinct has been good so far, and I trust your read on this guy."
"The betting window is now open!" Haurang announced. "Sixty seconds to place your final wagers!"
The countdown appeared on the screens. 60... 59... 58...
Seung was entering his bet amount, his fingers moving across the tablet screen. Then he suddenly stopped, his expression changing to discomfort.
"Oh no," he muttered.
Lucius glanced at him.
"I need to use the bathroom," Seung said, his voice tight. "Like, right now. I really need to go."
The urgency in his voice was genuine. His face had gone from flushed to pale, and he was shifting in his seat with obvious discomfort.
45... 44... 43...
"Can you wait?" Lucius asked, his tone neutral.
"No. Absolutely not. I've been drinking all afternoon and—" He stood up abruptly, nearly dropping the tablet. "Damn it, the betting window!"
He thrust the tablet toward Lucius, his movements frantic. "Here, take it. Place the bet for me. Same amount I was entering—it's right there on the screen. Just confirm it before the timer runs out."
38... 37... 36...
Lucius took the tablet, his expression unchanged.
"I'll be right back," Seung said, already moving toward the exit with quick, desperate steps. "Just confirm the bet. Same amount. I trust you."
He disappeared into the corridor, moving faster than Lucius had seen him move since arriving at the underground.
Lucius looked down at the tablet in his hands. The betting interface was open, Seung's proposed wager displayed clearly on the screen. The glass of wine Seung had been drinking from sat abandoned on the floor next to the now-empty bottle.
The countdown continued.
32... 31... 30...
Lucius's left hand—the one wrapped in bandages that everyone assumed was injured—rested on his lap beneath the edge of the seat in front of him. His right hand held the tablet, thumb hovering over the confirm button.
The crowd's noise swelled around him. People shouting last-minute bets, cursing at their tablets, celebrating successful wagers. Pure chaos.
Perfect cover.
Lucius's left hand moved with precision that would have been invisible even if someone had been watching. The water content in the abandoned wine glass shifted, responding to his will. A thin tendril of liquid rose from the glass—barely a few drops, impossibly controlled—and touched the edge of the tablet.
In the span of three seconds, ice formed at a molecular level. Microscopic tools shaped from frozen water, finer than any mechanical instrument, sharper than surgical steel. The tablet's casing separated at the seam—not broken, just opened with perfect precision along the manufacturer's original assembly line.
The wireless chip was embedded in the lower section, secured with adhesive and two tiny screws. The ice tools worked with inhuman speed and accuracy. Screws turned. Adhesive separated. The chip lifted free.
Another tendril of water from the glass formed a temporary pocket, cushioning the chip. It moved to Lucius's jacket, slipping into one of the inner pockets where dozens of other small items were stored.
The ice tools reversed their work. Screws returned to their original positions. The casing sealed along the seam. The water that had formed the tools dissolved back into liquid, returning to the glass with perfect silence.
Three seconds.
The tablet looked exactly as it had when Seung handed it over. No scratches, no marks, no evidence that it had been opened at all.
Lucius's thumb pressed the confirm button.
The bet was placed.
20... 19... 18...
He set the tablet down on the seat next to him, precisely where Seung would find it when he returned. His expression hadn't changed throughout the entire process. His breathing remained steady. His posture was relaxed, casual, the picture of someone simply waiting for a fight to begin.
The crowd continued their chaotic noise, completely oblivious to what had just occurred.
10... 9... 8...
"Betting window closing in ten seconds!" Haurang announced. "Final wagers, ladies and gentlemen!"
The countdown reached zero, and the screens displayed the final betting pools. The arena's energy reached a crescendo as people reacted to their last-minute decisions.
Seung returned a few moments later, looking relieved but slightly embarrassed. "Sorry about that. That was... not ideal timing."
"The bet is placed," Lucius said, gesturing to the tablet.
Seung grabbed it and checked the screen, then let out a breath of relief. "Perfect. Thank you. I thought I was going to miss the window entirely." He sat back down, looking much more comfortable now. "What did I miss?"
"Nothing. They're about to start."
The lights in the arena dimmed further, focusing spotlights on the two fighters standing at opposite ends. The crowd's noise began to coalesce into a unified roar of anticipation.
Jamal's voice cut through the chaos. "Fighters ready! Crowd ready! Let's give them what they came for!"
Odd and Son Tec faced each other across the arena floor. The distance between them felt charged with potential violence.
Haurang's calm voice provided final commentary. "Both fighters appear focused and prepared. This should be an enlightening display of rookie tournament tactics."
The tension built. The crowd held its collective breath.
Then Jamal's voice exploded through the speakers:
"FIGHT!"
---
The fight began.
Both fighters stood at their respective ends of the arena, neither rushing forward. The tension built as they slowly started moving toward each other, hands raised, bodies tensed and ready.
"Smart opening from both fighters!" Haurang observed. "Neither one wants to give away information too early."
"Come on, somebody throw a punch already!" Jamal countered, his voice booming with impatience.
The fighters closed the distance until they were within striking range, then began moving in a circular pattern. Circling, watching, waiting for the other to commit first.
Odd made the first move—a light jab aimed at Son's face to gauge his reaction.
Son blocked with his left arm, deflecting it easily.
Odd threw a right jab. Then a left. Then another right. Son blocked each one, his guard solid, his movements economical.
"Odd testing the waters here," Haurang noted. "Smart approach against an unknown opponent."
Suddenly Son came up with a knee strike, driving upward toward Odd's midsection.
Odd spotted it and moved back, creating distance.
But Son was already dashing forward, closing the gap before Odd could fully reset. He made it look like he was throwing a cross at Odd's temple—
Odd's guard went up, both arms rising to block the expected attack.
But Son leaned in instead and drove a punch into Odd's abdomen.
THUD.
The hit connected clean. Odd staggered backward, the air driven from his lungs.
"Beautiful feint!" Jamal roared. "Son Tec showing some real technical skill there!"
Odd tried to get his footing back, but Son wasn't giving him breathing room. He followed, throwing hit after hit—left jab, right jab aimed at Odd's head, left cross, right cross, another jab. Classic MMA fighting techniques, clean and practiced.
Odd's style was more street brawler, Lucius noted from the viewing section. Raw, aggressive, less refined. Effective in certain contexts, but at a disadvantage against someone with formal training.
Son came up with a flying knee—
Odd parried and headbutted him, the impact echoing through the arena.
CRACK.
As Son's feet were about to touch the ground, Odd followed up immediately, driving forward with a tackle, trying to take Son down.
Son refused, planting his feet and maintaining his balance while Odd struggled to complete the takedown. Odd's back was exposed, giving Son the perfect opportunity.
Son started attacking—his fists connecting to Odd's body, his back, the sides of his ribs.
Then Son lifted both arms, preparing to hammer down on Odd who was still holding onto his torso.
Odd saw the opportunity. He twisted, turning around while grabbing onto Son's torso and moving behind him. He grabbed Son tight and tried to lift him up for a German suplex—
But Son resisted, breaking free and hitting Odd with a backward elbow from his right arm.
Odd had to let go.
Son quickly turned around and went on the offensive, attacking Odd with a stream of punches. Odd barely blocked them, his defense growing more desperate.
Can't let him control the pace, Odd thought, gritting his teeth. Have to find an opening.
Odd threw a straight right, but Son dodged and came in with an uppercut—
CRACK.
It connected. Odd's head recoiled from the impact, stars exploding behind his eyes.
Before Odd could recover, Son lunged. Odd tried to kick him instinctively with his leg, but Son sidestepped and turned around.
The next thing Odd knew, Son was behind him, attempting the same move Odd had tried earlier. Son grabbed Odd's torso, lifted him up, and—
SLAM.
Unlike Odd, Son successfully delivered the German suplex. Odd's body crashed into the arena floor. Pain exploded through his back and shoulders. He spat blood from his mouth, tasting copper.
"Oh, that's gotta hurt!" Jamal's commentary was almost gleeful. "Son Tec showing Odd how it's DONE!"
Son let go of Odd, rolled, and got up quickly, trying to deliver a finishing blow while Odd was still on the floor.
But Odd quickly rotated while still on the ground, grabbing Son in a leg scissor hold, wrapping his legs around Son's arm and trying to apply pressure.
Not over yet, Odd thought through the pain. Just need one good opening. For them. For my girls.
It was sloppy. He tried to pull Son in to get a better grip, but Son kept moving, pushing forward, dragging Odd across the hard sandy floor, scraping his back.
Son kept pushing until they reached the edge of the barrier. Odd's back was severely bruised, the skin raw from the dragging, though surprisingly no blood despite the abuse.
As Odd's back hit the barrier, Son started to lift him up while still in the hold. He got Odd partially elevated and slammed his back onto the floor.
THUD.
The impact made Odd release his grip momentarily.
Son didn't waste the opportunity. While still kneeling, he mounted Odd and threw a barrage of punches—fist after fist raining down. Odd managed to block a few but still took multiple hits to his face and body.
"Son Tec is DOMINATING this ground game!" Jamal shouted. "Odd's in serious trouble here!"
In a brief moment, Odd lifted his pelvis and managed to momentarily unbalance Son. He then pushed forward and headbutted Son once more, then swiftly grabbed Son's right arm and put him in an armbar—legs across Son's chest, pulling backward, trying to dislocate the arm.
Odd pulled as hard as he could. The sound of bone shifting could be heard throughout the arena.
CRACK. POP. SNAP.
Only, unfortunately for Odd, that wasn't a bone dislocating.
Son's arm seemed to be getting bigger. Transforming into something else. His bones cracking. Joints popping. Hair elongating.
Lucius leaned forward slightly in his seat, his eyes narrowing. "Oh. Seems Son Tec is a MorphBreed."
Seung turned to him, confused. "A what?"
Lucius turned toward Seung with a look of genuine disbelief. "What are you telling me? Throughout this entire time you've been betting on NovaBreed fights, you don't even know the general classifications?"
Seung shrugged, looking slightly defensive. "Not really. Seeing as I'm not a NovaBreed, it didn't really seem important. I just bet on who looks stronger."
Lucius sighed, a rare display of exasperation. "No wonder you ended up in debt."
"Hey, I'm doing better now with your help!" Seung protested.
"Because I understand what I'm watching," Lucius said flatly. He gestured toward the arena where Son's transformation was continuing. "NovaBreeds are generally classified into categories based on how their abilities function. These classifications have changed over time and differ between regions, but the most common system divides them into two main groups: Genetic Bound and Essence Bound abilities."
He kept his voice low enough that only Seung could hear over the crowd's noise.
"Genetic Bound abilities are the most common. They're inheritable, non-unique—multiple people can have similar genetic-bound powers. There are three main types."
"First, there are TBreeds—T-cell stands for Translocator cell. Their bodies contain specialized cells that act as portals to other dimensions or locations. Those cells can spawn specific elements or substances—lightning, fire, cosmic dust, gel. The substance appears from those cells, and they can often manipulate what they produce."
"Like that guy who shoots lightning from his hands?" Seung asked.
"Exactly. Then there are MorphBreeds—what Son Tec is. They can transform their biology. Shapeshifters, beast forms, biological adaptations. Some transformations are temporary, some are permanent. Son Tec appears to have a beast form transformation."
Down in the arena, Son's body was continuing its metamorphosis. His frame was expanding, muscles bulging and restructuring beneath his skin.
"Then there are DBreeds—short for Dominion Breeds. Manipulators," Lucius continued. "They control elements or substances in their environment. Water, earth, fire, air. They don't generate it from their bodies like TBreeds; they manipulate what already exists around them. It requires more focus and preparation than TBreed abilities, which are more instinctive. DBreeds have subcategories—Higher Elemental, Base Elemental, Organic Elemental—but that's more detail than necessary right now."
"So they're weaker?" Seung asked.
"Not necessarily. Context matters. A DBreed who controls water is nearly unstoppable near an ocean. Put them in a desert, and they're significantly handicapped. TBreeds are more consistent because they generate their own resources."
"Makes sense," Seung said, nodding.
"Those are the Genetic Bound classifications," Lucius said. "But there's another category that's rarer and more dangerous—Essence Bound abilities."
"What's the difference?"
"Essence Bound abilities are unique to the individual. Completely one-of-a-kind. They're intrinsic, tied to something deeper than just genetics. An Essence Bound DBreed doesn't just manipulate water—they're one with it. It responds to their will instinctively, no preparation needed. And then there are HighBreeds—reality warpers who bend the laws of existence itself. Temporal manipulation, spatial alteration, imagination manifestation."
Seung looked skeptical. "Imagination manifestation? You expect me to believe that?"
"Believe what you want," Lucius said. "But Essence Bound abilities are tied to the soul."
"Souls?" Seung scoffed. "That's just religious nonsense. The only thing I believe in is money."
Lucius's expression didn't change. "Your belief or disbelief doesn't change what exists. Essence Bound abilities are empirically documented. The mechanism isn't fully understood, but the effects are measurable and they have been theories as to what the soul truly is a very popular one states that the soul is the quantum information pattern that defines consciousness"
"If you say so," Seung muttered, clearly unconvinced. He turned his attention back to the arena. "Either way, your friend Odd is in trouble now."
Down in the arena, Son Tec's transformation was completing.
His body had expanded to roughly seven feet tall. Two sets of horns—thick, curved, and wickedly sharp—protruded from his skull at angles that suggested both offensive and defensive utility. The front pair curved forward and slightly upward, each horn easily a foot long and tapering to brutal points. The rear pair curved backward over his skull, shorter but equally lethal.
His muscles had grown massively. His trapezius muscles had enlarged to support the weight of his transformed skull structure, creating a thick bull-neck that merged seamlessly into shoulders that had broadened by nearly a foot on each side. His pectorals had expanded into slabs of muscle covered in coarse, dark hair. His arms were thick as tree trunks, forearms corded with muscle and tendon clearly visible beneath the skin.
His spine had curved forward slightly to accommodate the shift in his center of gravity, creating a forward-leaning posture that was both aggressive and stable. His ribcage had expanded dramatically to house enlarged lungs and heart necessary to oxygenate his increased muscle mass. Each breath was visible—his massive chest rising and falling like a bellows.
His abdominal muscles were a wall of segmented armor, each section clearly defined beneath the thick body hair that covered most of his torso. His pelvis had restructured, widening and tilting to support altered leg mechanics.
His legs, while strong and muscular, were proportionally smaller than his massive upper body—necessary for the biomechanics of his new form. His thighs were powerful, built for explosive charging movements, but his calves were leaner, optimized for sudden directional changes rather than sustained running. His feet had broadened, toes spreading wider for better ground contact and stability.
His clothes had torn off during the transformation, leaving only his partially shredded pants clinging to his altered frame. His skin had taken on a slightly darker tone, and the body hair covering him was thick and coarse, more like an animal's coat than human hair.
His face had restructured entirely—nose broader and flatter, jaw more pronounced and powerful, eyes set slightly wider apart and gleaming with animal intensity. When he breathed, vapor escaped his nostrils in small clouds.
A minotaur. Not a mythological fantasy, but what human biology would actually become if it transformed to match that form—every anatomical change serving a functional purpose, every muscle and bone restructured to support the new configuration.
"Now THAT'S what I'm talking about!" Jamal's voice exploded through the speakers. "Son Tec showing his BEAST MODE! This just got INTERESTING!"
Odd was still clinging to Son's right arm, but now he was being lifted with ease. Son stood on both feet, Odd dangling from his arm.
Then Son proceeded to brutally slam Odd's back to the ground.
SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.
Each impact shook the arena floor. Odd's vision blurred with each hit.
As Odd's grip loosened, Son flung him away from the barrier.
Odd tumbled near the center of the pit, covered in dust and bruises, blood trickling from his mouth and nose. His whole body screamed in pain, but he forced himself to move.
No time to waste. Get up. Keep fighting. They're counting on you.
He slowly started getting up, pushing himself to his hands and knees.
Over by the barrier, Son was getting ready. He pawed at the ground with one massive foot, scraping the arena floor, his head lowering while his horns pointed directly at Odd, who was on one knee trying to rise.
"Oh no," Haurang said, his voice carrying genuine concern. "Son Tec is preparing to charge. Those horns could be lethal."
WHOOSH.
BOOM.
With explosive speed—like an actual bull charging at full velocity—Son rushed at Odd, his pointed horns aimed directly at the vulnerable fighter, ready to pierce.
Odd managed to jump out of the way just in time, throwing himself to the side.
But Son's bulk and inertia kept him going.
CRASH.
He hit the barrier wall with a thunderous impact that echoed across the entire arena. The barrier shuddered from the collision.
That was dangerous, Odd thought, breathing heavily, ribs aching with every breath. But now I've seen what he can do. Time to even the odds.
For them. For his girls who were waiting for him to come home.
Odd got up and dusted off his pants. He started bouncing on his feet, jumping up and down while moving and stretching his arms, shaking out the tension, getting his body ready.
Son seemed to be turning around, shaking his head after the impact with the barrier. He returned his gaze toward Odd, snorting vapor from his nostrils.
He didn't waste another moment. Son got down on all fours and charged once more toward Odd like a beast.
Odd moved out of the way in time.
But unlike the last charge—which might have just been a miscalculation of distance or rusty timing from not using his abilities in a while—Son did not crash into the barrier this time. He made a sharp U-turn and circled back toward Odd, his hooves tearing up the arena floor.
"Son Tec learning from his mistakes!" Haurang observed. "Much more controlled on that second charge!"
Luckily, Odd hadn't let himself get distracted. He managed to dodge that attack as well.
From then on, it was like a bullfight. Son charged, Odd jumped out of the way. Son charged again, Odd dodged.
"This is getting repetitive!" Jamal complained. "Come on, Odd, do SOMETHING! You can't just keep running forever!"
But as Odd was jumping out of the way of another charging attack, Son reached out his massive arm and grabbed Odd's left leg by the ankle.
He was about to pull and slam Odd onto the floor when—somehow—Odd slipped out of the grip of his huge hand.
Son turned around, confused, his eyes narrowing.
This time he wasn't charging in headfirst. He was coming in with intent to grab, his massive arms spread wide.
And grab he did.
With full momentum, Son slammed Odd against the wall of another barrier section, his right arm stretched out, pinning Odd against the surface. Odd's feet dangled in the air, unable to touch the ground.
Son pulled back his head, preparing to gore Odd with his pointed horns.
Just as his horns were coming directly at Odd's face—
Odd suddenly slipped out of the tight hold, despite being pressed firmly against the barrier wall.
The moment Odd's feet touched the ground, just as Son's horns collided with the barrier where Odd had been, Odd twisted in an unnatural manner. His body contorted with flexibility that should have shattered bones, rotating with liquid grace.
With devastating force, he struck Son's exposed throat—just below the larynx, directly on the trachea—with precision that spoke of desperation and survival instinct.
CRACK.
Son tumbled backward, almost falling to the ground, but instead bent down with his hands on the floor and coughed out blood, choking and gasping.
Odd stood there, his body going back to normal from whatever flexibility he'd just used, but still visible was the gooey gel-like substance—amber in color—that his body had secreted. The gel glistened in the arena lights, coating his skin like a second layer.
"THERE IT IS!" Jamal shouted. "Odd's got abilities too! Some kind of gel production! He's been slipping out of Son's holds this whole time!"
As Son tried to get up, Odd was already moving. He launched himself into the air, both feet coiled like springs.
A double flying kick—
CRACK.
The hit connected, striking the kneeling Son and sending him tumbling backward across the arena floor.
But Son was not done. He still had fight in him. As he was getting up, blood dripping from his mouth, Odd waited rather than continuing his assault, breathing hard, conserving energy.
Then—
BUZZZZ.
The buzzer for the audience participation drop sounded.
The screens throughout the arena lit up with options:
KITCHEN KNIFE
FLAMETHROWER
TEDDY BEAR
CHAINSAW
MYSTERY OPTION
"Oh, here we go!" Jamal's voice rose with excitement. "Time for the crowd to spice things up! What's it gonna be, folks?!"
The crowd frantically chose, their tablets lighting up as votes poured in.
The percentages appeared on the screen:
MYSTERY OPTION - 58%
FLAMETHROWER - 19%
TEDDY BEAR - 11%
CHAINSAW - 8%
KITCHEN KNIFE - 4%
"Mystery Option takes it!" Haurang announced. "The crowd wants chaos."
Seung leaned forward. "What the hell is the mystery option?"
"We're about to find out," Lucius said, his eyes fixed on the arena floor.
The countdown began. 10... 9... 8...
Odd, while currently being pursued by the enraged bull-form Son, dodged and periodically landed blows on critical points when opportunities presented themselves. Son's charges were becoming more erratic, more desperate, blood still trickling from his damaged throat.
3... 2... 1...
Suddenly, the ground started vibrating.
From the arena floor, four elevator-like cargo platforms rose from beneath—the same kind that had brought Monster into his fight. They appeared near the edges of the pit, rising with mechanical grinding sounds.
THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.
Four platforms. Four unknown contents.
The crowd's noise reached a fever pitch.
"What's in the boxes?!" Jamal roared. "What did you beautiful degenerates unleash?!"
The platforms locked into place, their cargo compartments sealed, waiting.
In the viewing section, Lucius's eyes narrowed slightly. His expression remained neutral, but his attention was completely focused on those four platforms.
Whatever was about to emerge, it was going to change the fight dramatically.
The arena held its collective breath.
---
TO BE CONTINUED