A hidden city beneath Phoenix! There were Market stalls built from old cargo shipping containers. Fluorescent mushrooms sprouted and grew from the walls and above cybernetic tattoo stations. Splicer crews walked around with exposed brain ports arguing with genome vendors. A man with a horned helmet was getting a tail grafted in the open, biting a leather strap. Posters flapped in the synthetic breeze:
"FIGHT TONIGHT — Reef maw vs Hammer fists!"
And then—
I scanned the arena entry crowd as Reef maw headed toward her side. To the far left was a tall gladiator woman. Seven feet of battle scars and raw command, surrounded by masked acolytes. Behind her stood Hammer-fists, fists wrapped in tape thick as a child's forearm, shadow-cracking the pavement as she bounced in place. To the high balconies was Vespa Nox, the bat-woman, radiant and furious, wings curled like velvet blades, shadow-fang clan members circling her in silence.
Leaning against a rain-slick pipe Skithara took a drag of her cigarette from her middle arm, spider-limbed and licking venom from a blade she hadn't used yet. Her lower hands wove idle web tricks while the upper ones sharpened knives. From the mist pools on the east side of the arena stage, coiling like royalty was Queen Ryma. Amphibian bloodline. Her bare skin shimmered with bioluminescent patterning that pulsed in time with her breath. She sat on a tangle of tentacles coiled from her back—not attached like wings or hair, but grown, claimed, hers. A living throne.
She was watching the fighters. But when Reef maw approached, Ryma's inner eyes blinked open—two smaller, vertical pupils hidden within the larger irises. A sign of attention. Of interest.
The arena below pulsed with rising chants and stomps. Bio-lights flickered in sync with the crowd's rhythm. Splicer vendors hawked adrenaline patches and bone-knitted stim dust. The combat pit steamed. But in the fog-drenched alcove above the east balcony, all was quiet.
Reef maw knelt before her Queen. Her muscles were twitching with anticipation, jaw tight, but she held still beneath Ryma's gaze. Queen Ryma sat coiled, her back-tentacles braided like a living mantle. Her bioluminescent skin glowed a soft cyan. From her lower jaw, two filament tendrils dangled lazily, tasting the pheromones in Reef maw's sweat. "You're afraid," Ryma murmured. Reef maw didn't answer. "Good," Ryma said. "Fear is a depth gauge; use it Swim in it."
A tentacle uncoiled and slithered along Reef maw's spine, pressing against the vertebrae like keys on a living instrument. "Hammer-fists will open strong. She always does. Her clan worships impact. They believe force is truth."
"Is it?" Reef maw asked. Ryma's smile was strange—not human, not kind. Satisfied. "No. Force is noise. And you are water." She leaned closer, her bioluminescence dimming until only her eyes glowed—piercing and unblinking. "Bend around the first storm. Let her arms miss. Let her rage chase you into the currents. And then—"
She placed a clawed finger just below Reef maw's collarbone, right above the embedded crystal socket. "Sink your rhythm into her lungs." Reef maw exhaled slowly. "You want me to drown her?" "No," Ryma said, a beat of silence stretching between them like a riptide. "I want her to beg for air." Another tentacle slipped around Reef maw's waist like a sash. Not binding—just reminding. "Fight for the win. Fight to feed the Vein your name."
"If you break, break beautifully."
Reef maw's body was still, but her gills fluttered. She rose to her feet, slowly, spine straightening under the pressure of purpose. "Yes, my Queen." Reef maw hesitated. "There was someone else," she said. "A human. No mark. No beast core." Ryma's smile curved sideways—more gill than lip.
"Then he is either a fool," she said, "or something that belongs to one of us." She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "And did you bring him?"
"He followed. I made no effort to stop him."
"Good." Ryma's voice was velvet and knives. "Let the blood carry itself to the mouth. That's how it knows it's ripe." She turned her gaze back to the arena.
Reef maw nodded, silent. From behind her, one of Ryma's inner tentacles extended and rested across her shoulders like a shawl of approval. Or a leash.
"You're still mine," Ryma whispered. Ryma watched her go, silent. As Reef maw stepped into the prep tunnel, a whisper followed her on the mist:
"Remember, my little reef born…
…all coral cuts deep."
And In the corner beneath a lopsided neon sign made from dissected beast spines, I saw him. Cragg Thistlewire.
Surgeon. Artist. Addict of evolution. His shop pulsed like a wound—open, tempting, unfinished. Vivisection tables, whispering jars, armor's made from all manner of material types. Both synthetic and organic. I knew, somehow, we'd meet again. Reef maw slipped through the arena gate, nodding at a brute who opened it with a coded key. I didn't follow her in. I stood at the edge of the arena, breath short, sweat cold. The smell of bioplasm, ozone, old blood, and chemical fire coiled around me.
Somewhere above this—Phoenix stayed asleep dreaming its false dreams. But down here? The monsters had names, clans, and rules. And I was on the guest list now. Hammer-fists paced like a caged bull, shoulder-wrapping cracked, eyes burning beneath her brow. The prep tunnel behind the arena was dark, lit only by a single swinging light overhead and the red glow of the Maw Pike resting against the wall like a sleeping god.
Agony sat nearby—legs spread, elbows on her knees, skull-mask hanging loosely from a hook. Her body was ritual scars and grafted muscle, each etched oath glowing faintly in the dark. She didn't speak at first. She just watched. Hammer-fists cracked her knuckles. "Say it," she growled. Agony blinked once. Then nodded.
"She's faster than you, she said. She's slicker than you. She's scared of you." Hammer-fists stopped pacing. Agony stood up—taller, broader, forged in war. "You don't chase her. You corner her. You break her footing." She stepped closer. Their foreheads almost touched.
"You crush her hips first. That's where the water hides. Then you break her jaw. That's where the name lives." Hammer-fists bared her teeth.
"I want the crowd loud," she said. "Then give them something to scream about," Agony snapped back. She grabbed Hammer-fists by the back of the neck, pulled her in until their eyes locked. "I forged you to be a winner," she hissed.
"I forged you to be remembered."
She let go.
Hammer-fists shook out her arms. Rolled her shoulders. Fists twitching with pre-fight thunder. "She's water," she said, smirking. Agony nodded, lifting the Maw Pike and resting it across her shoulders like a yoke of violence.
"Then drown her in fists."
The arena roared like a dying god coughing up thunder. Lights blazed. Pipes hissed steam. The crowd—Splicers, modders, Beast clan reps, low-level ring scum—pounded their fists against the bone-rail fencing that circled the pit. And Hammer-fists walked through the mist like she owned it. She didn't bounce. She stomped. Each step cracked the tile beneath her. The floor gave way—not to weight, but to presence. Her arms were wrapped in crimson tape, knuckles already bleeding. Her crystal socket glowed like a furnace barely sealed. Above her, the Scarlet Maw clan howled from the balcony, their chant rising:
"HAM-MER. FISTS. HAM-MER. FISTS." Agony stood behind her, silent. Regal in her savagery. Hammer-fists didn't look at the crowd.
She absorbed them. She let their screams crawl down her spine and sink into the marrow. This wasn't a match. This was a coronation. From the opposite tunnel, Reef maw emerged. Slighter, yes. But elegant. Coiled. Her gills fluttered. Her eyes shimmered with bioluminescence. She didn't stomp. She didn't strut.
She glided.