The gate groaned open and they shoved Matth forward into the lower pit like yesterday's garbage.
Sand kicked up around his bare feet, still damp and gritty from old blood.
The air hit him thick with sweat, fear, and the sour stink of men who knew they were already dead.
Torches burned low along the high stone walls, throwing ugly shadows that danced like they were mocking the whole thing.
Above, the stands were half-full, gamblers shouting odds that sounded like funeral hymns.
Five others were already there.
No chains this time.
Just rags and whatever hate kept them breathing.
One was the skinny knife-fighter from a few days back, eyes darting like a rat in a trap.
Another was a broad dwarf with a beard matted in old vomit, knuckles split open.
A tall human woman with half her face scarred from fire stood near the wall, breathing hard.
And two familiar enough faces: the half-orc grunt who'd glared at him in the pens and a wiry goblin-kin with too many teeth and a limp.
Matth rolled his shoulders, feeling the persistent ache in his back where the stab wound still pulled.
The new bandage from Lirael had held better than expected, but every twist reminded him she wasn't here.
Dragged off for some warm-up show.
The thought sat like a stone in his gut, cold and irritating.
He didn't like loose ends.
Especially ones with green eyes and quick hands.
A bored voice boomed from the announcer's platform, magically stretched thin.
"Warm-up bout! Six meatbags, three walk out breathing or none do. Last three standing get bandages, water, and a night without the whip. Begin when the horn blows."
No fancy names.
No titles.
Just meat.
The crowd chuckled like it was funny.
The horn sounded, low and ugly.
Matth didn't wait.
He moved left, keeping the wall at his back, eyes scanning the others.
The dwarf charged straight at the tall woman, roaring something in a thick accent.
The knife-fighter circled the goblin-kin.
The half-orc hesitated, then lunged toward Matth with a wild haymaker.
Big mistake.
Matth slipped under the swing, the wolf agility still humming light in his legs even through the fatigue.
He drove his elbow up into the half-orc's jaw, feeling bone crack.
The big bastard staggered, spitting teeth.
Matth followed, grabbing the thick wrist and yanking hard, slamming the half-orc's face into the stone wall.
Blood sprayed warm across his arm.
Not enough to end it.
But enough to make the others notice.
The tall woman was already down, the dwarf's boot on her throat.
She clawed at his leg, gasping.
The knife-fighter and goblin-kin were rolling in the sand, snarling and biting like dogs.
Matth spat blood and called out, voice low and rough but carrying.
"Dwarf. Knife guy. The big green fuck is the real problem. Take him first or we all die slow while he picks us off."
The dwarf looked up, boot still pressing.
His eyes were small and mean.
"Why should I trust a throat-biter like you?"
"Because I bite harder than he does," Matth said, flashing a quick, ugly grin that didn't reach his eyes.
"And you look like you enjoy living another day."
The knife-fighter kicked the goblin-kin off him and nodded once, breathing hard.
"Fine. Green first. Then we sort the rest."
Uneasy alliance.
Thin as old rope.
But it worked for the moment.
The three of them turned on the half-orc together.
The dwarf went low, tackling the legs.
The knife-fighter darted in with quick slashes across the arms.
Matth waited for the opening, then leaped onto the half-orc's back, wrapping one arm around the thick neck and the other jamming fingers into the already broken jaw.
The half-orc roared, thrashing, trying to slam Matth against the wall.
Pain flared up Matth's spine from the old wound, but he held on, teeth bared close to the green skin.
The scent of sweat and rage filled his nose, hot and animal.
Close enough.
He sank his teeth into the side of the half-orc's neck, ripping hard.
Hot blood flooded his mouth, thick and metallic, carrying that wild brute taste again.
The half-orc screamed, high and desperate this time.
[Devour initiated – Half-Orc Brute essence.]
The rush hit like fire in his veins.
Strength poured in, raw and jagged, muscles tightening under his skin.
His grip grew surer, the ache in his back dulling for a few sweet seconds.
[+7 Strength]
[Skill fragment acquired: Brutal Endurance (Crude) – Level 1. Passive: Reduce pain from blunt trauma by 15%.]
The blue flickered at the edge of his vision, addictive as always, promising more if he just kept swallowing.
The half-orc weakened, knees buckling.
Matth tore another chunk, swallowing greedily, feeling the power settle heavy and good.
But then the warning came, colder than the sand under his feet.
[Over-saturation risk detected. Essence capacity at 87%. Further immediate devours may cause void backlash. Recommend moderation.]
Moderation.
The word almost made him laugh inside.
Like the system cared about his health instead of keeping him on a leash.
He ignored it for now, riding the high, the new strength making his next punch land like a hammer on the half-orc's temple.
The big body dropped heavy into the sand.
The dwarf grinned wide, showing broken teeth.
"Not bad, throat-biter. Your turn next?"
The knife-fighter wiped blood from his blade, eyes narrow.
"We said three walk out. Let's make it quick."
Matth stood straighter, rolling his neck, feeling the fresh power thrum.
Arrogance crept in, warm and familiar.
These two thought they could ride his coattails and then turn on him.
Cute.
He could already picture how their essences would taste different.
One heavy and stubborn, the other quick and slippery.
The crowd above was laughing louder now, betting on who would stab who first.
The tall woman was still down, wheezing.
The goblin-kin crawled toward the far wall, trying to stay out of it.
Then the dwarf moved.
Not toward the goblin.
Toward Matth.
The betrayal came fast and dirty.
The dwarf swung a hidden shard of bone he'd palmed from somewhere, aiming low for Matth's gut while the knife-fighter circled behind, blade raised for the back.
"Should've stayed quiet, freak," the dwarf growled, voice thick with glee.
"Your power's mine now."
Matth twisted at the last second, the wolf speed saving his guts by a hair.
The bone shard sliced across his side instead, shallow but burning.
Blood welled hot and immediate.
The knife-fighter lunged from behind, steel flashing.
Chaos exploded.
The goblin-kin shrieked and joined in, seeing weakness.
The tall woman pushed up on shaking arms, confused but desperate, swinging wild at whoever was closest.
Matth blocked the knife with his forearm, feeling the edge bite deep into muscle.
Pain flared sharp and real, blood spraying in a fine mist across the sand.
The dwarf laughed, coming in again with the shard raised for another stab.
The crowd roared, laughing like it was the best joke they'd heard all week.
Blood sprayed again as the knife-fighter twisted his blade, trying to wrench it free from Matth's arm.
Matth's vision narrowed to the pain and the sudden, ugly weight of being outnumbered in the middle of his own temporary win.
The new strength helped, but the over-saturation warning pulsed hotter now, like the system was laughing too.
He swung hard at the dwarf's face, fist connecting with a wet crack, but the knife in his arm dragged his movement, making everything slower than it should have been.
The betrayal burned worse than the wounds.
These bastards had waited for the exact moment the half-orc dropped, thinking they could steal his momentum.
Pathetic.
But the fear hit different this time, not the cold calculation he usually wore, but a genuine spike of confusion—why did the system let the link with Lirael tease him yesterday only to drop him into this mess today?
Was it pushing him or breaking him on purpose?
He didn't have time to answer.
The dwarf swung again, bone shard glinting red in the torchlight.
The knife-fighter yanked harder on the embedded blade.
Blood kept spraying, warm and steady, as the crowd's laughter rolled down like thunder.
The horn hadn't blown to end anything.
And the fight was far from over.