AA. 12 (Patreon)

Left. Right. Kick.

Left. Right. Kick.

Elbow. Uppercut. Knee kick.

Because of its illegal nature, the Pits didn’t have a fixed staging ground. They rotated through several. Fighters and the audience members only received a general location of the event on the day. Then, mere minutes before things began, everyone received the precise location and a unique password.

“It helps them pinpoint rats,” Andrew had explained. “How else will they know whose family to abduct and turn into an example.”

Nil’s first night as an illegal pit fighter took him into an abandoned industrial park in Greater West London. Andrew drove. They had spent a couple of hours waiting at a nearby pub until they received the message with the precise location and password. The pair left the car there and walked the mile to their destination, wearing hoods and keeping their heads low.

The pair found themselves at an abandoned warehouse. Only similarly dressed, shady individuals walked the complex. Most looked like staff or other fighters. A skinny man in a black suit and skeletal facepaint greeted them at the door. A similarly dressed colleague guided them to a long, abandoned, and stripped bathroom. Bare, rusted pipes stuck out of the walls, and the room had a musty smell.

“Are there no proper locker rooms?” Andrew had asked the man.

“Winners get changing rooms. Your buddy gets this. Block the door with—” He looked past Nil at the bare room. It had nothing but a bench and a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. “—something. We’ll send someone for you when it’s your turn.”

“Thank you,” Nil said. The man threw a little bag at him and left without saying anything.

“Don’t take it personally,” Andrew said. “I’ve worked on and off for these guys for a couple of years, and they’re almost always like this. The staff are forever changing.”

“It’s alright.”

Nil changed out of his hoody and jeans into a loose basketball jersey and boxing shorts and started warm-up drills immediately. The six-foot-tall punching bag gave him an excellent tool for warming up.

“Why always three-hit combos?” Andrew asked after watching him for several minutes silently. He had opened the bag the organizers left Nil. It included a pale blue mask, a matching vest, and dark-blue shorts.

“Habit. I suppose.” Nil shrugged.

“Why even bother with hits? You could just push and jump around with Expend.”

“True. But I won’t always get to Expend. I’ll spend most of my time channeling Absorb until a good enough opportunity shows up.”

“Are you channeling Absorb right now?”

“Always,” Nil replied. “I’m trying to keep it up constantly. During the quest, I was defending on instinct. Unless a foe can hit me hard enough to fill my energy banks with one hit, why even bother blocking or using guard stances? I should keep striking while I Absorb. When the relentless assault tires them out, then I can switch to Expend and fuck them up.”

“It works, I suppose.” Andrew sighed. “I still can’t believe you’re not going to use your most potent tool.”

“It's too powerful, and I don’t want to kill anyone during the fight. Don’t you think I’d be better off hiding it as a trump card if I’m ever in trouble or until I get into Apocalypse Arena? Their magic will minimize the risks of me accidentally killing someone, and I’ll have protections if I do.”

“You’re entering the pits, Sunny-boi,” Andrew said. He grabbed Nil’s shoulder while he was mid-punch. Absorb ensured the act didn’t slow or deter him. Nil was getting into the habit of releasing morsels of energy with every third strike, always keeping Brutal Battery below capacity. The act gave him a headache, but he could slowly feel his control over the ability improving.

Brutal Battery: Mortal 3

• Absorb: Mortal 4
• Expend: Mortal 3

“You’ll likely face kill-or-be-killed situations,” Andrew continued. “Sure. Some of the fighters are desperate, decent people like you. But far more are thugs, gangsters, and far worse, out to make a quick buck or feed their demons. Promise me that if things get too dangerous, you’ll stop holding back and do what is necessary.”

Nil stared at his childhood friend for a moment. Andrew liked to play the relaxed stoner, but he could see the determination, fear, and care in his expression. “I promise. Don’t forget, Andy, I’m doing this for my family. There will be no money for them if I die. Staying alive and in fighting shape is among my top priorities.”

“Good. Now stop using three-hit combos.” Andrew took a step back and studied Nil’s form. “I might not know how to fight, but people who do might try to capitalize on the habit. Mix things up a bit.”

“What? Throwing in elbows and knees isn’t mixing it up enough?”

“You’ve only fought civilians before. Now, you’ll face Summoned, who’ve probably had more time to practice with their powers than you. You need to be unpredictable.” Andrew pulled up his custom aethertech screen and played clips from several fights simultaneously. “Most people in the pits have flashy powers or use tools and weapons to complement their abilities. Meanwhile, Brutal Battery doesn’t have any visible cues. Use that to your advantage. People won’t know whether you’ll attack or defend.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about you stealing and holding on to recordings of the pits!” Andrew hissed, pushing the screen down. “They could be watching us.”

“Relax. I already glitched out their bugs.” Andrew grinned. “I might not be an Artisan, but I know my way around Aethertech. Besides, the idiots are using the shit I sold them. Don’t you think I’d leave the backdoor open for myself?”

“You’re doing shit like that, and you’re scared for me?” Nil rolled his eyes. “They’re going to chop you up and feed you to piranhas for doing shit like that?”

“Piranhas?” Andrew burst out laughing. “This is neither a cartoon nor a James Bond film, Sunny-Boi. They won’t go through that much trouble for me. I’m more likely to end up with a bullet in the back of the head. Worst case scenario, they immolate or zap me.”

“How are you so nonchalant about this?” Nil asked.

“You get used to the world you live in,” Andrew answered. He held the mask up to the light. “Put these on. Let's see what you look like.”

The vest tightened around Nil’s torso. It was uncomfortable at first, but then, a moment later, he felt nothing at all. The garment had molded to his skin, outlining every muscle and groove. Fortunately, the shorts didn’t do the same. They remained baggy, and almost came down to his knees. The pants looked a lot like cargo shorts and were surprisingly comfortable. Nil took a moment to admire himself. He looked a lot like a character from an old fighting video game.

Then Andrew put the mask on him. Much like the vest, it molded to his face, covering everything above his nostrils. Padding masked his nose shape and cheekbones. Holes left his eyes exposed. It set over the sides and top of his head like a skull cap and stopped halfway down the ears.

“This is decent material,” Nil commented, running his finger over the organizer’s gifts. Fantastic craftsmanship, too. It feels aethertech, if not Artisan, made.”

“That’s because it is. The Pits make money by putting on a good show and relying on fighters who voluntarily return. They want independent agents protected from bookkeepers and gamblers. It also doesn’t look too good if someone tries to blackmail an employee or fighter. The people here might be on the wrong side of the law, but they run everything professionally.”

Drills in the new outfit proved swifter. The tight top meant Nil’s opponent couldn’t use it for a grab. After some thought, he purposely depleted his stores by a quarter of capacity, leaving room to Absorb his opponent's opening attack.

Nil was in the middle of hydrating when a knock at the door and a hoarse voice told him it was time. His heart rate immediately picked up, and he felt a tightness along his temples. Deep breathing did little to alleviate the anxiety. It wasn’t like rushing in to save someone in trouble. Adrenaline took care of most issues in such situations. It wasn’t like fighting a fellow civilian during a sparring match, either. His opponent was to be a Summoned with unknown capabilities.

Apocalypse Arena generally grouped individuals with similar combat roles together in solo fights. Melee fighters fought other melee fighters. Ranged attackers usually only faced other ranged attackers. Summoners and mages received the same treatment. The Pits had no such guarantees.

The same suited man that had brought them to the staging room retrieved them. He guided the pair through corridors and areas with significantly more people than before. The venue appeared crowded now and Nil was glad had had a mask protecting his identity. Andrew had thrown on a pair of sunglasses and also tied a scarf around his mouth.

“You stop here,” the man said, blocking Andrew as they approached the main warehouse floor. He nodded at a flight of stairs heading to the flower above. “Signs will guide you to the viewing area.”

“Remember what I told you, alright?” Andrew told Nil. “It doesn’t matter whether you win or lose. Just come out of this alive.”

“I’ll see you on the other side.”

The ‘fighting pit’ looked like nothing more than a standard warehouse floor at first. The Nil crossed a green line on the ground, and it was like he had stepped into another world. Ruins surrounded him, and a clear night sky full of stars twinkled above. Bioluminescent moss and other flora illuminated the world around him. The plants, their colors, and their lights gave an alien feeling to the world around him. Nil’s surroundings looked like rare images of the cities ravaged by the cataclysm. Otherworldly plant life and creatures that emerged through the dimensional rifts had taken over. The clips Andrew had shown him included caves, quarries, and old railyards. None had involved such an environment.

“Presenting, in his debut fight, Little Fist!” A woman’s voice spoke directly into his ear. She sounded like a cheery Apocalypse Arena announcer. “When Nil’s vest flashed, he knew she was talking about him. He hadn’t picked the name and guessed Andrew was behind it. “The pint-sized brute might not look like much, but our testers assure us that he’s more than capable. We all enjoy the bastards who keep punching and refuse to go down, don’t we?”

“Facing him, ladies, gentlemen, and whatever the rest of you want to call yourselves, we have an old favorite back for another bout.” Another light flashed in the distance. Nil couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a rotund man who stood several inches taller than him. “Burning Sands has resurfaced after six months of not even a hello! What’s wrong, buddy? Blew through all of your savings.”

Nil imagined the crowd cheering and laughing at her commentary. Then again. He had yet to learn what kind of audience visited or invested in the Pits to allow for such grand and high-budget setups.

“None of that matters right now,” he whispered, reminding himself of the current threat. He knew nothing about his enemy besides the name he used in the pits: Burning Sands. If the person had elemental or heat-based powers, Nil was in trouble.