Three weeks ago, Osaka, Japan.
Silas made his way through a dark alleyway until he finally found himself standing in front of an opened warehouse.
Without hesitation, Silas walked into the warehouse and made his way to a section of it, where a tal door was located.
Getting there, Silas pressed a button beside it and a sharp sound of tal scrapping against tal was heard, as the rectangular peephole was slid open.
"Password?" A gruffly voice from the other side of the door asked.
"Deliveryman." Silas replied. Continue reading stories on мѵʟ
The next mont, the door opened up and Silas made his way inside.
Walking through the door, Silas descended the narrow staircase, the air growing heavier with each step.
The dim, flickering light bulbs lining the walls did little to dispel the oppressive darkness, and the faint thrum of bass-heavy music vibrated through the concrete beneath his feet.
The sll of sweat, smoke, alcohol and faint traces of blood hit him like a wave as he neared the bottom of the stairs.
When he reached the final step, Silas paused briefly, taking in the stark contrast between the dilapidated warehouse above and the world below.
Who would had believed that under the unassuming warehouse would be an underground arena for Phenonals.
This arena was arena was unlike the one ran by Elizabeth and her friends. A better way to put this would be to called it a coliseum where gladiators fight for their freedom.
Yes, the fighters in this underground arena are slaves. Not all of them actually but a vast majority of them.
The underground arena was vast and ticulously designed, a stark contrast to the unassuming, almost decrepit appearance of the warehouse above.
Bright neon lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the concrete floors.
Rows of tiered seating surrounded the circular arena at the center, each filled with a mix of rowdy spectators, gamblers clutching their betting slips, and shadowy figures who seed more interested in observing than participating.
The arena itself was a reinforced pit, its edges lined with tal railings and high walls to contain the chaos within.
The floor of the ring was stained with the marks of countless battles, ranging from scorch marks from presumably energy attacks, deep grooves from claws or blades, and faint traces of dried blood that no amount of cleaning would be able to completely erase.
Above the din of the crowd, an announcer's voice bood through the speakers, hyping up the next fight.
Onlookers shouted and jeered, waving their hands in the air as they placed bets on the upcoming contenders.
The energy in the room was electric, almost suffocating in its intensity.
To one side, a bar area served drinks to patrons, staffed by bartenders who moved with precision and efficiency despite the chaotic environnt.
Nearby, large tv screens displayed past fights in grainy, looping footage, offering a glimpse of the brutality that defined this underground world.
Silas moved through the throng of people, his hood still pulled low over his face. He was careful to avoid drawing attention.
He noted the variety of people in attendance: wealthy elites dressed in fine suits and dresses, their expressions detached as they enjoyed the spectacle; grizzled gamblers clutching their slips with a desperation born of addiction; and other Phenonals, their unique auras unmistakable even in the crowded room.
Silas made his way toward a hallway off to the side, where the fighters prepared for their matches.
The hallway was dimly lit and lined with private rooms, each containing a single combatant or small group huddled together in discussion.
The fighters were a broad mix. So looked like professional athletes, their physiques chiseled and honed for combat.
Others bore the telltale signs of their abilities. So slightly glowing eyes, faintly shimring skin, or subtle but unnatural features that hinted at their power.
Silas's eyes lingered on one room in particular, where a man sat alone on a bench, his head bowed as he wrapped his fists in thick gauze.
Sparks of electricity danced along his knuckles, the faint hum of power filling the air around him. Silas recognized him imdiately.
'Aiden. The Stormbringer.'
Silas paused, his gaze fixed on the man who had earned a reputation as one of the most dangerous Phenonals in the underground circuit.
Aiden didn't look up as he didn't notice Silas' presence due to the fact that Silas made sure to mask it perfectly.
The person in front of him is one of the reasons why he ca to this arena and also the reason why he's in Japan.
Silas thought of what next to do but before he could make a decision, the announcer's voice echoed through the arena, louder and more commanding than before.
"Ladies and gentlen, the mont you've been waiting for! Tonight, we bring you the reigning champion, the undefeated force of nature... Aiden, the Stormbringer!"
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, the sound nearly deafening.
Aiden let out a sigh as he mumbled to sothing to himself, before standing up.
He stepped out of the room and walked toward the arena. His presence was commanding even amidst the chaotic and extrely noisy atmosphere of the arena.
Silas stayed back, watching as Aiden made his way into the pit. The lights dimd, and the atmosphere in the arena changed, as it was now filled with anticipation of what's to co.
The announcer imdiately began hyping up Aiden's opponent, a lanky man dressed in casuals and had a cruel look on his face.
Silas' mind started racing as he listened to the announcer's words. He understood that the arena wasn't just a spectacle.
It was a proving ground, a stage where the strong asserted their dominance and the weak were crushed.
As he thought of everything, Aiden's opponent got into the ring and it was sealed shut.
After that was done, the announcer now standing in front of the closed ring, made a few more statent before stepping down.
The next mont, a bell sound was heard and the match started.
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