Adrian simply stared at the Grak for a long mont, his face an unreadable mask. He ignored the Grak’s words, his boot still firmly on his throat. He was still dissatisfied.
Finally, he lifted his foot and, without a word, turned and walked in the opposite direction.
Karl was already up on his feet, his arm hanging at an odd angle as Serena finished enveloping it in a brilliant, warm, healing light. He winced, but his usual, irrepressible grin was already returning as Adrian approached.
"Are you hurt?" Adrian asked flatly.
"Pfft, hurt? That was probably the strongest attack I’ve ever received, not gonna lie," Karl admitted, rolling his newly healed shoulder with a wince. "But thanks to Rena, I’m all good now. That lizard hits like a freight train."
He stopped Adrian before he could walk past. "Wait, this isn’t over yet, is it? What did they want? Why are they attacking us?"
Adrian was about to explain when Grok, having staggered to his feet, roared and rushed towards them, interrupting him. The massive, reptilian alien was clearly still injured, but his pride was a more potent force.
"Don’t be a coward, human!" he bellowed, his voice a pained growl. "You have to accept the duel! You cannot hoard the food of life for yourself! The Clash is the only law in the Slums!"
Adrian was irritated by how demanding the Grak was, but at the end of the day, it was never his intention to withhold the food.
’Still,’ he thought, ’I can’t just give it to them. They’re desperate, and it would be foolish not to take advantage of that.’
Looking at the proud, furious Grak, Adrian was sure of one thing: this was a race that valued strength and honor above all else.
Unlike the Normat, who would feel indebted to him for his help, the Grak wouldn’t. They would feel like they had earned the privilege. That gave Adrian an idea.
He turned to face the Grak, his expression cool and calculating. "Alright, Grok. I accept your duel." He held up a single, placating hand. "But on my terms."
Grok sneered, but he waited.
"If you win," Adrian said, "I will sell my food to the Grak, sa as I do the Normat." He paused, letting the Grak’s four eyes light up with triumph, before he delivered the counter-offer.
"But if I win... you, and the entire Grak civilization in this sector, owe a favor. One, single, binding favor, to be called upon at a ti of my choosing. No questions asked."
Contrary to Adrian’s expectations, the Grak didn’t question or try to haggle. A challenge with clear, high stakes was a language he understood perfectly.
A savage, joyful grin spread across his face. He slamd one of his massive, four-fingered hands against Adrian’s outstretched one with enough force to shatter bone.
"YES!" he roared. "A ’King’s Favor!’ Done! Now I will teach you why they call the Crusher!"
"So we have a deal," Adrian stated, reiterating the request as he withdrew his unfazed hand. "If I win, one favor."
"I know, I know!" the Grak responded impatiently. "We Grak do not go back on our word. Enough talking. Let’s fight!"
Grok tapped a thick, tallic bracelet on his wrist, and a holographic interface appeared. He jabbed at it, then grabbed Adrian’s arm, clearly expecting them to be teleported out.
Nothing happened.
Curious, Grok looked at Adrian. The human was already occupied with his own PAD, which was displaying a new, crimson notification.
"What’s the problem?" Grok asked, his voice filled with a worried, impatient growl.
Adrian knew what it ant. He had learned about it before. Access to the truly interesting parts of the Nexus was gated behind the Tiers.
The thought of spending 100,000 credits just for himself was not pleasing. It wasn’t until he was about to deny Grok’s request that another prompt appeared on his PAD.
Adrian was tempted by the second offer. A million credits. He pulled up his account status.
The sales from the Genesis Garden had given them just enough. It was still a massive gamble. Spending that much would leave him broke again, and there could still be another issue to arise. He could convince himself that he’d earn it back, but he knew better than to be reckless. He looked at Grok.
"Can you earn money from the Galactic Clash?"
The Grak responded imdiately, as if Adrian had just asked if water was wet. "Of course you can! What do you think keeps everyone employed? The Clash is the economy! There are prizes for winning tournants, high-stakes betting, sponsorships, even just getting a job as a sparring partner or an arena guard!"
Adrian didn’t need to hear more. This wasn’t just a fight; it was an investnt. It was their path into the sector’s main economy. Without hesitation, he pressed the second option.
It wasn’t only Adrian who got the notifications. All across the Sparkborn sector, on every PAD, a similar ssage appeared, leading to a wave of confused and excited murmurs from those who understood the implications.
Adrian was about to have a look at what this new "Leader" role ant for him, but it was too late.
"FINALLY!" Grok roared, seeing the compliance light on his own bracelet turn green. He grabbed Adrian’s arm again, and in the next second, the world around them dissolved in a flash of white light, replaced by an entirely new reality.
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