Inexorable Chaos

Chapter fifty Six: Fightclub

The time is a little afternoon, but few would be able to tell considering the fighting arena is located underground. The arena itself is nowhere near the size of, say, the coliseums in the city of Olympia, but that is an unfair comparison considering the former was designed for a couple of fighters, while the latter, with its massive size and powerful enchantments, was created for thousands of fighters.

Still, the size of the current arena is decent enough that many of those present that had come to watch the fights are able to sit comfortably. Alcohol and food are served by scantily clad [Servers], while [Dealers] go around the audience taking bets.

Some of the more upper classes, wealthy [Merchants] and [Traders], find themselves seated at an elevated location surrounded by glass which is lit by mage light instead of torches. And of those wealthy individuals, one old man by the name of Zeek chuckles with a smile towards a very wealthy [Storekeeper]. The storekeeper’s hands glide across the smooth high-quality Frost Bear Cloak.

“You are rather confident that this Artyom will be able to defeat Machenoss, let alone even get to the finals. I fear your fighter won’t get very far, and I will end up keeping this very fine cloak.”

Zeek shrugs. The amount of money that was given to him by Artyom would have been enough to earn him far more than two barrels. Unfortunately, Zeek isn’t used to betting with only pocket change.

“WELCOME, all of you. I am Gerass, the [Ringleader] of this rather pleasant establishment.”

Gerass, a tall man in a rather flamboyant suit, yells with confidence and authority. He is standing on a platform above the arena, smiling towards the rather large audience.

The audience screams and laughs, many of them already as drunk as they are excited.

“Now then, today, we will have twenty fighters, some new and some old. But all will be the best around. And of course, our champion Machenoss will be present for the final fight to defend his position.”

At the sound of the champion’s name, the crowd starts yelling loudly in excitement.

Gerass steps forward, his hand resting on the railing as he leans over, “Now then, I saw some new faces come in, so let me first explain the rules before we begin. Fights are fought with no weapons and no skills, except for passive ones. All classes are allowed. All bets are made before a match begins and coin earned will be distributed immediately by the [Dealers] present.”

Gerass finishes his explanation and takes a moment to study the crowd. Most scream in delight, laughing and enjoying themselves. Others, which are more conserved, look on at the arena, thinking on what bets to place. Then his eyes turn forward, towards those far richer than the riff raff at the bottom. They sit and drink wine while eating fine food made by his chef. They laugh amongst each other, and Gerass can only smile as his eyes focus on a rather old man who is smiling back at him.

“Now then, let us first introduce the combatants,” Gerass begins, leaning back and pointing at one side of the arena, “Our first contestant is a man known as Arrange, a former level 71 [Soldier].”

A large man passes through the door. His features, primarily his large size and huge muscles designate him as someone native to the north. Clearly, the man has a [Minor Strength] bloodline considering his large muscles.

Looking around, Gerass immediately notices those that are looking at Arrange and taking note of the man’s large muscles. But those people don’t interest him, instead, his focus is on those with sharp eyes. Eyes that are mentally attempting to ascertain the man’s stats and strengths.

These people are [Gamblers], and they are the ones that Gerass despises the most. They are the least profitable because of how they think. Chance and numbers. Right now, they are probably ascertaining Arrange’s stats, or at least attempting to do so. Gerass frowns and looks down towards Arrange as well.

A [Soldier] is fit, so their physical stats are naturally far above average. Either 19 or 20. A level of 71 in the [Soldier] class would give about 7-10 points distributed among physical stats depending on the [Soldier’s] focus. But the biggest impact will be the [Minor Strength] bloodline, which gives a point of strength every three levels in any class. Which means that Arrande’s strength can be anywhere between 42 and 53, a rather significant amount for anyone without a bloodline to surpass.

Turning away from the fighter with his hands up and yelling to the cheering crowd, Gerass smiles as he raises his hand to the other side of the arena, “And on the other side, we have a new contender by the name of Artyom, a level 41 [Fist Warrior].”

It is here that the crowd becomes rather confused as they watch Artyom stroll on to the arena grounds. He is bare-chested like Arrange, but not as big, nor is he wearing cloth wraps around his fists. They are bare.

The crowd is also confused because of the level difference between the two fighters, but more so over the fact that Artyom doesn’t have massive bulging muscles as would be dictated by someone who would have the bloodline. But then again, a [Fist Warrior] would be a much better-unarmed fighter.

It is here that the crowd is divided, though most will automatically choose Arrange as the winner, precisely because of his bloodline.

Gerass smiles wide as he notices that practically all of the [Gamblers] bet on Arrange for the win.

With a quick flick of his finger, one of his [Dealers] notices the movement and checks his board of bets and frowns. He shakes his head.

Gerass had signaled his dealer to bet on Artyom until it equaled the bet for Arrange, but it seems that someone had inflated the bet already quite significantly.

Gerass eyes swerve to the upper stands, matching smiles with the old man from earlier. It seems he won’t be making as large a profit as he was expecting.

“Now then, please place your bets so that the match may begin.”

The [Ringleader] gazes at the crowd, taking quick peeks at the two below him. Unlike Arrange who is moving around and screaming towards the crowd, Artyom is stretching, his eyes fully focussed on Arrange the entire time.

___________________________________________

“The bets are in. Are the fighters ready?” the [Ringleader] asks while holding a hammer next to a gong.

The [Ringleader] looks down, getting a loud yes from Arrange and a nod from Artyom.

“Then begin!”

The [Ringleader’s] hand swerves and the hammer strikes the metal gong loudly.

The fight begins with both contenders circling each other with their fists up. Though Arrange is confident, he is still a seasoned veteran. He knows that overconfidence can lead to a lucky strike that could easily knock him out.

Artyom, on the other hand, is constantly focusing on Arrange’s feet. In a fight, the positioning of someone’s feet is vital to know how the person will react, and what moves they are preparing to make.

Which is why, when Arrange lunged forward, Artyom was able to lean to the right and dodge the fist. But Artyom already knew that the fist was a Feint. Thus, when Arrange kicks off from his left leg and raises his right knee, it is met with Artyom’s fist.

A fist with the [Steel Fists] passive ability already applied.

*Craaaaaaaaccccckkkkkkkk*

Arrange’s leg cracks as it meets Artyom’s fist. The flesh rips apart while Arrange’s knee bones bend under Artyom’s much stronger fist.

But, before Arrange can scream and realize what happened, Artyom’s other fist strikes the [Soldiers] face, not only knocking him out, but also sending the body reeling.

The crowd has gone silent. They expected a good old beating that would last several minutes between the two fighters.

They were not expecting it to finish in only three moves, and especially not with Arrange defeated.

But, blood is blood, so the silence only lasts a moment before screaming and cheering are heard from the audience. It may not have been a long fight, but it was exciting.

“Well then, that was a rather short fight. It seems that Artyom here has the [Steel Fists] passive. A pretty good passive skill for these fights, wouldn’t you say?”

The crowd yells loudly towards Gerass who can only mentally frown at the fact that such an injury to Arrange is going to cost a decent bit of a regeneration potion. Gerass turns away from the crowd and looks down towards Artyom as he walks through the doors to await his next match.

“It seems I underestimated you. Looks like I will need to make your next fighter a better challenge.”

_____________________________________

Artyom walks through the door, passing down the torch lit hallway and entering a large chamber where many fighters are seated. They turn to look at him, but most turn away. The few that keep their eyes on Artyom are the ones that Artyom must be most wary of. They are the ones that noticed his uninjured body and bloody though uninjured fists.

“Artyom, good job on your first match,” exclaims a man by the name of Gerek.

Gerek is a [Fightcaller], a class that is very good at ascertaining a person’s capability in combat.

Artyom grunts towards Gerek before taking a seat on the bench.

“Did you go easy on Arrange as I asked you to?”

“No.”

Artyom answers Gerek with a one-word answer. He is here to fight and win, not to make friends.

“Awww, well, I hope it isn’t costly to fix Arrange. The Boss doesn’t like to waste too much coin on healing the wounded.”

Artyom ignores the rather friendly [Fightcaller] and instead looks at his competition. They are, like his previous opponent, big and brawny. Of course, his abnormally high strength is not something they would expect or would be able to deal with.

The only person that Artyom believes he might have trouble with is the largest of the men here, the one named Machenoss. He is big, muscular, but most of all, confident. He has the look of someone who has had much experience.

Which means that Artyom won’t be able to rely on his strength alone. Heck, considering the guy that just walked through the hallway without a scratch, it seems he won’t find it that easy.

____________________________________

“I must say… Zeek was it? Your fighter is very talented, even compared to some of the veterans here.” the [Shopkeeper] voices from his stand, gazing at Artyom as he defeats another fighter far less quickly than his former opponents. Apparently, word has gone around that Artyom’s strength may very well be in the triple digits.

Whether that is because of a rare bloodline or a skill, people do not know. [Analyze] has been failing on the man, which means he is protected by some enchantment.

“Artyom will win, so do not worry,” Zeeks says confidently.

The [Shopkeeper] snorts at the confident tone coming from the old man. Clearly, the old man hasn’t seen Machenoss in the cage.

“I will enjoy watching Machenoss destroy that confidence.”

Before Zeek can answer back, Gerass addresses the crowd, silencing them with what is most likely some form of skill.

“As of right now, we only have four fighters left, which normally means two matches before our finale. I am sure all of you are interested to see who comes out on top and will be allowed to challenge Machenoss!”

The crowd starts to yell and scream. The name of the five year champion is associated with pride and enjoyment.

Gerass raises his hand and the crowd seemingly becomes quieter.

“But, why should we need to wait two more matches, right? Instead, let us have all four of our remaining fighters duke it out in a free for all in the ring!”

Screams are immediately heard as the remaining four fighters enter the cage, standing tall and strong as they gaze at each other, planning their first moves.

“Now then, make your bets, because this next bout will only have one winner!”

The [Dealers] begin moving around with clipboards, tallying bets and amounts, doing impressive mental math that their class allows.

One such [Dealers] walks near Zeek.

“Sir?”

“Same thing. Everything on Artyom,” Zeek says, waving his arm as though he shouldn’t need to repeat himself.

The [Shopkeeper] looks at the old man. Just for a moment, before turning to the [Dealer].

“Place ten gold on Artyom for me.”

The [Dealer] nods before writing on his board.

Zeek looks at the [Shopkeeper] with a hint of annoyance, but says nothing.

__________________

It doesn’t take long, possibly five minutes of betting, before the gong is rung and the fight begins among the four.

Artyom, a level 41 [Fist Warrior] raises his fists and hugs the wall so as not to be surrounded.

Evan, a level 67 [Bruiser] rushes towards Kane, a level 79 [Guardsman]. But Kane blocks the initial punch with his [Thick Skin] enhanced arm. The strike impacts loudly, but Kane stands firm as he attempts a counterattack.

On the other spectrum, Verga, a level 83 [Brawler], also hugs the wall, allowing the two current fighters to duke it out first.

Artyom and Verga are waiting for an opening while Kane is attempting to use his much higher dexterity to overwhelm the [Guardsman] who had been winning his fight due to sheer tenacity.

Regardless, Kane is being pushed back as Evan dodges countering strikes and releases more of his own.

Which is when the [Brawler] moves along the wall, right behind where Kane is walking backwards.

Kane is forced a couple steps more back… and the [Brawler] raises his fist, ready to strike the back.

And then, before the fist can be released, Kanes body rickochets backwards with incredible speed. Slamming into the [Brawler], and then slamming into and denting the wall.

*Crack*

The sound rebounds through the ring as the audience looks on in silence at what had happened.

Artyom had kicked off the opposite side of the arena with such force that he left a footprint on the wall. He had practically flown across the arena and shoulder tackled Evan into Kane and then Kane into Verga.

Artyom quickly comes back to his feet before the others do. He then strikes out three times, fist slamming into heads, knocking the three prone fighters out.

It was fast, brutal, and the crowd has never before seen a fourway fight end so quickly.

Cheering erupts while Artyom looks to the door, watching [Guards] come in and carry the unconscious three off the arena.

“Well then, that was one of the most unexpected fights seen to date, would you all agree?”

The crowd screams louder towards Gerass’s words. Indeed, the fight was unexpected, but even more so how easily Artyom had won. He had taken one opportunity and it had won him the match.

Gerass allows the cheering to continue on for several minutes until the unconscious fighters are removed from the arena.

“The next match will begin in thirty minutes, and as you can expect, the deals will change as well,” Gerass begins, but Artyom ignores the [Ringleader] and walks down into the now spacious waiting area.

Before, there had been many fighters, all glaring at one another. They were all big and powerful looking men, but now there were only two left.

Artyom… and Machenoss.

“Well well well, it seems I might have an actual opponent for my match,” Machenoss says mockingly.

But Artyom ignores the man and sits down at his usual seat.

“Silent ey? I wonder how long you will stay that way as my punches start breaking bones.”

“Machenoss, please keep your threats for the arena. This is a waiting area where fighters can rest before their next fight.”

Machenoss frowns at the [Fightcaller], but complies nonetheless.

The [Fightcaller] turns to Artyom, assessing the man. “I was expecting more bruises, but it seems your latest match went rather well. Do you need anything or will you be fine?”

“Fine”

The [Fightcaller], unperturbed regarding Artyom’s short answers, nods and sits on a bench.

______________________________________

“This next match will begin soon, but is different in the sense that we can’t have you all betting on Machenoss, otherwise nobody gains anything,” Gerass exclaims with a smile, causing many of the audience to chuckle.

“Which is why you will have four options on the matches outcome. The first option and usually rarest, is that Machenoss loses. The second option is that Machenoss wins in under five minutes. The second option is that Machenoss wins between five and ten minutes. The last option is that Machenoss wins after ten minutes. So please, choose wisely and quickly. Time is ticking.

The [Dealers] once again begin tallying totals, accepting bigs quickly and accurately. One such [Dealer] is forced to ask the question again.

“Are you sure that you want everything on Aryom to win?”

“Did you not hear me the first time? Yes, send all my winnings on Artyom winning.”

The [Dealer] gulps as he tallies a small fortune into Artyom winning. It has been awhile since such a large amount of money had been placed into the pot.

“Your confidence is astounding. Machenoss has not lost in five years, do you really expect him to lose?”

Zeek raises an eyebrow while his hand brushes down his long beard, ”Your disbelief is good. It seems like I will be gaining quite the fortune when Artyom wins.”

The [Shopkeeper] sighs and shakes his head. He then turns to the [Dealer].

“Twenty gold on Machenoss winning between five and ten minutes.”

The dealer tallies while Zeek shows his teeth.

“Oh? Not expecting him to fall in under five minutes?”

The [Shopkeeper] squints, “Your fighter is not weak. On the contrary, he is very capable. Capable enough to last against Machenoss for awhile, but he cannot win. You do not know Machenoss.”

Zeek rolls his eyes and instead looks down, waiting for the final minutes before the match begins.

_____________________________________

“The final match of the day, a match to end all matches. Who is ready?!”

The crowd yells and screams louder than they ever had. Drinks are spilled, food falls on the floor, and Gerass can only watch in pleasure at the massive amount of money today had brought. His business takes ten percent of all winnings, which means that a significant amount of money was gained thanks to Artyom’s constant unexpected victories. Unfortunately, that will now end.

Gerass raises his arms and the crowd silences to a whisper as he points towards one side.

“First, let us introduce our challenger, a man of low level but impeccable strength and skill. A man who had won most of his matches rather easily. Let us all give a loud applause to Artyom!”

Artyom strolls in and the crowd starts to cheer and boo. A rather unexpected reaction considering there is almost always a lack of cheering for the challenger. But it seems the silent Artyom is rather liked even though only about three people voted on him winning, one of those three actually putting an enormous amount of coin in.

Gerass once again raises his hand and the crowd dies down. He smiles, waits for a moment and points to the other side of the arena.

“Now, for our champion Machen-”

Gerass is unable to finish his sentence as the legend of the arena strolls in, his mere presence sending the entire audience into a cheering cascade.

“MACHENOSS, MACHENOSS, MACHENOSS.”

The cheering begins as Machenoss’s name is chanted over and over.

Machenoss raises his massive muscle filled arms, his short oily hair swaying as he moves. A big smile is plastered on his face. The only other notable aspect about the man is his neck and the healed burn marks around it.

“MACHENOSS, MACHENOSS, MACHENOSS.”

With the crowd already so riled up, Gerass’s [Crowd Silencing] skill is not strong enough. Thus, he is forced to brute force his voice.

“[Loud Voice],”

“Machenoss, the winner for the past five years, is easily one of the strongest [Gladiators] in the north. He is already level 94 and has the rather rare [Strength] bloodline. His strength is easily over a hundred and I doubt anyone in our town can even match it. But it seems that even with such an unmatched physique, we seem to always find a challenger that wants to earn the title of champion!”

Gerass’s words spring loudly from his mouth, enhancing his voice and allowing his words to be heard by all, riling up the crowd even further. Gerass takes a peek down, finding Artyom already in a combat posture and Machenoss enjoying the screams of the crowd.

He grabs the hammer, lifts it to the side, and smiles, “Let us see the winner!”

*DING*

_____________________________

With the sound of the fight starting, Machenoss swerves and raises his arm, blocking Artyom’s punch.

A punch made with Machenoss’s back to Artyom. Artyom jumps back in surprise at being blocked so perfectly and accurately without any line of sight. On top of that, his fists did little to the arm if anything at all. It was the equivalent of hitting a piece of metal.

“Jumpy, aren’t you,” Machenoss starts with a confident smile.

His hand moves to the arm that was struck, touching it, ”I actually felt that. It looks like your [Steel Fists] can actually hurt my [Steel Skin].”

The words cause Artyom to changes his posture from offensive to defensive. The option of kicking Machenoss was removed if what he says is true. [Steel Skin] is probably a very rare and lucky skill to have.

“Oh, scared now? I guess I better capitalize, shouldn’t I?”

Machenoss moves forward with incredible speed, far faster than Artyom’s. But Artyom was able to sidestep and strike from Machenoss’s blindside.

But, to his surprise, Machenoss’s foot flicks up, striking the bottom of the fist and diverting it. Without waiting a beat, Machenoss’s other fist flashes out towards Artyom.

Caught by surprise and unable to dodge. Artyom jumps up and backward, allowing the fist to strike him head-on but lowering the impact as the impact throws Artyom back.

Artyom flies a couple of meters but lands with a roll and quickly stands up, his face bleeding, nose crooked and one of his eyes locked shut. The strike had impaired his vision from one eye.

“Oh, that was pretty good. Most of the time when I strike someone’s face, they usually can’t stand up. Seems that little hop of yours kept you in the fight.”

Artyom spits blood onto the floor as he raises his hand and wipes the blood off his chin.

“Look at you, fighting with one eye. It must suck not being able to see. I bet my [Arena Perception] skill would be rather useful to you right now.”

Artyom frowns as he realizes what has been happening. [Arena Perception] probably allows Machenoss to see everything in the arena. It eliminates any blindsides.

Which means he only has one chance…

“Not going to move or talk? Well then, we can’t have that, can we?”

Machenoss bends his legs, a smile on his face as he sprints forward.

Artyom swallows hard, jumps back till he is a meter away from the wall, leans down and makes a fist. He extends his hand to meet Machenoss fist headon.

Normally, a contest of strength would have Artyom winning, but that involves equal mass. Machenoss is much heavier than Artyom.

Thus, Artyom’s fist opens at the last second, grabbing the fist and pulling over Artyom and behind.

Machenoss, surprised, slams upside down into the wall of the arena, cracking the stone.

Without missing a beat, Artyom moves forward and, like his last match, strikes towards the head.

*Slam**Slam**Slam*

Punch after punch lands on Machenoss’s face. Deeper cracks form on the wall, the punches are the only sound heard as the audience is completely silent.

Finally, as Artyom is about to strike for the seventh time, Machenoss’s foot flicks downward, striking a surprised Artyom’s back.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH,” Machenoss moves away from the wall, releasing himself. Face bleeding all over, the [Gladiator] curses loudly at what had happened. He had been thrown into a wall and beaten like a statue.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN FUCK WITH ME,” the words are loud and the audience can hear clearly, considering their silence. They have never seen their champion so hurt and angry.

Machenoss spits out a bunch of teeth and accelerates forward.

This time, he doesn’t meet Artyom’s punch, instead, he slaps the appendage away and strikes forward, hitting flesh hard.

Artyom is forced back and can only block the onslaught of attacks. At one point, he attempts to parry, but a knee smacks him in the stomach which is followed by a fist to the face. This fist strikes Artyom’s other eye and sends him reeling.

As Artyom stands up, Machenoss starts laughing at the current physical state Artyom is in.

“You’re fucking blind and you still want to fight?”

Artyom attempts to open one eye, but it refuses to. It was damaged too severely. He swallows and raises his fist towards the taunting Machenoss.

“Fine, let’s dance!”

The next few minutes finds Artyom, his back against the wall as Machenoss strikes Artyom’s body with impressive force. He ignored the head because it would cause the fight to end prematurely. You can already hear some of the annoyed audience that had bet on the fight ending before five minutes.

Machenoss smiles, grabs the beaten and exhausted Artyom by the head and then throws him into the center of the arena.

Artyom lands hard, but it only takes a second before he moves and stands up.

“Tenacious, aren’t you,”

Artyom raises his fist and turns towards the voice. Bruised but not defeated.

Blood seeps down Machenoss face and strikes the ground.

“You fucked up my face,” he exclaims. Machenoss moves his arm and wipes his face, sending signals of pain to his head. “You know, you really pissed me off,” Machenoss steps forward, what remained of his bloody teeth, showing in his mouth,” I think you need a new class. I think [Cripple] would serve you nicely.”

At those words, Artyom’s attention is gotten. This was not unnoticed by Machenoss.

“Oh, did you think that if you lost this fight that nothing would change? That you can be healed?”

Machenoss continues walking forward, “No, that only works if your injuries are healable. If I rip off your arm and grind your bones, well then, I wonder how long until you get the class.”

Zeek, listening in, smiles confidently and relaxes back. Artyom was about to lose, but that Machenoss just messed up. Artyom’s life was threatened and now a domain descends upon the entire building.

Machenoss strikes forward, but to his surprise, Artyom’s body had already moved out of the way of the punch. Even the following knee strikes only air, as he swerves out of the way. An unavoidable punch strikes Machenoss.

He is struck back and looks on flabbergasted. As though his strike and trajectory were predicted.

Machenoss goes in again, sending out a flurry, each one being dodged before release. And by a blind man as well.

Artyom, unable to see, moves and reacts. At first, he thought it was his instinct guiding him, but now, slowly, he understands what it actually is. He is feeling everything and is reacting to not only the muscle contractions of Machenoss, but even the electrical signals being sent from the man’s brain.

He senses that of every person in the entire building. He feels the temperature fluctuations, the hardness of the floor, the visual receptors of the audience.

Everything is there, an enormous amount of information.

A smile forms on his lips as he, for the first time in several minutes, steps forward and goes on the offensive.