Chapter 57: The Debut of Asura
The fighter gate was a rusted steel door with a small window at head height.
Holden stood behind it and looked through the grimy glass at the cage. The current fight was already ending. A large man with a mace had just knocked his opponent into the cage wall. The crowd screamed their approval as the loser crumpled to the blood-stained floor.
A handler in a stained vest appeared beside Holden.
"You’re up next, mask. Get ready."
Holden said nothing.
The handler shrugged. "Quiet type. Fine by me. Quiet ones either die fast or win fast. Let’s see which one you are."
The cage door opened. Two medics dragged the unconscious loser out through a side gate. The winner, the man with the mace, raised his arms and walked out to cheers.
Then the announcer’s voice boomed through the underground speakers.
"Next up! Rank Two division! Making his debut in the Pit, an unknown fighter going by the name..." The announcer paused for effect. "Asura!"
Boos flooded the arena.
The crowd didn’t like unknowns. Unknowns were boring. Unknowns didn’t have betting histories or rivalries or stories. They were blank spaces on the betting board, and the gamblers hated blank spaces.
Holden walked through the cage door.
The floor was sticky. Old blood and spilled drinks had created a surface that clung to his boots with every step. The steel bars rose around him in a circle, trapping him in a space maybe fifteen meters across.
He stood in the center and waited.
"And his opponent!" the announcer roared. "A Pit legend with forty-seven wins and zero losses in the Rank Two bracket! The man who turned the Red Vipers into a memory! Give it up for Gorge the Butcher!"
The far cage door slammed open.
Gorge the Butcher was a huge man covered in scars and muscles. He was more than two meters tall. His head was bald and covered in rough, ugly tattoos. His hands were wrapped in spiked metal knuckles, each spike as long as a finger and sharp enough to punch through light armor.
He stomped into the cage like he owned it. The crowd switched from boos to deafening cheers. This was their guy. Their killer. Their money maker.
Gorge stopped three meters from Holden and looked him up and down. He grinned. It was not a pleasant expression.
"Look at you," Gorge said, his voice carrying across the cage. "Little gold mask. No weapon. You look like a kid playing dress-up."
Holden didn’t respond.
"I’m going to break your arms, little man. Then I’m going to break your legs. The crowd likes it when I take my time, so I’m thinking I start with the fingers. Work my way up. Sounds good?"
Silence from the mask.
Gorge’s grin widened. "Scared quiet. I love scared quiet."
The announcer’s voice cut through. "Fighters ready?"
Gorge raised his spiked fists.
Holden dropped into a loose stance. He wasn’t using the academy’s formal moves. He just looked relaxed, keeping his hands ready and his body balanced so he could move quickly.
"Begin!"
Gorge charged.
He was fast for his size. Fast and heavy. He crossed the distance in three steps and threw a wild right hook aimed directly at Holden’s head.
The spiked knuckles whistled through the air.
Holden didn’t dodge.
He couldn’t use Gale-Step. The footwork was too distinctive. Anyone with academy training would recognize it instantly, and word would spread. He couldn’t use any sword arts, not even the unarmed adaptations. Too recognizable.
So he used the one thing nobody could trace.
Raw power.
His palm came up and caught Gorge’s fist.
Crunch.
The spiked metal knuckles hit his Iron-Body palm like soft foil being crushed. The spikes bent inward. The metal casing cracked. Gorge’s own knuckles, protected by nothing but thin wrapping beneath the weapon, compressed under the force of the catch.
Gorge’s grin vanished.
He stared at his crushed weapon. Then at the gold mask. Then back at his weapon.
"What the..."
Holden’s other fist came up.
It was a simple punch. No technique. No style. Just pure Rank 2 kinetic force delivered by a fist harder than steel. It hit Gorge’s jaw at an angle that maximized rotational impact.
Wham.
Gorge’s head snapped sideways. His eyes went blank. His massive body lifted off the ground and flew backward.
Thud.
His body slid down the bars of the cage until he collapsed onto the floor. He was out cold before he even had a chance to realize the fight was over.
The arena went silent.
The kind of silence that only happens when hundreds of screaming people all stop breathing at the exact same moment.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Then the explosion.
The crowd roared so loud the cage bars vibrated. People jumped to their feet. Drinks flew into the air. Credits changed hands in furious waves as bettors who’d put money on the unknown either celebrated or screamed in disbelief.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" the announcer shouted into his microphone. "ONE PUNCH! GORGE THE BUTCHER GOES DOWN WITH ONE PUNCH! WHO IS THIS GUY?"
[Ding!]
[Rank 2 Cultivator Defeated: Gorge the Butcher (2-Star)]
[Base KP: 500]
[2x KP Booster Applied!]
[Total: +1,000 KP]
[Balance: 6,790 KP]
Holden turned his back on the unconscious butcher and walked toward the cage door. He didn’t raise his arms. He didn’t acknowledge the crowd. He just opened the door and stepped out like he’d just finished a mild workout.
The handler was staring at him with his mouth open.
"Your payout," the man said, handing over a thick leather pouch heavy with credit chips.
Holden took it and kept walking.
Behind him, the announcer was already hyping the next fight. But the murmur running through the crowd wasn’t about the next fight. It was about the mask. The name. The punch that had put Gorge the Butcher to sleep like a light switch.
Asura.
Under the gold mask, Holden smiled.
Ninety-three thousand points to go.