The cheers from the Wolf Queen's victory were still crashing through the arena like waves when Mira slipped away from the edge of the stone square. The med-bots buzzed anxiously after her, their lights flashing blue in a persistent request to administer healing, but Mira brushed them off with a sharp motion of her hand. Her body ached; her ribs were tight and hot with pain, her arms bore shallow cuts, and her shoulder throbbed where the Wolf Queen had slammed her into the wall. But Mira's steps remained precise. Balanced. Controlled.
Pain was familiar. Pain was data.
She stepped into a side corridor—a dim hallway carved from rough stone and reinforced with metal supports. The roar of the arena muffled behind her, becoming a low hum beneath the buzz of old lights and the soft hiss of ventilation ducts. The temperature dipped in here, cooler than the heated square. She stopped just out of sight of the main arena, leaned briefly against the wall, and exhaled.
One breath.
Just one.
Her fingers flexed around the hilt of her dagger, now darkened with the Wolf Queen's blood. The blade still thrummed faintly from the force of the fight. She sheathed it, slower than normal—her arm still numb from blocking the Queen's killing swipe.
She took two steps forward.
A shadow beside her shifted.
The dagger was out before the shifting resolved into a shape—but a clawed hand stopped just shy of her wrist.
Shadeclaw stood there, half-formed out of darkness, his fur merging with the shadows so thoroughly that even up close he looked like a hole in the wall wearing eyes. Mira's heart didn't jump, but her stance sharpened—weight shifting, dagger angled, breath slowing.
Shadeclaw raised one hand, palm outward.
A universal gesture: I am not attacking. Yet.
His voice rumbled low, a growl wrapped in a whisper. "You fought well."
Mira didn't respond. She held her dagger steady.
Shadeclaw stepped into the corridor fully, his massive frame swallowing the narrow space. The air thickened around him, heavy with the cold scent of dark earth and iron. He didn't loom threateningly—he didn't have to. His presence alone was weight enough.
"You fight like me," he said.
Mira's grip tightened.
Shadeclaw moved with deliberate slowness, circling her not like a man, but like a predator—soundless, controlled, evaluating every muscle twitch in her body.
"Precision," he murmured. "Efficiency. You waste nothing. You bleed without breaking. You cut only when it matters."
He stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she could feel his breath warm against her cheek.
"You belong in the dark," he said. His claws tapped the ground lightly. "You always have."
Mira didn't flinch. "State your purpose."
Shadeclaw smiled—a terrible thing, full of teeth and hunger. Not the hunger to kill her.
Another hunger.
"You walk alone," he said. "Kill alone. Survive alone."
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping.
"But you don't have to."
Mira stepped back precisely one inch—enough to reposition, not enough to retreat.
"What are you offering?" she asked.
Shadeclaw spread his arms just slightly, as if introducing himself anew.
"There are two kinds of assassins," he said. "Those who hide from the shadows…"
His fingers curled, claws gleaming faintly in the hallway light.
"…and those who become them."
The temperature seemed to drop.
Mira's tongue pressed behind her teeth, silent.
Shadeclaw held her gaze.
"I am one," he said. "You could be the other."
Realization slid into Mira's eyes—not shock, not surprise, but calculation. She had anticipated threats, praise, even rivalry.
But this?
Shadeclaw continued.
"When this tournament ends," he murmured, "join me. Walk beside me. Two shadows. Two blades. One purpose."
He leaned closer until their foreheads were nearly touching.
"A predator recognizes another."
He inhaled slowly.
"And I know what you are."
Mira didn't blink.
Then she lifted her chin, just slightly.
"I work for no pack," she said. "No king. No queen."
Her eyes hardened.
"And no wolf."
Shadeclaw chuckled, low and dark, the sound vibrating through the corridor. "You'll change your mind."
Mira shook her head. "I won't."
"You almost killed my Queen." Shadeclaw's tone was neutral, not angry.
"I intend to do better next time," Mira answered.
Shadeclaw's tail flicked behind him, the faint scrape of fur against stone the only sound.
"Good," he growled.
Then he stepped backward.
No—he dissolved backward, fading into the shadows like water soaking into dirt. His form blurred until only his eyes remained visible, hovering as two glowing embers in the dark.
Those, too, vanished.
Mira exhaled once.
"Monsters everywhere," she murmured.
She didn't say it with fear.
As she started toward the viewing platforms, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.
The dangerous kind.
Above, the loudspeakers boomed like thunder through the arena:
"NEXT MATCH: SHADECLAW vs. IRON TEMPEST."
Mira stopped just outside the corridor.
A fitting fight, she thought.
She turned and walked toward the stands.
She had no intention of missing this one.
The arena lights brightened, focusing down on the stone square once more.
The crowd surged to their feet as if pulled upward by the noise itself.
On the far gate, Shadeclaw emerged again—not sliding from shadows this time, but stepping into full light. His fur drank the brightness, his presence somehow darker under illumination than it had been in the corridor. His eyes glowed faintly red as he rolled his shoulders, claws extending, his movement smooth and predatory.
Spectators shouted immediately.
"SHADECLAW! RIP HIM APART!"
"THE WOLF OF NIGHT RETURNS!"
"I HOPE HE EATS THE METAL GUY!"
Julian's voice came over the speakers. "Shadeclaw enters with notable injuries from previous bouts, but his physical recovery appears stable."
Jimmy's voice followed, booming. "YEAH, YEAH, BUT THE REAL QUESTION IS—CAN HE CLAW THROUGH A SOLID STEEL HOUSE?! BECAUSE IRON TEMPEST IS BASICALLY A WALKING CONSTRUCTION ACCIDENT WAITING TO HAPPEN!"
The opposite gate slammed open.
Iron Tempest walked out like a living war machine.
He stood a head taller than Shadeclaw, plated in dense alloy armor layered over reinforced hydraulics. His fists were massive metal blocks shaped for combat, each movement accompanied by a resonant hum of pressure systems building and releasing through vents along his arms and legs.
He stepped onto the stone square.
The stone cracked.
The crowd roared.
"I BET ALL MY PAYCHECK ON HIM!"
"NO WAY THE WOLF CAN CUT THAT!"
"THIS IS GONNA BE A BLOODBATH!"
Iron Tempest slammed his fists together.
"TARGET: SHADECLAW," his synthetic voice announced. "ENGAGING COMBAT MODE."
Shadeclaw lowered his stance, lips pulling back in a grin that showed far too many teeth.
"Come try."
The arena chime struck.
The fight exploded.
Iron Tempest charged first—not a run, but a juggernaut movement, steel legs driving forward with piston force. His footsteps made the ground tremble. Shadeclaw darted aside, quick as a streak of black lightning, claws scraping sparks along Tempest's hip plating.
Sparks burst, but no deep wound—just a scratch.
Iron Tempest pivoted with surprising speed.
His fist came around in a wide arc.
Shadeclaw ducked—
The fist tore through where his head had been, the wind pressure alone slamming into his fur.
Shadeclaw retaliated instantly, leaping up the mech's arm and raking claws at the joint where shoulder met torso. The claws bit—but only slightly. Tempest's armor was thick.
Shadeclaw's eyes sharpened.
Weak points existed.
He just had to find them.
Iron Tempest jerked violently, throwing Shadeclaw off and delivering a piston-powered kick that caught the werewolf square in the ribs.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Shadeclaw flew across the arena, rolling across the stone before catching himself on all fours. He coughed once, blood dripping from his mouth.
The crowd gasped.
Jimmy screamed, "OH THAT LOOKED LIKE IT HURT—AND IT PROBABLY DID—AND I'M LOVING EVERY SECOND OF THIS!!"
Shadeclaw rose.
Straightened.
Grinned wider.
He sprinted this time, not darting—charging headlong into the metal titan. Tempest crashed toward him with equal force.
They met in the middle like colliding storms.
Claws clanged against steel.
Metal fists slammed against bone.
Hydraulics hissed and howled.
Shadeclaw's snarls mixed with grinding gears.
Iron Tempest grabbed Shadeclaw by the arm and lifted him—
But Shadeclaw twisted—
dislocating his shoulder voluntarily—
and slipped free like a shadow.
He spun behind the mech.
His claws plunged into the seam between two armor plates, raking hard.
A hiss of hydraulic fluid sprayed out.
The crowd shrieked.
Jimmy shouted, "HE BIT THE HYDRAULIC LINE, JULIAN—HE ACTUALLY BIT IT—"
Julian replied calmly, "Shadeclaw appears willing to damage himself to inflict precise mechanical stress. Effective, though unsanitary."
Iron Tempest staggered, one arm slowing as fluid drained in a thin blue arc. Shadeclaw landed on the stone and wiped the oily residue from his muzzle.
"It tastes weak," he growled.
Iron Tempest pivoted wildly, forced into a defensive posture as his left arm lagged fractionally behind the right.
Shadeclaw inhaled deeply.
Then he vanished.
Not literally—he was simply too fast for most to track, weaving around Iron Tempest in a blur, claws carving through vulnerable points, each strike calculated with frightening accuracy.
The mech tried to compensate.
Failed.
A leg actuator snapped under Shadeclaw's assault.
Iron Tempest dropped to one knee, metal screeching as weight slammed down.
Shadeclaw leaped.
He landed on the mech's back.
And tore.
Fur and muscle strained. Claws dug deep. Mechanical screams filled the arena. Hydraulics burst. Steel plates peeled back.
Iron Tempest reached up with his good arm, trying to grab Shadeclaw.
Too slow.
The final blow was surgical—a plunge of both claws into the mech's primary control manifold.
Iron Tempest jolted once.
Twice.
Then fell forward like a felled oak, crashing face-first onto the stone, sending dust and shards of stone flying everywhere.
Shadeclaw landed lightly, crouched, one hand pressed to the mech's back like a hunter claiming the kill.
Silence.
Then—
The arena chime.
"WINNER: SHADECLAW."
The crowd erupted.
Shadeclaw tilted his head back and released a howl so deep and resonant it vibrated through the stands.
Across the arena, Mira watched him from the shadows, her expression unreadable.
But her eyes—
They gleamed with a sharp, dangerous understanding.
Shadeclaw's offer was not forgotten.
And neither was his victory.
Fighters remaining: 13.