The crowd erupts, a mix of genuine excitement and furious, desperate noise.
The lights blaze, blinding spotlights catching the sweat already on my skin. The heavy base of the entrance music vibrates up through the soles of my boots. I walk out, the transition from shadow to blinding light a familiar ritual. A sly smirk stretches across my face, a mask of cold confidence I wear better than any gear.
Hands reach out from the edge of the barrier, grasping, desperate to touch a piece of me. Mac walks shoulder-to-shoulder with me, his expression stern, his arms pushing away the grasping hands with practiced ease.
As I step onto the ramp, the announcer's voice takes on a venomous edge. His smile grows, his eyes turning to slits in the harsh light. "And in the blue corner, the reigning queen of carnage... swift as venom, cold as steel. She's danced through blood and broken bones to claim the Mantle of Gaia. Undefeated. Untouched. Unrelenting. She is the Serpent Sovereign... VIPER!"
The crowd hits a new decibel level, a sound of almost hysterical anticipation. I glance across the stage and my breath catches, my brow arching involuntarily.
Draped across Viper's shoulders, a living, breathing prop, is a large, mottled snake.
My body goes instantly taut. I swear internally, a deep, silent, frustrated curse. I have two real fears in this world: injections and snakes. And here she is, the Serpent Sovereign, making a spectacle of the one thing that turns my stomach into a cold knot. A ridiculous, irrational urge to turn and run slams into me, but I lock it down, putting on a brave front.
Viper glides closer, her eyes locked on mine with an unsettling, predatory smile. The snake is not allowed on the platform, of course, but it twists its head and hisses at me, its raw, dry sound mirroring the malice in its owner's gaze.
Her assistant takes the reptile away, and Viper steps onto the stage proper, her aura intimidating, even without her slithering accessory. She walks right up, invading my personal space, that psychotic smile stretched tight across her face.
I don't back down. I stand my ground, glaring back, my eyes cold and sharp.
"I am going to beat you back into whatever filthy hole you crawled out of, bitch," Viper snarls, her voice low and tight.
My smirk widens, turning evil. "And I will put you in a coffin."
Viper's face visibly enrages. Her eyes turn black with fury and, without warning, she swings her fist at my head. Chaos ensues.
Three referees instantly swarm the stage, wrestling with her, pulling her backward. But the entire time they restrain her, I am smiling a triumphant, evil curl of the lip that only further infuriates her. For a moment, the stage is a mess of flailing limbs and enraged screams, but I remain unfazed.
The announcer's voice regains control, cutting through the din with finality. "Two titans. One crown. No mercy. This... is Titan Combat Federation. Let the war beginnnnnn!"
The air in the cage is thick and hot, smelling of sweat and iron. The bell clangs, and Viper instantly turns fierce. She doesn't waste a second. She's a blur of calculated aggression, and I have to remember every single warning Mac gave me.
Viper has already chopped at my base twice with quick, brutal low kicks. She's trying to disable my legs early, trying to take away my lateral movement and the one advantage I have: reach.
I hold my ground, trying to utilize that reach with sharp, stinging jabs, but she moves her head just enough to slip them, already trying to read my patterns. I know her right hand is a missile, and she's feinting with her shoulder, trying to bait me into a clumsy counter.
This is a champion I'm fighting, and she fights like one.
I manage to score a clean left hook, rocking her head back, but the moment I press forward to capitalize, she's out of range. Then she comes back with a lightning-fast combination. I block the first few, but her speed is disorienting. A punishing right cross slips past my guard, and the world tilts.
I find myself on the canvas, the shock of the mat against my back knocking the wind out of me. Blood is already warm and sticky, running down my nose and painting the side of my face red. I scramble up, but she's relentless, driving me back against the fence. Her fists become pistons, battering my head. I'm beat down bad, the lights of the arena spinning, my vision going double and my head feeling thick and dazed.
I try to circle out, but another powerful shot catches me, and I collapse to the floor again. I lie there, mouth open, sucking in deep, desperate breaths. The world is a ringing echo, and I can hear the crowd's roar, sensing their judgment. They think I am done. They think I will tap out.
Not a chance.
I force my trembling arms to brace against the mat. My vision is still swimming, but I haul myself up, finding my feet. The pain is a distant concept; all I see is two Vipers in front of me, both sneering.
I hear my father's voice in the echo of the empty gym, during training: "To take out a viper, go for the head."
A cold, determined smirk twists my lips. I wipe the blood from under my nose with the back of my glove. The smirk is a calculated risk, a needle under her skin, and it works.
Viper's composure breaks. She lunges forward, abandoning technique for pure, blind fury.
It's the opening I need.
I dodge to the side, her wild punch whistling past my ear. As she overextends, I pivot my weight, swinging my right leg in a sudden, vicious counter-attack, my heel smashing into the side of her face.
Viper crumples.
Before she even hits the ground, I'm on her. My fists rain down in short, hard punches, a downpour of revenge. She tries to slither away, a desperate, ugly motion but I sprawl over her back, using my weight to pin her to the floor. I sink my arm under her chin, locking in the rear naked choke, while simultaneously landing a final, punishing punch to the temple.
She refuses to yield, her whole body shaking with stubborn refusal. But her struggles grow weaker. Her frantic hands claw at my arm, and I squeeze harder, knowing this is the moment. She starts to twitch, her eyes wide, the pupils dilating as she begins seeing black spots.
Finally, the fight leaves her. Her open palm pats my side once, then twice, the most bitter, begrudging tap out in her undefeated career.
I loosen my grip and fall back onto the canvas, my back flat against the mat. I gulp air, my chest heaving, every muscle screaming in exhausted protest.
The bell is ringing, a beautiful, insistent sound cutting through the chaos. My lungs are burning, my body aches, but a powerful, vibrating energy pulses beneath the pain.
The referee is there instantly, pulling me up by my bicep. He raises my heavy, bloodied hand toward the blinding lights. The roar of the crowd is deafening now, a glorious, vindicating sound. I did it. I slayed the Serpent Sovereign.