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By eight-thirty in the evening, Ornn and Yamato stood before the grand archway of Keya Town's underground arena.
The tavern keeper hadn't exaggerated; the street was a wall of noise and movement. It felt as if a third of the island had converged on the venue. The queue snaked from the polished iron gates at the entrance, winding along the cobblestones all the way to the far corner of the block.
After a grueling wait in the crowd, the two finally pushed through the turnstiles and found their section.
They had barely settled into their wooden seats when a mustache-twirling announcer in a tailored tuxedo stepped onto the canvas. He tapped a heavy Den Den Mushi megaphone, his voice booming over the roar of the crowd.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to tonight's main event! Without further delay, let us welcome tonight's challenger—a man whose very name brings silent terror! Give it up for... The Reaper!"
The moment the announcement cleared, the ring-side orchestra struck up a heavy, oppressive rhythm. A cello groaned in a low register, accompanied by a haunting, operatic vocal from the lead singer.
Through the dense fog filling the entrance tunnel, a stocky, brutal silhouette emerged.
The fighter known as The Reaper stomped toward the ring. He was barely five-foot-seven, but his muscle mass was monstrous—dense, slab-like rock molded into human form. He looked like a miniature juggernaut, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, radiating a blunt, physical pressure.
As he reached the apron, two attendants struggled up the steps, carrying a heavy, double-headed iron battleaxe between them.
The Reaper snatched the weapon with one hand, giving it a couple of casual twirls to demonstrate its weight to the crowd. Then, locking his fingers around the broad blades, he set his feet. The veins along his forearms bulged like thick rope as he flexed his shoulders, applying raw, crushing force.
Screeech—
With a sickening groan of tortured metal, the solid iron head folded inward, bending inch by inch until the twin blades pressed flat against each other, completely ruined.
He tossed the scrapped iron off the platform like a piece of trash, looked toward the front row, and slowly wagged his index finger.
The arena erupted. The sheer visual impact of the display sent a jolt through the crowd, drawing a thunderous wave of cheers from the gamblers.
The announcer waited for the noise to plateau before raising his microphone once more, his voice dropping an octave into pure theatrical hype.
"And now... make way for our defending champion! Standing at ninety-eight consecutive victories and charging headlong toward a legendary hundred... give it up for NIGHTMARE!"
The name alone shattered the venue's roof.
The crowd went feral, shouting the title until their voices cracked. Compared to this roar, the applause The Reaper had drawn sounded like the faint buzzing of flies.
The orchestra shifted instantly. The slow cello vanished, replaced by the blistering, electric shred of heavy metal. Purple spotlights swung across the arena, locking onto the northern entrance tunnel.
Under the blinding glare, a tall, striking woman stepped into the light, a gleaming gold championship belt slung loosely over her shoulder.
She stood nearly six-foot-three, wearing her jet-black hair slicked back. Her face was framed by sharp features and dramatic, gothic-purple makeup. She wore a white sports crop with purple fringe, a cropped black leather jacket studded with rivets, and matching purple-and-white leather boots pulled over fitted hot pants.
Her physique wasn't built like a bodybuilder's; it was long, dense, and streamlined. Her waist was narrow, her thighs packed with lean, explosive power, and her shoulders carried a broad, commanding width that immediately set her apart.
Power radiated from every line of her frame.
"She looks so cool!" Yamato blurted out, voicing Ornn's thoughts.
The fighter called Nightmare wasn't a conventional beauty, but she carried an undeniable, wild charisma that commanded the room.
No wonder she owns this town, Ornn thought, watching her closely.
Unlike her opponent, Nightmare didn't bother with theatrical displays of strength. She approached the ring, caught the top rope with one hand, and vaulted smoothly over the strand, landing on the canvas without making a sound.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
The ring-side judge struck the brass bell three times.
The match was on.
"Ornn! Who do you think takes it?" Yamato shouted over the deafening noise, leaning close to his ear.
If this were judged purely on mass, ninety percent of the audience would bet on The Reaper. The two fighters looked like they belonged in entirely different weight classes.
Yet, this was a world where a lightweight like Sabo could shatter a giant's skull with a three-fingered claw technique. Weight classes were a suggestion here.
Ornn leaned back toward her, keeping his voice low. "My money's on Nightmare. You don't stack ninety-eight wins in a row just by getting lucky."
Before he finished speaking, the collision began.
The Reaper went for a quick, brutal end. Crossing his thick forearms in front of his chest, he charged across the canvas like an armored locomotive, aiming to squash her against the turnbuckle.
Nightmare didn't flinch.
As he closed the gap, she took two swift steps backward, planted her palms on the top rope, and flipped backward. Her body coiled like a spring against the strands.
Just as the tank-like fighter slammed into the corner, she launched herself off the ropes, dodging his momentum entirely while snapping her body around to deliver a brutal upside-down hook kick straight into his temple.
CRACK!
The impact sounded like a bullwhip tearing through the air, so crisp that even Ornn and Yamato heard it over the roar of the arena.
The leather boot slammed flush against The Reaper's skull. To the average spectator, it just looked like a swift kick—but with their trained eyesight, Ornn and Yamato clearly saw the brute's eyes roll back into his head, his pupils turning dead white for a fraction of a second.
The blow had short-circuited his brain on contact.
She wasn't finished. Using the momentum of the kick, Nightmare hooked her toes behind his neck, using his falling mass as a pivot. With a sharp twist of her hips, she drove his upper body face-first into the canvas with a sickening thud.
The moment they hit the deck, she scrambled over his back, seated herself on his waist, locked her hands around both of his ankles, and pulled back with everything she had.
A brutal Boston Crab.
With his hips pinned and his legs bent far beyond their natural threshold, The Reaper snapped out of his unconscious stupor only to howl in sheer agony.
She held the submission with textbook execution until the referee rushed in to pull her off.
Only then did she release him. Nightmare stood up, adjusted her leather jacket, and walked casually to the edge of the ring, raising her gold belt high above her head to soak in the applause.
"NIGHTMARE! NIGHTMARE! NIGHTMARE!"
The entire venue shook. Even Yamato was completely won over by the clean, lethal finish, jumping out of her seat to raise her fists and shout along with the crowd.
Ornn glanced at her, a dry smirk playing on his lips.
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