The crowd parted for Faust and Drekar. People stared up at the seven-foot-tall beast of a man, but the sun ignited Faust's red hair and started another conversation.
"That's him."
"Red God. What's he doing here?"
"That guy behind him, what's with his eyes? He's tall as hell."
Kev, the spiky-haired champion of this small fighting club, stepped forward and got in Faust's face.
"Am I dreaming, or is rank one gracing us with his presence?"
Faust smiled in his face, far too unbothered by the aggressiveness. "We'd like to use your ring for a bit. We don't mind waiting, though."
"No," Kev said bluntly. "You don't get in if you can't even respect us. You too good to fight us?"
'Yes, actually,' Faust wanted to say at first. But he decided to just entertain the crowd. "So if I beat you, can I use your ring?"
"If," Kev emphasized, backing up. He had a wide, excited grin on his face. "Let's see what you've got."
The crowd began to holler and cheer for their champ.
