Draven slammed his fist against the marble wall of his family's estate.
Crack!
Blood smeared across the wall. He didn't care. His face was twisted with rage and disbelief.
"What do you mean he quit?!" he screamed at the battered messenger kneeling on the floor. "I paid him! I paid him everything!"
The Iron Fang thug kept his head down. His voice shook. "Varga's in a healing ward, my lord. Some masked fighter called Asura destroyed him in the Colosseum. One hit. The boss is terrified. The whole gang is terrified. They're canceling all contracts and won't refund..."
"NO REFUND?!" Draven kicked the messenger in the ribs. "I spent my entire inheritance on those useless thugs!"
The thug curled into a ball, saying nothing.
Draven paced the room, breathing hard. His hands trembled. He was broke. Humiliated. Expelled from the academy. And now the one thing he'd pinned his hopes on had fallen apart because of some underground fighter nobody had ever heard of.
