"Blazz!"
Spotlights cut through the darkness, illuminating a modern-day coliseum. The arena was a pit of sand enclosed by towering chain-link fences. A roar vibrated through the air as a massive crowd packed the stands—everyone from college kids and office workers to the elite looking down from their luxury VIP booths.
"Tonight's final match is the one you've all been waiting for!" the announcer shouted, standing at the edge of the ring. "Returning to the arena, a two-time tournament champion with a record of three fights and two titles... the current reigning gold belt holder! Standing 7 feet 1 inch and weighing 375 pounds—the giant everyone loves! Let's hear it for... Tigra the Iron Giant!"
"Uooooh!"
"Tigra! Tigra! Tigra!"
The fans went wild, chanting his name in a deafening chorus. A spotlight swung toward the western entrance as a mountain of a man stepped out. He was massive and ripped, his head shaven clean. He wore black wrestling trunks, biker gloves, and iron-spiked guards on his elbows and knees. Heavy black boots reached his calves, and a tiger-skin cloak draped over his shoulders. He raised both index fingers to the sky, every brawn in his body rippling under the light.
"Uoooooh!"
The crowd's energy spiked. With a confident trot, he ran toward the cage. Two guards pulled open the gate, and he hopped inside, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He lunged onto the fencing, raising his fingers again to soak in the cheers. Tigra was a respected name in this circuit, even if he wasn't a world-class legend yet. As he warmed up with high-knees and shadowboxing, the spotlight shifted back to the announcer.
"And his opponent..."
The announcer trailed off. He stared at his tablet, then looked at a staff member beside him, pointing at the screen. He covered his mic, appearing to argue with the staffer, who seemed insistent on the information provided. The arena fell silent. Even Tigra stopped moving, looking over at the commotion. A low murmur rippled through the stands: "What's going on?"
Finally, after two minutes of arguing, the announcer stepped back into the light. His enthusiastic expression had faded into confusion.
"Sorry for the wait... and his opponent... standing 6 feet 2 inches, weighing 175 pounds... Grey!"
The spotlight swung to the left gate. A normal-looking guy emerged wearing a black hoodie, a gold chain, jeans, and sneakers. He walked out with total indifference, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His hood was up, masking his face even under the bright lights. The arena went dead silent—so quiet you couldn't even hear a whisper. Grey strolled toward the cage with zero urgency. Inside the ring, Tigra scratched the back of his head, looking at his opponent with a mix of disappointment and pure condescension.
When Grey stepped inside, he just stood in the center of the arena, offering no gesture or pose.
"Boooo!"
One fan started it, and a split second later, a tidal wave of jeers and insults filled the coliseum. Grey didn't care. He kept walking until he was standing right in front of Tigra. He only came up to the big man's chest. Tigra looked down at him with a smirk.
"Man... are you here because you were sold for debt? Thrown away? A criminal? There's no way you're here for the fame, haha," Tigra mocked.
Grey stayed silent. He didn't even lift his head, his hands remaining firmly in his pockets. This clearly ticked Tigra off.
"Hey! I asked you a question!" Tigra barked.
But as he raised a hand, the referee stepped between them. Tigra backed off for the moment.
"Alright, keep it sportsmanlike. Only one rule: no killing. The rest is up to you—powers, brute force, whatever gets the job done until one of you stops moving. Understand?" the ref asked.
"Yeah... loud and clear," Tigra answered.
Grey just nodded. He didn't say a word or show his face. Without further delay, the ref raised his hand.
"Whistle!"
The ref blew the whistle, dropped his hand, and jumped back. Tigra immediately threw a straight kick with a nasty grin, but his face went blank when his foot hit nothing but air.
"Thud."
Suddenly, Tigra went flying toward the cage. Grey had appeared in mid-air behind him, delivering a back-kick with his hands still in his pockets, connecting perfectly with the back of Tigra's head.
The "Iron Giant" wasn't that easy to take down, though. He pushed off the fence and spun around.
"You brat! What kind of power was that?" Tigra roared, pointing an angry finger at Grey.
Grey stood there casually, a good distance away, hands still tucked in his pockets. He said nothing. The arena went silent again. Faces in the crowd were frozen in shock. Even the commentators, mics at the ready, were speechless.
"Graaaah!"
Tigra's scream shattered the silence. The veins in his body popped, his fists clenched, and suddenly both his arms transformed into solid, gleaming iron. He charged Grey like a beast, ready to crush him. He unleashed a barrage of punches—jabs, hooks, uppercuts—but Grey dodged every single one with ease, treating it like a game without ever taking his hands out of his pockets. Finally, Tigra turned his entire body into iron and clapped his massive palms together.
"Glaaar!"
A thunderous boom echoed as a shockwave blasted toward Grey. But a moment later—"Sraaaaak"—Tigra was facedown in the sand, skidding back toward the cage like a human plow. Grey had done it again, appearing in the air behind Tigra to deliver another devastating kick.
"Aaargh... you little bastard!"
Tigra got back up, screaming after spitting out a mouthful of sand. He immediately charged, launching a fist, but this time Grey kicked Tigra's leg. With lightning speed, Grey hopped slightly, drove his leg straight up, and crashed his heel down onto Tigra's head, who was already staggering from losing his momentum. Grey did all this without ever taking his hands out of his pockets. This time, Tigra went down in a nosedive, his head burying deep in the sand. Then Grey immediately spun around again and delivered a right side-kick, sending Tigra's half-buried body sliding all the way back to the cage, still facedown, like some kind of earth-moving machine plowing through the dirt.
Tigra's body reverted from iron back to normal flesh. Seeing him motionless with his head stuck in the dirt, the ref ran over to check him. Once he confirmed Tigra was still alive, he looked up to find Grey—and jumped. Grey was suddenly standing right next to him. For the first time, Grey took his hands out of his pockets, unbuckled Tigra's gold belt, and walked away with it draped over his shoulder. The arena remained eerily silent as every eye followed him out.
***
So, that's me, Grey. But my real name is actually Nolan. I'm only 17 and still in school. The name of this world is Ethra—a place completely dominated and controlled by AI. There's no such thing as manual labor anymore, except for maybe basic housework. Why? Because robots do everything. The government that handles the economy, the law, and every other aspect of human life is all AI; there are no countries anymore. Any real job is an office job in some specialized field, and it clearly requires a brain.
Basically, if you want to survive in this world, you either need a brain or you need brawn. There are only two jobs for people with brawn: being a gladiator or being a slave. You might wonder why a slave needs brawn too—it's because they have to be ready for non-stop sex, managing the household, and maybe giving massages haha. It all takes physical strength, right? That's the life of a slave, and obviously, they're looked down on.
Gladiators are what I do. Even though I'm still working on the "brain" part, I do this for one reason: money. But I'm not like the others who do it for fame or greed. Most of them change themselves, injecting "Orbs"—amplifiers that unlock hidden potential or mutate cells for superpowers, like Tigra did. Some even swap body parts for monster or animal limbs. To understand why I need the cash, I have to tell you about my life, and what happened when I was fourteen that gave me "brawn" and power that goes way beyond the norm.