The Dark Somnium - The Nightmare Fighting Tournament | Creepypasta

Episode Date: September 22, 2022

his creepypasta story is from the author T.J Lea, this story is connected to several others of his and if you would like some additional context, be sure to check out the playlist here:  ►"The Bar Series" https://youtu.be/ijkk_XKoTTs ►"The Last Sin Eater" https://youtu.be/7kzhuyranGU ►"Tortoise and Terots" https://youtu.be/G12WEwKJFwgSpecial thanks to everyone who joined me in this video! ►Autumn Ivy - Alduin Von Trier. Twitter: @xxautumnivyxx ►TJ Lea - Eustace DeKolta, Miroslav Zanaya, Rex Chugg, Mr. Stares, Malphas & JJ Watson. Twitter: @TJayLea  ►Romnex - Nora Zayne, Fay & Elizabeth Sema Williams ►Kaitsu - Abaddon & Qwong Xiao. Twitter: @TheGreatKaitsu ►Dodge - Madame Nelle Lockwood. Twitter: @DodgeTheGraveYT & Dodge The Grave on YouTube.  ►Zachary “Zunkle” Unkle - Zunk. Twitter: @ZunkleFunkle & twitch.tv/zunklefunkle  ►Chelsea Rebecca - Moirah & Clodagh. Twitter: @Carebecc, search Dead Meat Podcast & Dead Meat YouTube Channel ►SpiritVoices - Wendy - Twitter: @SpiritxVoices & Spirit Voices YT  ►Shakyra Dunn - Temperance and Freyja - Twitter: Shakyradunn  ►Kaiden - Krauss. UtsInBoots on Twitch & YouTube.  ►Andy - Landry Eavy. Twitter: @midniteauth0r & check out the Osaka Mime graphic novel--- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/darksomnium/message Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

You'd think being in a psychiatric ward for 38 months would be enough to deter a guy from ever going back to a sport that involves watching human beings at the height of their physical prowess beat the living shit out of each other, sometimes regulated, sometimes not. But here I am, fresh out of the loony bin and reading the most unusual advertising slogan I'd ever laid eyes on. The most terrifying tournament has come around once again. Conquer your fears in the NFC. Literally.

This was the business card that accompanied my black envelope, as it was handed to me on the discharge ward by a well-dressed and gangly fellow with an uncomfortable wide smile. He didn't say much of anything, just that his name was Watson, before bowing and holding up the envelope. Like the butler, right? I said, taking the envelope from his plasticine hands. His smile ripples across his face, and he nods slowly, his perfect hair unmoving in the strong wind before he turns on his heels and walks back to the black sedan.

The cold air chilled my bones, and I pulled the medical bracelet from my wrist, grimacing at the marks underneath before following Watson to the sedan and hauling my luggage into the trunk before setting off, not knowing how I came to even be there in the first place. I guess right now, that doesn't really matter. What matters is where I am now and what I'm doing. Blood strewn across the canvas. Freight brain matter sailing across my head and splattering against the wall. A woman standing in a pool of blood has the deformed creature twitches on the ground.

My name is Sal Motermouth Sabota. I'm a sports commentator by trade. Be it combat sports, pro wrestling, death matches. or martial arts tournaments, I've done it all. I won't lie. Work can be hard to come by. I've spent months struggling for rent and resorting to less tried and true commentary methods in order to survive.

That has, at times, involve trying my hand at some of the more underground competitions, unregulated fights, sick, illegal games, bet on by people on the dark web, and worse, things I'm not proud to have taken a hefty paycheck for. from greasy, sweaty fucks in our meany track suits, and stinking of cheap booze and coke all the way up to well-dressed Bitcoin farmers in their 20s who probably own child slaves. In short, I'm no stranger to the grim underworld or the secrecies with which they conduct their work. I see money and an easy way to make it with my voice.

I don't ask questions. So when I received an email the day of my discharge from the hospital, and I'm told, you'll receive a letter from Mr. Watson, take it, and follow the instructions to the avenue, pay up front as agreed. I don't question it, especially when the note is personalized and the doctor says my medical fees were covered. We drove past numerous landscapes, vistas, and neighborhoods before veering off into an industrial estate and entering an underground tunnel. Half a mile in, Watson stops the car and peers back, smiling. He directs a thumb to the service door in the side tunnel and rubs his neck, a scar running from ear to ear. Was he a

former fighter or gangster? I sighed and got out, still in my medical gown and hauling ass to the door. It opened before I could reach out, and a tall, muscular woman in her late thirties greeted me with a smile. She was imposing, powerful in her gate, a black eye patch with several seals adorning the sides, accompanying a thick scar down her face. She wore a tank top with a black cloak with white fur on the tops and sleeves, a thick black chain clasp around the neck. I won't lie. She looked badass. Terrifying, but bad ass. About time you showed up, Sabata. She grinned and put a cinder block of a hand on my shoulder. I'm 5'10, 180 pounds, but she made me feel like a child in front of her.

The power emanating from her fist was unbelievable. Come on, the trial match is starting, and I don't want no tourney without a broken-in commentator. You got to know the ropes of this place. You know your driver was standing right outside when I was discharged, right? Couldn't think to give me an extra day or two to freshen up? This wasn't normal protocol, even for back-alley promotions like this. She just grinned at me and slapped my shoulder. The tournament waits for nobody, Sal.

Time's a wasting. The hallway is dimly lit, and the sounds of a ruckus above us are as impossible to ignore as the sounds of thudding, screaming, and snapping. As we pass several doors, with one-way mirrors on the front panes, I hear sounds I could have never placed in the animal kingdom or otherwise, gurgles, clicks, grunts, and even otherworldly ones. Whispers, what the hell is that? You guys doing animal fights down here?

I mean, I called a monkey fight once, but it's not exactly pleasant. I shuddered, thinking of the violence chimpanzees can inflict on one another, let alone humans. She never stopped walking or staring directly ahead when she responded. Those ain't animals. Not by a long shot. Before I can probe further, I'm hurried into a changing room and practically swept off my feet by her strength. I turned back and she's already poking her head out the door.

You got five minutes. Get your shit and head up the left stairs. Watson'll guide you. She grinned, and I saw gold fillings in her teeth that glinted as much as her bedazzled eye patch. You came highly recommended. I expect good things. I do as instructed, and within five minutes I'm back in my commentary close.

An open buttoned Hawaiian shirt with my old, hotel inertia shirt underneath, skinny black jeans and shimmering black shoes. I found some old slit gorilla powder in my hair and dusted it up, opting for the disheveled look as I knew I'd be sweating by the end of the ordeal. You shouldn't bother putting in so much effort, you know. They're not going to care how good you look, only how well you talk. Standing in the doorway was a woman in her 40s, well-toned physique, dark-skinned, and hair clad in meticulous locks.

tied back into a large bun with a pair draped down the sides of her head. She held a thick book in one hand and pocketed a serrated blade in the other before motioning to me. Come on. We'll have to do the pleasantries on the way. The match is starting and you don't want to miss that. The commissioner isn't the type you want to upset, especially when you're not here by choice. I looked for a moment, dumbfounded.

I'm here because I was invited. I already got my pay from the woman who let me in. I shrugged, pocketing the envelope and getting my equipment from the suitcase. The woman gave a sad smile and shook her head. Of course you'd think that. She likes it that way. I bet she didn't introduce herself either, did she? Come on.

I followed her down, and after a few minutes, we come to a fork in the hallway, an elevator system to our right and a stairway to the left. Dutifully, Watson stood patiently, still grinning and motioning us to go up. Once we're situated in our booth upstairs, I set my equipment up and looked down at the table, expecting a slew of papers and fighter information in front of me. I looked to the woman and ask, but she doesn't break her stare in the darkness, looking down at the arena floor some hundred feet below us. You won't need that. Not for this match. The lights flicker on, and the enormity of this venue reveals itself to me. It's a structure of imposing steel. dried blood, claw marks, and other unknown substances that litter the forty-foot wide circular

pit the fighters contested in, a black lift on either side of the fighters' corners that I can only assume ascended up from their locker room area. Around them were chain-link fences that rose up to the audience stands above, sitting around 300 people across all four sides. At the very top sat our booth, the commissioner's office directly opposite, the judge's booth to our our right and the fight analysts medical area to our left. Standing in the center with a spotlight over them was the commissioner, microphone in hand, and an energy that was almost palpable. Ladies and freaks of all kinds out there in the universe, I welcome you once more

to the annual Nightmare Fighting Championship. It's been a long year, but we have new blood to pit against our resident night terrors and some fresh fears to feast on the fortuitous soul that frolics into their dead. As always, our contestants will be fighting for their freedom, a chance to get their wish or to fight for the ultimate prize. The crowd cheers and the majority are hidden behind thick plexiglass and lighting, but I can see some have karate GIs, weapons in hand, and others with demon masks as they Whoop and holler.

The clientele here were, at least in my estimation, experienced, but I was feeling a lump in my throat at that one phrase the commissioner so surreptitiously added in without issue. I leaned to the woman next to me as if she knew what I was going to ask. She put a finger up and shook her head. Eyes awashed with fear and a grimness I had only seen on that of trainers who knew their fighter was not ready for the bout ahead. She pointed the finger down to my machine, then to the pit. Turning it on, I looked down as the commissioner began to talk, readying myself to commentate on whatever weirdos came up to battle.

But before we get to that, we have an exciting exhibition match for our loyal supporters who bankroll this event every year. Without you elite few, we could not do this. You are the pound-four-pound goats of support. Now, without further ado, let's get this show on the road. The rest of the lights clicked on and spun around the venue as they raised the profile of the bout. The elevators both whirling into action as the right one arose first. In this corner from the Marionette's shop,

and accompanied by his Burakudal, Mr. Stim, It's the man who pulls the strings. The puppet man! Out steps a tall, thin, Japanese man in full clown makeup. His head shaven, save for two ridiculous strands of hair stretched out and fluffed up to their limits like red antenna. His eyebrows, large ems that practically cover his forehead. The nose, a completely vacant slot, with a black hole drawn in, and the

mouth, the mouth was nailed shut, literally. Sharp, rusted nails had been hammered down through the lips with such force that they'd bent. A sickening crimson red face paint stretched across the entire bottom half of his face, making it seem far larger by comparison. He carefully held a small bundle underneath a sheet and bowed deeply to the audience before standing at his designated spot. In the other corner from the street. of God knows where and the womb of someone who misses him, little Michael O'Donnell.

I watched with wide eyes and a stomach threatening to evacuate its contents at any moment as the smoke cleared and a boy no older than 17 rushed out, beating his chest and screaming to the crowd as if he was the incredible Hulk. I don't know if they drugged the poor kid, but he clearly had no idea where he was. There are no rules, no referees, and judges only exist in case of a draw or unclear victory. Our commentary team will take over, and we wish you a phenomenal match. She drools a little before she speaks again, looking up at me and winking. Let's make this a violent one.

She snaps her fingers and leaps for the fence, climbing it with ungodly ease before sitting down on her makeshift chair in her office. I have no idea what I'm seeing, but every cell in my body is urging me to run. I feel my knees tense and my frame rise ever so slightly before the woman next to me puts her hand on my thigh, pushing me down with great force. Hey, you have a job to do. So do I. Trust me.

You think you can leave, but if you get out of this chair, not only will your life end, mine will too. She unsheathes the serrated blade and looks at me with pity. We both have a part to play here. So put the headset on and let's do our job, no matter how hard it is. Hands shaking, I pick up the headset and connect it to the portable recorder and take a breath. I-I need your name. What is it you do?

I stutter, trying to calm myself. She hands me a bottle of water as the surrounding lights dim and the spotlight focuses on the spectacle below. I'm Madam Nal Lockwood, Crypted Hunter, and your co-host to guide you through tonight. Good to meet you, Sal. Welcome, Fight Fans from around the world. God knows how you're listening to this, or why, but here we are. I'm your host, Sal Motermouth Sabo, wishing this was all a bad dream. Joining me this evening is our cryptid specialist and all-around badass, Madam Nell Lockwood. How are you doing, Nell? She looks at me with a bewildered look on her face, before blinking and coming to her senses.

Uh, good. Good. All things considered. Boy, you'd really have a professional knack for this, huh? I can see why Commissioner Aldoan brought you in. Ah, yes, that's right, folks. NFC Commissioner Aldoan invited me here personally, and our exhibition match proves to be challenging.

Let's check in. I look down to see the puppet man sat down and gesturing to the figure under the sheet, like he's got a negotiation going on. The child, undeterred and furious, rushes towards him and takes his back, slapping his head and even pulling on his hair with extreme prejudice. Well, looky there. That kid has absolutely no fear. When I was his age, I would have stayed far away from a nightmare spectre like that.

But hell, this is all part of the show, right? Hopefully they're paying that poor guy down there a sizable sum to throw a fight to a child. What do you think, Nell? Is this the weirdest make-a-wish fulfillment task or what? I look over to her, hoping she'd indulge me and that I could believe this was just going to end with a pissed-off actor storming away when the child hit him too hard. But Nell was scanning her now open book and looking for information on dolls. He's talking to his doll because it's desperate to be let loose. He's trying to bargain with it to spare him. This is the nature of the puppeteer and his master.

She pushes the book to the center of the table and shows me a faded illustration of a pristine Boon Raku doll, a kind of meticulously crafted Japanese take on the ventriloquist doll. The limbs are thinner and the face is more minimalist, but still no more frightening. They usually have a symbiotic relationship, but it seems this one obeys the doll and will not want to face more punishment. What do you mean more punishment? I probe, looking back down at the feverish puppet man. as he tries signing frantically under the sheet, even putting his head under as the kid bites his arm

and kicks him, screeching. The nails, so. Those aren't to silence him. They're to punish him. The rest happened in slow motion. The sheet fell down. The puppet man stood up and walked to his side of the fighter's corner, facing the elevator and placing his face into his forearms as he shook.

The boy followed to keep attacking, but with one swift kick to the midsection, the boy was propelled back to the center of the pit where the doll sat. If there was a human face, I didn't see it. Instead, I was staring down at a small, wood-carved spider, the head sporting black geisha hair and the makeup still present. But rows of sharpened black teeth protruded from the clicking mouth, and two larger eyes jutted out from the base of the skull. Smaller ones dotted closely around it.

It was like seeing a puppet ogre spider. It looks like the puppet man has let Mr. Stairs out to say hi, and I can certainly see why he was under that sheet. This one isn't pretty, folks. The face doth fit the name. The question is, what's he going to do to... I didn't need to finish the question. My hand shook and the world spun around me as this creature crawled towards the still-weezing

boy with ungodly speed and perched itself expertly beside him. I didn't know if it was my eyes or the distance from my eyes. where I sat, but this was not a small puppet. He was easily half the boy's height, and that became more unnerving when he reared up on his back legs, the head clicking up, and the raspy voice hissing out like a gas leak in a building. Hey, hey kid! The boy rubbed his eyes, seemingly realizing where he was as he calmed down in an air of utter confusion around him.

If you let me be your new master, and you promise... His head spun around, and the jaw clicked ferociously as he was. giggled, extending out a clawed paw. What do you say? The boy, still confused, slowly reached out his hand, and the moment immediately reminded me of a slew of nature shows I'd seen as a kid, where a predator waits until the prey is lulled before striking. I felt the chill up my spine as he extended his hand and grabbed Mr. Stairs.

In that moment, he leapt up the arm and bore his way into the boy's mouth, down his throat, and shredded his flesh. The sound was so horrifying, so visceral, that it outshines any backyard stabbing, joint snap, or broken nose. The boy didn't even have time to scream. He simply looked up with tear-stained eyes as the puppet disappeared. Then he started walking without him realizing. He looked down at his limbs, terrified. He looked over at the puppet master, who still had his head to the elevator and pleaded with someone, anyone, to help him. I looked to now. I looked to now. who refused to take her eyes away, studying the battle in almost morbid, scientific curiosity,

detached entirely from the scenario. I couldn't fathom how she did it, how she ignored this child begging us to get him out of there. I wanted to. Every instinct in me as a fight fan and a decent human was to scream, stop the fight, but clearly when my own life is at risk and money is involved, I'm not a decent human. Instead, with bile in my throat and a sweating forehead, I did my job. My goodness, the puppet, I mean, Mr. Stairs has become the puppet master.

Surely the fight will be over with our young competitor incapacitated. What does our commissioner have to say about this? She stared at me, her one eye gleaming and her face elated with the violets. It ain't over yet, Church Boy. We haven't even seen the finale. Have we, puppet master? She laughs and slaps her knee. The puppet master sobbing as he sinks to the floor and she continues.

He ain't done feeding. Not yet. The way she said the word feeding nearly made me lose what food I had in me. That was a child, somebody's baby boy. What does she mean by that, Nell? What is the strategy to victory here? Nell looked down at her book and traced her finger across a passage before wiping her forehead and pushing the locks aside, if her composure wasn't breaking yet, it would soon.

This kind of parasitic doll feasts on its prey and targets non-essential organs first. Controls the host with the neurotoxin in its tail, and then, when it's finally content, it gives the brain a second injection. What happens then? I asked, my own professionalism hanging on by a thread at this point. She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. I guess you'll see in a moment. I sure is held on one too.

Not again. Before I can prompt her further, the boy lets out an ear-piercing shriek and falls to his knees, gripping at his head before it turned red, then purple, and finally an ugly shade of puse before his head burst and chunks of his skull, flesh, and brain matter sprayed the pit and the walls. some hitting my desk and making me audibly shriek, much to the commissioner's delight. I like you, Sal. You pass for the tournament. She hauls her body up and slams down to the pit, applauding as the microphone descends from the heavens. And your winner, the puppet man and Mr. Stairs.

The crowd erupts with applause as the weeping puppet man pulls the blood-soaked puppet out, places him under the sheet, and silently begins to walk back to the elevator while attendees clear up the boy's corpse. What? What the fuck is this place? I asked now, pausing my recording. This is where nightmares are kept and set upon mostly unwilling competitors for the world's amusement. You have done dark web fights before, right? Mafia snitches being put into lion's pits, bump fights, addicts fighting women to score. This can't be that unusual to you. I stared at her incredulously. Was that even a question?

I did the dark web once, and it damn sure didn't involve monsters. She scoffs and closes her book, stretching before looking at me with contempt. Oh, it did. It's not the ones you hear about in fairy tales. Good luck with the selection process. I'll be back for the opening round. Oh, don't try to run. The Dvaras both in minutes.

She sauntered off, leaving me deflated, sick and and terrified, unable to leave and frustrated to the point of tears that I couldn't express that concoction of emotions. I did what I always do. I regressed and pressed record on the device as Commissioner Aldoan continued. At that moment, however, I was deaf to it all. The gravity of the situation had fully enveloped me. They weren't kidding about the unwilling participants.

I just didn't realize I would be one of them. On every side of me sits men and women with a desire for violence that goes beyond the norm, beyond the sane, and beyond the boundaries of humanity. Below me are an untold number of creatures rattling their cages and howling for blood. Across from me is a woman so powerful she could crush my skull beneath her boot with the utmost ease if it amused her. That invitation was nothing more than my own ransom note in pretty colors and flattering platitudes. I was in a tournament housing nightmares incarnate, and it would only get more violent

from here on out. Post-match interview. Folks, I'm standing here with the winner of the exhibition match, the puppet man, and Mr. Stairs. Lads, tell me what was going through your mind during that fight. The puppet man pulls on his mouth to speak, and Mr. Stairs smacks him, pushing down on the nails and grabbing the mic. I get all the work, and he's just my personal carrier. You asked to Questions to me? I got it?

Or do you want to join my little troupe? Langerie chuckles nervously and pulls at his collar before nodding. And gunner trash didn't know his asshole from his forehead. And I decided to do a little exploring and find out how the two were connected. Of course, it wasn't the easiest of the experiences. I've had luggage cases in one room than meat sack. But I'm a professional and I make room however I have to. Like all good professionals, Mr. Stairs.

Now tell me, what's next for you and the puppet mind now is you got that victory? in the bag and the commissioner was watching on. Mr. Stairs' head runs in a circle, his jaw clicking as he cackles. Ain't that obvious, Landry? The tournament's about to begin. One night of violence, us against them. A wish to be granted at the end of it. We want in.

You hear me coming? At the risk of being bulls, I got to ask, Mr. Stairs, what will you wish for if you win the tournament? The puppet man shakes his head and pleads silently. Mr. Stairs slowly turns his body towards Landry and stares up at him. I'll wish for my body to be returned to me. One way or another. End of interview. Clearing the mess from the table and taking a deep breath,

I look over to Landry Evie, our interviewer and correspondent. A stout Irishman with sandy blonde hair, a neat three-piece suit and circular shades grinning back at me with a pair of encouraging thumbs up. I wish I could return the gesture, but all I could feel was a sense of sickness and fear that I would never leave this place alive. I slapped myself twice for good measure, and I knew I had to focus. There was an expectation on me to do my damn job, and I was determined to see that through.

I pushed pause on the recorder and looked down at Aldiwan as her muscles glistened in the spotlight, my writing hand ready to jot down notes. This was the start of the tournament. The remarkable tournament, folks. 10 human competitors to start out our proving grounds opener. And I'm ever so delighted to share with you the eight of them have been, per our tournament rules, taken without warning from their homes, and possess only the most basic of competency in fighting.

The cheers and chance of NFC rang down on the commissioner who lapped it up before continuing. Naturally, we only want the best of the best for our quarterfinals. So once we're done introducing our contestants, we'll have our proving round match. Only the strongest make it to the annals of the tournament. She clicks her fingers and scales the fence, draping a massive bicep over the top and hanging from it like a gorilla on a swing, before pulling herself up over the top, draping her legs over and hanging upside down, Mike still in hanging. The pit began to open up.

Gears grinding and metal screeching as the surrounding stands, mine included, are steadily pushed back to extend the width of the pit around 60 feet in diameter. The now exposed deep bottom began slowly rising as a dozen people began coming into view. Some confused, some exercising. They're the participants. The spotlight focuses on the group one by one as they are highlighted by Aldoan. providing them a 10-second platform to showcase their persona. First, an extremely muscular tanned man in a sleeveless green hoodie,

stretching out his calves and then doing burpees in place as he's introduced. His specialty is the... His musculature is insane. He will rip and tear until it is done. One of only two invitational members, Rex, ultraviolet, judge. He pumps the air as his name is called, arrogance plastered over his face. Next to him is a tall Filipino man in his early twenties, a backpack slung over his shoulder, red ghee and black pants.

He's brandishing a beautiful bolo knife with confidence, slicing the air expertly before bringing it close to his face, bouncing on his feet. But I can see sweat on his brow. He's terrified. Our next contestant is the son of a grand master. in the art of Arnes. He's a weapons specialist with multiple ways to make you pay.

He can cut you to ribbons and beat the pieces into the ground. Marcus Halema Williams. Some distance away, kneeling down and his eyes closed, is a gargantuan man that even from my distance could pass for six feet and 300 pounds easily. He is carved out of granite.

His black hair and beard shaven perfectly, and his focus is immaculate. Even when Aldoan calls his name, he does nothing to respond. This stoic soldier hails from Dagestan. He's a man with more mystery than emotion, but power that may even rival my own. A WCSF, Sambao champion, and the pride of the motherland. Miroslav Zanaya. Two spotlights appear on either side of the sprawling structure, one Japanese man, middle-aged and bald,

sporting thick glasses in full karate ghee and shadow boxing and working up a sweat. The other, a Chinese man in his 30s with wiry brown hair, shirtless and wearing Hakama baggy pants as he holds a pose with supreme concentration. To my left is the Japanese sensation of the underground fight, sir. in Hokkaido, he is a Kyokishinkai master who beat three of our handlers into a coma before succumbing to several more. He can gouge an eye out with his big toe and shatter your skull with his thumb.

Tetsu Taishi Namura! She claps as he performs a spin kick and drops into the splits. To my right is a man with more balance than this arena has violence. He can break your legs without so much as a twitch. He flows like water and crushes like a pneumatic drill. He runs the territories in Beijing. Kwong Zhao! The spotlight shifts to nearer the center as two younger men are already squaring up.

Foreheads pressed against one another as they shout expletives. One, an Italian-American, his hair slicked back, and a toothpick jutting around as he points a damning finger into the other man's chest. The smaller man, sporting a pair of suspenders, a white tank top, and a flat cap as he grinned maniacly, flexing his extremely callous knuckles. These two are already rearing to go. One is a striker with a bite as bad as his bark. The other, a bare-knuckle boxer with a 42-0 record. I proudly welcome. Stefano, Flex, Gestiato, and Arthur switchblade willow to the end. They separated after a moment and looked back towards the man leaning against the far wall.

One leg up with his arms crossed and his head bowed, giggling. Pale, tall, and with bright white teeth, the front tube jutting out just a bit too much as he grinned. He sported thick, circular shades with blinders. His outfit was a sight. A long black cape with a red and black three-piece suit underneath. a small pocket watch with a black chain looping around the pocket and a maroon leather satchel around his frame. He bows and takes off his top hat, clad with symbols around the brim as he's introduced. Our other invitational entry is a unique one.

This guy doesn't have a traditional fighting style to say the least. I'll leave it at that for now. He's an illusionist and self-proclaimed drink catcher. Eustis de Colza! Down to two, I'd furiously scribbled keywords and styles. It always helped me remember the rest of the info when I'm live. Following the trajectory of the spotlight, it rested on a young woman relaxing against the wall, arms behind her head, and eyes cast upward towards the commentary booth.

She was small, sporting what can only be described as Japanese urban streetwear, a pair of black jeans with multiple chains and straps, a baggy sweater with the logo of a band I didn't recognize, a black mask with the phrase, don't open, dead inside, written over it, and thick black hair tied up in bunches. She didn't have a care in the world. This feisty, young woman, came to us from a hotel filled with horrors, from this and all manner of other realities. I'm not even sure she's from this one. but she knows how to handle a nightmare or two. I can assure you of that.

I'll let her skills do the talking. She's a valetudo fighter with violence of plenty. Give it up for when to go, Wendy Hatale. She lazily waves an arm before letting it fall again. Some of the other contestants looking at her with a grimace and contempt. Her behavior didn't exactly instill confidence in them. As the spotlight fell on the last woman, I felt the world slow around me, as if I was seeing something vital.

I took in the woman down there, taping up her wrists and biting down on a gum shield with malice, her hazel eyes laser-focused and staring directly up at the commissioner as she tied her hair back into a messy bun. Her legs were also taped up. She raised the leg into the air and struck her leg out with remarkable speed and power, before doing the same with her elbows. This woman was a weapon, and yet she looked so familiar, like a faded picture of someone you'd just know you'd had deja vu of seeing before.

Last, but certainly not least. You all know her and remember her from her last outing in the NFC, and we all know how that went. She spent three years training, and now she's back for more. But is she ready? for the changes the NFC has gone through? A former champion in Pencats Salat and BJJ practitioner, Nora Zane rounds out our competitors for this year's proving ground!

Aldoan pulled her body up and let her head drop back once more. The smile, a bizarre frown, and the wild blonde hair floating in the wind, her voice dripping with malice. Now that we've gotten the introductions out of the way. Let's get down to business. Some of you are worthy. Some of you are not. All of you want a shot at this.

She pushes down on her legs to hoist her body into the air before landing on her feet atop the cage, balanced perfectly as she pulls the shimmering black and gold belt from around her waist and holds it to the sky with pride. This is the NFC Openweight Championship. Held by yours truly. There are ten of you down there, but only six spots in our quarterfinals.

So some of you are gonna have to die. The crowd shows their approval and claps, chanting. But the one among you showing the most promise, well, you're not going into the tournament. You'll face me for this belt. You win? You get whatever you desire. The rest of you will have to fight through the tourney against our menagerie of night tears with only one emerging as the next contender.

She jumps to the throne in her office and smiles at me before shouting into the microphone. Begin! Welcome back, bloodlusters and bone breakers. We're back in the thick of it with the most extreme opening round of the annual NFC tournament. I'm still your host, Sal Motamouth Sabota, and... I look over, and Nell is already sat next to me, hands clasped together and fingers against her lips, studying. When did she get here? And joining me is my cryptid expert, Madam Nell Lockwood.

This really is a blink and you'll miss it opener. Let's get right into it and see who's fighting who. To my surprise, there was a momentary hesitation from almost all participants. Nora stood her ground, arms bent in and knees primed for anyone. Tetsuo and Kwong both maintaining battle stances and Wendy simply keeping her daydreaming alive as a rowdy Stefano sauntered over to her. Hey bitch, you forget this is a fight attorney? He stuck his head forward and turned his nose up at her.

I may not have wanted to be here, but we had enough time to come to peace with it down below. I've been in enough fights in my time to know what's what. It's every man or woman for himself, you feel me? It's not for me. Do what you want, Jersey Shore rejects. She mumbled, not moving from her spot. He bit down hard and snapped the toothpick, running towards her and pulling her up by the scruff of her shirt. Fury written across his face as he volleyed a fist into her stomach.

Nobody speaks to me that way. Not out there where there are rules. And damn sure not I'm here where we're free to do as we please. In that moment, there was a groan that progressed to a screech. The sound of a balloon popping, a splatter in silence. Wendy ripped the poor guy in half with her bare hands. Thick sharp claws extended from her elongated fingers for just a moment before sinking back to regular size.

She dropped the floor and pulled up her mask to lap the viscera still falling down, swallowing it with glee before going back to rest against the wall. Oh my goodness! She eviscerated that man without so much as breaking a sweat. Wendigo Winty lives up to her name. Nell, could she be the real deal? I ask, horrified by what I'd just seen and filled with adrenaline. A bona fide dark horse in this tourney?

Yeah, a Wendigo. I need more time, but I'll give her one thing. She certainly hides it well. A small smile slivered across Nell's face before concentration returned to it. Switchblade Arthur Willow elected to make a move on Namoa, who hadn't deviated from his stance, at all. Switchblade flexed his knuckles once more, and I could see just how jagged and sharp they were. This was not a man to be trifled with.

Bear knuckle boxing provides one of the best local tests for any fighter, and a 42-0 record is nothing to scoff at. Those knuckles look damn dangerous. I make a note of Tetsuo's stance, and something seems off about it. I look to Nell for a rebuttal, but she's feverishly running through the pages of her book and waves at me to move on. Well, while these two have an elongated stare-down, let's look at the absolute specimens that are ultra-violence Rex Chung and Miroslav Zenaia.

Rex was throwing caution to the wind and trading blows with Zenaia, as if this was the finals. Every single volley fired was met with one of equal power and focus. I could hear skins split and swell under the pressure of these shots, but neither man would relent. Eventually, they would go in for, dual headbutt and be frozen there for a moment, eyes locked in both anger and respect, unable

to make the other break. It was then, as I closed my eyes and scanned the other fighters, that I understood why Eustace DeColte was known as the dream-catcher. But to be frank, that name was clearly misleading on our esteemed commissioners part. Her eyes lit up and she leaned forward at his making a move, pulling open the satchel and the thick black smoke billowing out with an ungodly shriek. He was a nightmare catcher. I watched something crawl out of the satchel with proportions not possibly able to fit in there. First the arms draped in paper-thin, sallow skin, yellow veins pumping a thick liquid around its translucent body, then the head emerged,

matted black hair covered in a slime dripping down each follicle. The head adorned with three pairs of Beady little eyes all on top of one another, a mouth filled with green and black salivating gums, not a single tooth in sight, but a long, spindly tentacle protruding from its mouth. A black collar around its neck as it fully emerged, nude, save for a pair of fighting shorts with the letters E.D.K. on them. It looked to Eustace for a moment before he smirked and pointed towards Marcus, whose composure had failed him entirely. It charged toward him with a an unholy shriek that threatened to damage my audio equipment. Marcus desperately trying to grab a weapon from his bag before it got closer,

but settling for the Bowie Knight. He threw the bag towards it in an attempt to slow it down, but the tongue simply wrapped around it and squeezed it until it split, never ceasing its crawl towards him. Eustace DeColta has lived up to his name of illusionist and brought forth something so disturbing it might as well be nightmare fuel and garnet. Marcus, Halemaer Williams, had better think of something fast,

or he's out of this competition. I bellowed, trying to remember where I was and what I was supposed to be doing. It's a devourer. It won't stop until it's been fed. Nell said simply, eyes darting back and forth between the commissioner and the unfortunate scene playing out below. They could stop this right now, but they won't. Before any of the competitors could step in, the creature's tongue wrapped around Marcus as he slashed at its exposed mouth aimlessly. It seemed mildly irritated, but not in any pain as it looked towards Eustace for guidance.

All he did was close his hands like a flytrap, giggling. Marcus shook his head and begged for mercy. The devourer drooling as it gripped him tighter, pulled him in head first and began biting, hard. As he bit into Marcus' head, a main artery was severed and blood rained around the pit once more. If it shocked our other fighters, they didn't show it. Folks, our second fatality of the evening, and that means there's one more person to be eliminated and one to be chosen for Aldoan's favor. Who will it be? Looking over at Nora, she was busy exchanging blows with Kwong. Nasty grappling exchanges followed by heavy knees from her in the

clinch and footstomps by Kwong. Violent as it may be, it seemed to be a very muted affair, as if both were holding back. Meanwhile, watching the fight between Tetsuo and Switchblade play out, The feeling something was off became more foreboding in the back of my head as Switchblade got closer. You could see him angling the fists, and when he swung with an overhand right, it wasn't shocking to see Tetsuo use the top of her skull to crack Switchblade's hand and break it. This is actually a common tactic in some fight circles. What was shocking was the malice with which Tetsuo responded. In the moments when Switchblade backed off, Tetsuo kicked him in the solar plexus,

pushed into the pit he just made with his kick to then step up and deliver a swift kick to the face. In that moment, the fight fan in me lost my mind. Daishi indeed. This man is extremely ambitious, folks, and it just paid off. This is known in martial arts as the shadowless kick and is a remarkable feat to watch for anyone who loves to fight. Except in the moments following, I realized he used the heel of his foot rather than the side or top to kick switchblade, sending him crumbling to the ground and the mercy of Tetsuo still standing on his head. He grabbed at Switchblade's malformed hand with both hands clasped, pulled at his joint as he kept one foot firmly on his shoulder and the other on his face, masking his screams.

Within a few moments, the arm was torn from the socket, and Tetsuo crouched down, pushing his entire bodyway onto Switchblade before leaping off and yelling at the top of his lungs as he swung the errant limb down on Switchblade's already damaged face. The force he generated was akin to dropping a dumbbell on switchblade's head as the force sent his body crashing into the pit and creating a small divot where his head rested. His body twitched with the impact and the room fell silent as he did. Tetsuo reached back and swung the limb into his lifeless body repeatedly, each sickening thud seeming to produce a more unsightly visage of the karate master. Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself! Stop hitting yourself! He bellowed, his voice gradually dropping lower as he taunted his downed foe.

I felt sick. This is not behavior becoming of a karate master. I must say that I'm all for a violent affair, but what is the point in smashing an already dead body? The fight is over, and with switchplay down, we have our quarter-finalists. I slammed my fist down and looked over to the commissioner. She was ecstatic. That is not a karate master in the sense you and I know, Sal.

Nell was shaking, her hands tracing the contents of a page marked with three foreboding letters to form one terrifying word. Oni. As Tetsuo struck harder, his body changed. Horns protruded from his head. His skin grew blue and thick fangs stuck out of his mouth. The fighting around the pit stopped. Eustace pocketed back up his nightmare and leaned against the wall, eyeing the scene with curiosity.

Both Rex and Zenaa rubbed their heads and stood their ground. Wendy barely moved from her spot, but raised her head slightly. Zara and Kwong began to move forward to stop him. Commissioner Aldoen shouted at them to stop, holding out a hand and wagging a finger. That won't be necessary. You've all passed to the quarterfinals. Go to the benches and await your matchups. This one has peaked my interest.

She dropped the mic and leapt down into the pit. cloak coming off during the process and the belt wrapped around her small waist. She was an imposing structure of scars, muscles, and malice. I had no idea how many battles this woman had been in, but it was clear she got her role from extensive experience. I don't beat so many of our guards. You want to tell me what brings you here, friend. He drops the limb and flexes his muscles, the body barely fitting into the key as he rips off

the top half and the blue body expands slightly. Old rules don't matter. Lines blurred. Message needed to be sent. He slurred, circling around the pit as the remaining fighters sheepishly maneuvered to a small area that had been opened up by Watson. Much like a dugout in baseball, Aldoan cracked her neck and unbuckled the belt, holding it up as she took confident steps towards Tetsuo. Oh, what's the message you want to send my humble? little fighting glove. She pressed her head against his.

He was still taller, but she was no slouch to look at. Both sides know what you did. No, you broke the rules. You will be punished. He smiles and jumps back, swiping her shoulder in the process. Fight fans, you're in for a treat. Our commissioner and reigning, defending open-weight NFC champion, is defending her strap against her pick of the opening round selections.

Can't say this will be a fair fight given. Tetsuo's admission to being a demon, however. I wipe the sweat from my brow. I can feel the bloodlust in the air, and it's choking me. Oh, I don't think you'll need to worry about that very much. Nell scoffed, propping her feet up on the table as she stretched and lazily flicked the pages of her book. Keep watching. You'll see. A red light bathed the pit in a foreboding hue.

The crowd falling to murmurs as Tetsuo lunged forward, missing the swift alley. Aldoan by inches. He stumbled forward and nearly lost his footing, turning around with a scowl. What's the matter? Losing all that human composure now that you're not wearing the master's skin? She spouted and rubbed her eyes. Must be so hard to maintain that form for too long. Stealing all those techniques just long enough to face me. She rears back a fist and times it perfectly as he runs in, connecting with his jaw and sending his body sideways, head connecting with the ground as his body angles upward, and the force generated sends him rolling across the ground, twisting into a heap on the floor.

She looks at her fiat and smiles, pulling her arms around herself and hunching over. What a shame it wasn't even close to being enough, but you're right about one thing. I watched this gargantuan woman's back bubble, the skin stretching and pairing as a pair of great black wings emerge, thick black fur coating them around the back, the long bone running through the length of it coated in a thick black resin, the interior sporting two thin, wide mouths that sat with their teeth bared and jaws clamped shut. She was a monstrosity, and made that clear to all as she propelled herself forward, grabbing the dumbfounded Tetsuo and pulling him into the air with her, smiling ear to ear with hands

gripping his shoulders firmly. I do like to break the rules! She beat the wings once, and while using the upward momentum to come eye-level with us in the booth, winked and wrapped the wings around her opponent. There was a crunch, a muffled scream, and when the wings pulled away, we saw why. Both mouths were ravenously biting at his non-vital areas, pulling away chunks of his flesh like fresh barbecue as he screamed. The champ has the challenger in a precarious position. and this could be over before it even starts. What is she?

I couldn't help asking out loud as Nell shoved the book in front of me. It depicted myths and legends of a woman from all manner of religious textbooks that stood atop fields of corpses, cavorting with a many-horned beast and bathing in blood. Simple. She's the whore of Babylon. Nell gritted her teeth and leaned forward. She's the woman I'm sworn to kill. We watched open-mouthed as Aldoan sprayed the venue with more blood.

before turning her opponent upside down like he was a rag doll, clamping his already damaged arms with her legs and crossing the ankles around his neck. Her wings bit into his feet as they fell to the ground at great speed. I know Oni can survive most injuries, so I'll have to make it abundance clear to you, your friends and everyone down there. The one rule of...

She purred, licking her lips. She's going for a spike pile driver. At this height of the impact of... will surely finish the bout and the challenger. I belted, standing up from my seat to watch the impact. They hit the ground with a deafening thud, his head sinking into the canvas and disappearing from sight. The arms stretched out like an unholy cross.

The wings bit down hard on the ankles and spat out the bones. Blood sprang around as Aldoan laughed, picking up her belt triumphantly in the crowd cheered. Post-match interview. What's the story lovers that are sick of twisted? Landry Evey here and I'm joined by the reigning NFC

open weight champion and the complete savage the horror of Babylon herself Alwyn von Trir champ I'm gonna be honest with you I thought you were in for a tough scrap there with Hetzvok The lad's a literal demon

and you made him look like a child one swift punch Mike Tyson style they then pile drive him like a newly awoken charzard I gotta ask how do you prepare for these kinds of opponents on such short notice

and what's going through your mind when you step into the arena to take them home Oh, I've never not prepared. I've been challenged in that very office behind us. Shapeshifter hung in the rafters and waited until they thought they hit my blind spot. She snaps one of the strings on the back of her eyepatch. Something behind the patch quivers. They were half right, but I made them regretted.

As for what goes through my mind, win at all costs. They'd need to do better to catch our champ out. Now, champ, we've seen you do some sick shit. this arena before, but flying up and showing down on a demon like a drunk fella buying into a cabab. It's up there with the sickest, I have to tell you, I'm still cleaning some of the blood out of my hair. Tell us, why did you decide to dispatch him in such a horrifying manner? And what did he taste like? In the law of the jungle, all of the strongest beasts must set an example to others. This is the same in any hierarchy, be it human, demon, nightmare, whatever. There's an order to

things. These motherfuckers will learn to respect it. Planning him like that was spur of the moment. But if it emboldens cultural icons, I'm down. He tasted like fear and shame. A little bit of piss somewhere in there, too. The wings didn't complain, though. They're just happy to be fed. And no, Landry, I don't know where the food goes before you ask. Well, I'll do my best not to find out myself. I have to say, I don't like to doubt the champion. You know, I'm one of your biggest fans, but I thought this fight would be your toughest, and you proved otherwise.

Honestly, what's next for you? We might need to stare at important challengers, like one of those shapeshifting mimes from Osaka or something, because I'm not sure there's anyone here who can challenge you. It's getting very one-sided. Who do you see from the remaining contenders as your biggest threat, if there is even any? Aldoen twitches at the mention of challengers and cracks her neck.

What's next is seeing the remarkable talent below engage in nightmarish combat to see who will come out on top at the end. They will be molded and tested through battle, and maybe someone special will emerge. Until then, I'll take on the Osaka mimes, the Doolahans, and the shriekers, bring them all to me like lambs to the slaughter. As for our current crop of challengers, hmm, well. She looks over her shoulder at someone out of view and smiles. I like Wendy. No nonsense woman who tears without prejudice. A woman after my own heart.

But hell, it doesn't matter in the end. Human or not, the whore of Babylon takes on all. A deadly and boned shit on answer is always, champ. You've got to wiggle words and with your fists. One final question before I let you go and enjoy your deserved rest. What do you have to say to your fans and to any of your very? opponents. Aldoan steps closer and towers over Landry, eye wide and nose flaring as she gently takes the mic from him. I like you, Landry. I hired you after that title challenger, and I'd love

to rough and tumble with you once more. Maybe you'll stay on as an alternate. Think it over. She turns to the crowd, Mike in hand. Any and all challengers are welcome. Whether I pick them or? She twitches, her muscles pumping, and her pupil dilating as she breathes in. Or they pick me. I'll be waiting with open arms and closed fists. End of interview. When the dust cleared and the championship belt was back around her waist,

Aldoan took the microphone and held it aloft as the chance of NFC and Hale Champ rained down. She waited for a moment before someone threw her cloak to her and she spun around as she clasped it once again. Well, that was exhilarating. I'm sure our remaining contestants have just as much zeal as he did. Oh, but too many of you survived.

She frowns and cocks her head to the side as she looks at the surviving combatants in the dugout. Well, I guess we'll just have an extra match and the fighter with the least amount of damage can come up first. She points a finger at Kwong and curls it. The man sighs and walks towards him. She directs him to the opposite side of the pit where he starts stretching.

The quarterfinals will follow some very simple rules. No timeouts, no rules, and only tapouts, knockouts, or death. Stop the fight. You have three hours between rounds to recover if you survive. Any of you showing exceptional promise may get a unique opportunity. Your path just might. Diverage. Her eyes linger over one of the fighters, but I can't see who from my vantage point.

The rest of you will learn of your placements in the quarterfinal bracket after this bout. With that, she climbs back up to her perch and signals to someone to dim the lights once more. The elevator whirrs as the crowd murmurs with excitement. Ladies and gentlemen, fighting for the pursuit of knowledge and all things peace. Quang Xiao. A smattering of applause as Quang adopts a neutral stance, eyes locked on the great service elevator as it comes to a halt. A thick fog rolls in, seeping out of the elevator shaft like an open wound.

His opponent from the bowels of the NFC and searching for a way to cure his endless hunger. Gasha do Koro! A pair of yellow lights burned from huge, empty socks. in the darkness. An arm that seemed too big to fit into the elevator began stretching out and weaving through the fog. My vision obscured as it searched for its target. I'd barely had time to press record before I heard a blood-curdling scream ring out from the pit, the sound of someone being dragged as their nails split under the pressure. A low growl echoing

throughout the silenced fight arena before a sickening crunch and gurgle before the figure slipped back into the shadows and the fog dissipated. Where Kwong had stood was empty. Instead, a trail of blood ending in a small pool of flesh. This was whatever was left of Kwong. I stared incredulously for a moment. This was hardly a fight. It was a slaughter. This is what happens when Aldwin doesn't get her way. Nell sighed, pushing the book over to me to show what monstrosity had taken him. A gargantuan skeleton depicted as over a hundred feet tall leered back at me. I have no clue how it even manifested in the fighter's pit, but I was grateful to be far away from it.

Kong was never meant to survive. Or rather, there were never meant to be extras. When that happens, she lets her pet out. She sighed and shook her head. Whatever. This is how she's always been. Let's just get on with it. I look to protest, but she shuts me down. Can't help the dead cell. Focus on the living and their chance at escaping this place. She was right. I took a breath while the cleanup crew attended and waited for Aldoan to speak.

She was already in hysterics as she waved goodbye comically to the pile of flesh and bones that was once quong. Oh, man, I've seen some shutouts in my days. But that? That was embarrassing. Still, not all men and women are grown. created equal. I guess he wasn't prepared for everything in his mindfulness teachings, huh? She laughed, and the crowd jeered with her. Well, with that, we have our quarter-finalists secured, and the next fight will now commence. A screen descended from the rafters, and the display began cycling through the faces of the competitors in quick succession before stopping on wrecks.

He leapt up from his area in the dugout with enthusiasm and started rotating his shoulder to warm up as he took his place. Well, now, this should be far more competitive. Practitioner of the Death Clutch and one of our two invitational members, Rex Ultra Violent Chug! He pumped his fist in the air and laughed as he waited for the hellish creature to emerge from the other side. This time it ascended without fanfare and opened to show a. a body wrapped in white plastic and sheets, keeping the head exposed, skin red, and blackened beyond recognition. The eyes were deadened, and the whites gave way to small black pupils with a gray iris as yellow,

broken teeth were barred in a grin. The smell of rot was unbearable. And his opponent from the vengeful realms of the afterlife, the Pocong! It floated across the pit with no effort and emitted a raspy groan. As it grew closer to Rex, who showed absolutely no fear during the staredown, Aldo and smile grew. Begin! Well, fight fans, we come to you with the second quarterfinal match, but technically our first official one pitting ultraviolence himself, Rex Chug, against the Pukong.

Now, what can you tell us about this creature? Oh, you mean Rex? Yeah, he's a death clutch practitioner, which means he shouldn't be facing something like a pecan. in his matchup. It's cruel. She replied, scanning the book for information. Pekong is an Indonesian spirit trapped in its death shroud. Yeah, they're frightening, sure, but nowhere near his level. I foresee another quick match. She peers down and stares at the creature, no longer speaking. Well, our cryptid analyst has made her prediction. Let's see if we can score one for Team Humanity with Rex.

The Pukong floated in place and simply stared Rex down, never breaking his grin as Rex began circling for an opening, bouncing on his feet. All right, you big piece of shit. Let me show you why I was invited to this turny. He bellowed before rushing in and ripping the Pukong by the waist. It wasn't for my good looks. He deadlifted the creature back and onto its head with a sickening fud before rolling it through, holding the head up and rearing his dominant arm back.

It wasn't because of my titles! His fist meets the Pukong's face with extreme prejudice. Rodded teeth and dead flesh cake his knuckles and the surrounding canvas as the smell circles around the venue, threatening to make me vomit. But Rex was not done. He stands up over the creature and squats down, his thighs bulging with power as he leaps into the air, extending his feet for full impact as they both crash down on the creature's head.

It's because I'm the best fucking... fighter in the world and I belong here. He cries, looking around at the crowd into the dugout of fighters before pointing to them. All you motherfuckers are unnoticed. I have ultraviolence. And if you think you're going to get your wish, you've got another thing coming. I will stomp you into the fucking mat. He raises his foot and crashes it back down on the Pukong, as he says this before picking

it up once more and tossing it across the venue, ripping part of the shroud as he does so. Wow, I'd say I'm speechless, but this is my job. Mr. Ultraviolence himself just exceeded his own moniker and took out the Pukong in no time flat. Could this be the guy to win it all? It certainly seems so, and he's not even shown us his true techniques. I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good to see one of our own score of victory, but my excitement was misplaced.

No, he fucked up. That's no normal Pekong. It's a Pekong Mera. She tapped on the two types, a regular but equally horrifying Pukong in white, with a blackened face and its red counterpart next to it, eyes alight with rage. And he's about to pay the price for ripping the ties on it. Within seconds, the Pukong screeched and pulled spindly limbs free of its findings, crawling on all fours towards Rex with a terrifying swiftness, head bobbing as if the spine wasn't properly attached. Catching him off surprise, it kicked him hard in the knee and sent him tumbling to the ground, mounting him and delivering vicious blow after blow. Long nails struck at tender flesh.

Fingers of the Pukong flew off as he hit with such force. But he never relented. When his hand was too rotted, he leaned down and bit into the shoulder of Rex. A stunning turn of events! The docile Pukong turning out to be the red variant and full of zest and rage, Ultraviolence looks to be in trouble here. He only has seconds at most to get out. What will he do?

Rex started laughing, even as this thing tore a small piece of flesh away and nod at the soft parts underneath. Well, I'm still not intent on playing my hand before the later rounds. But I guess even I won't walk away with at least a few scrapes and some proper effort. He stood up, this creature refusing to let go, even as he rose to full height. You deserve to see why I was invited here, at least. Using a slow, methodical approach, he pried the head and jaws of the Pukong away from his shoulder, mechanically pushing its body off of him with just pure strength.

When he was firmly detached, he struck its chest to create some distance between the two. Undeterred, the Pukong screeched and ran forward, grotesque and bloody teeth bared. In that moment, Rex took a step forward. and punched the air. Where his hand had clasped, the skull, jaw, and chest of the Pukong immediately took the impact despite the distance. First, his jaw would be eviscerated. The bottom half went flying, and the black rotting tongue flopped out.

Before it could react, the skull crushed inwards, and the horrific dent forced brain matter out the nose and ears like slush. Last but not least, the chest cavity caved in and burst, a clean hole through which you could see Rex's fist. The Pukong fell, and Rex simply smiled, ripping a piece of his shirt off to bandage up his shoulder. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Aldoen showered praise on the fighter as he walked back to the dugout, pumping his fist. I couldn't help but join her praise of him. Well, would you look at that?

We actually have some darn good human fighters. Rex Chug proving why he was invited here in the first place. Bravo! Mr. Ultraviolence moves to the semifinals. The screen flashes up again, and this time stomps on the eerie, smiling face of Eustace DeColta. As he makes his way over to the starting point, I'm filled with an indiscernible sense of dread. Something is off about this guy.

The elevator wears to life, and we are once again greeted by the puppet master and Mr. Stairs as they bow and take to center stage. Our other invitational contestant drew next? Talk about Lucky. He is the nightmare catcher and grand illusionist, Eustace DeColta. He bows deeply and begins fiddling with his satchel. Before Aldoan can introduce them, Mr. Stairs has torn free of the sheets and is brushing towards Eustace, rage in his eyes.

We're back for the next match, and this one should be something truly disturbing if Mr. Stair's previous match is anything to go by, but I'm curious as to why he's rushing ahead so quickly. No? She doesn't immediately reply. Her book is closed and she's gripping the handle on her blade. I tap her lightly on the shoulder and she regains her senses, blinking for a moment before replying.

Well, he captures nightmares. They fight for him and do his bidding. He's taken many monstrosities out of the world and put a collar around their neck like animals. Some call him a hero. Others call him a villain. She doesn't break her stare at all, biting her lip anxiously. What do you call him, Nell? I ask as Eustace grins and the satchel opens, she grimaces and grips her blade tighter.

I call him the greatest monster of them all. The puppet man covers his eyes and wails as Mr. Stairs runs full kilt towards Eustace. You took everything from me. You took my family, all the way of life, and all the right to do this to us. Eustace's smile widens, and he pulls the satchel open to match, right in front of Mr. Stairs as he darts forward. Whatever lurks in the satchel on this occasion, neither myself nor Nell can see it. It sent Mr. Stairs screaming as he veered and turned around to go back towards the puppet-man,

but it was too late. The shadows that lurked within the satchel stretched out and wrapped themselves around his spindly legs and pulled on the puppet's head, covering his mouth and ripping him backwards. In an instant, he was gone. The puppet man sank forward against the wall, his eyes vacant and drooling. Eustace simply giggled and walked back to the dugout without so much as a boast. We were left in silence with an unmistakable sense of foreboding lingering in the air. There was something otherworldly about him, and it scared the living daylights out of me.

Post-match interview. Okay, everyone. I'm here with your winner, the fucking No Case himself, Eustace DeColta. Eustace bows deeply and grins. Your pleasure. I'm a big fan of your body. Of work. Um, thanks. Eustace, that was a highly anticipated grudge match.

But you disposed of Mr. Stairs in a matter of seconds. It may have been a record from being honest. What was in that bag that spooked? a little bastard so much. Eustace smiles and opens the bag for Landry to see, who immediately recoils back. Fucking hell.

Keep that fucking thing away from me. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, just fucking tell me, if you would, please. I showed him what has become of his family, his friends, at his victims, since he's been gone. He may have been hurt, but he was by no means a victim. I exercised him from a world he brought

nothing but pain to and gave him purpose in here. He's part of a grander plan now. Eustace lovingly caresses his satchel and giggles. Not a man who admits his words, but a man of many terrifying tools in his bag of little tricks. Eustace, where the fuck did you even get your bag? And does I have something for every occasion a la Batman's utility belt? Eustace's expression changes and he scows at Landry. I acquired it through fire.

darkness and sacrifice. Nothing more. You would best remember your position out here, lest you break the second seal so soon after the first was disrupted. Keeping your cards close to your chest with a vague answer. A smart decision, but you know I have to ask these questions. I'll let you go back to doing whatever the fuck it is you do when you're not fighting anyway. But just one more question, please. Your opponent in the semis is an unknown commodity. Does this make you nervous in any way, or are you ready to take on whoever's thrown at you?

Eustace rolls up his sleeves and shows the thick bandages and seals around them. I wish to keep most things private, but I will tell you this. What I have displayed thus far is under great restrictions and strain. This is the way my people, my order, does things. We must always hold ourselves back until the moment arrives when the fourth seal is broken and we can display what we truly are. I anticipated it'll be some time before that occurs here, but until then, I will always ensure I am careful. As should you.

As should you all. End of interview. Once more, the screen displays the faces in quick succession, and the stoic face of Miroslav Sineya flashes up. He gets up from the dugout and stands in the center of the ring, staring at Aldoan with cold eyes. not fight. This is barbaric sport and while I will fight men, they will not fight on holy creatures. He sat down, crossed his legs and arms, shutting his eyes. Bring whoever. They will not break me. But if they are not man, I will not fight back. Aldoan rubbed her chin and gave him a stern look, looking over her balcony to get a true

understanding of his sighs and motives. She winked and smiled. I don't think you'll feel that way when you see what emerges out of the depths. Trust me. She leans back and holds her microphone as if she were a singer, belting out her favorite song. Coming from the swamps of Russia, she hears the trees, and the trees say violence. The bug! At the mere mention of this name, Senea's eyes open and fixay on the elevator across the hall. He never moved from his position, but the fear.

Fear in his face was primal. The kind of fear that moves a man to do terrible things. NFC quarter-final match, Miroslav Zanea, first the Baba Yaga. Ancient thick hands clasp either side of the doors and force them open, grabbing the sides of the doorway and pulling the head of the great old hag through. She was blind, her nose riddled with boils and cushions, the bones crackling as she pulls her wrinkled frame into view. Her pot-bellied stomach is bare and writhing, her lower extremities covered with a muddy cloth that extends around her waist. A large burlac sap being dragged behind

her, attached to her leg with a thick rope. Zenaia does not move from his spot, but his eyes remain on the Baba Yaga as she begins dragging her limbs around the pit, circling him as she looks for a weak spot. Our quarterfinals roll on with the Sambaos specialist taking on what is possibly the most well-known Slavic folklore beast. What do you expect we'll see in a tournament already rife with surprises, Nell? Honestly, if Zanaya doesn't get off his ass and accept the situation, he's going to be ripped the shreds, regardless of how strong he is. As the Babiaga drew nearer, she stopped and smiled. Yellowed, ogreous teeth visible from underneath the crooked nose as she pulled open the burlack sap and a child's voice screamed out, before she closed it and

looked at Zanea, laughing as his expression broke from stoicism to blind terror. Bari scum, he breathed. My daughter. He stood up to prep himself for an attack, but the Baba Yaga shook her head and wagged her finger. Her voice croaked out like the trees in the woods before she clasped both hands on the bag, and with great force sent it flying into the canvas with a sickening splash. flat. I dry heaved, and even Nell looked away, horrified. That's what she does to those who cross her.

Nell whispered, catching her composure. She punishes them. The tearful scream of Zanea rings out for just a moment before his head falls, and his will is broken. The Baba Yaga leaps towards Zenaa to take advantage. In an instant, she is knocked flying into the air by an abrupt uppercut. Her body soars and lands in the heap. Her nose completely broken and gushing like a leaky hose.

Whatever was hitting her, it wasn't Sineya anymore. His teeth were gritted so hard that I could hear the grinding from my booth. Eyes locked in a death stare and veins bulging from his neck. He did not allow her time to recover. He ran forward and using his momentum, wrapped his arms around her waist and flipped his body backwards to a horrifying snap German suplex, sending her head and shoulders crushing into the mat. and bouncing until she lay on her back. Calm, calculated, and malicious, Senea walked forward with a bag in hand, still wet with blood and placed both of his feet far apart, his posture low as he

pulled it over his head and down onto the stomach with gruesome results. She vomited bones, flesh, and blood up over the canvas before aiming at Saniya's face. With the moment she had to maneuver, she clawed at his eyes, opening up a huge vertical gash that spread from his his eyebrow to above his lip. Cackling with blood and vomit strewn across her face, she leapt forward to try again. This time, however, she would not be so lucky. Zenae leaned back as she came forward, causing her to stumble while he again maintained a waistlock. He gripped harder until bones snapped and she shrieked. Rearing his head back, he headbutted her in the broken nose until her screams were muffled by the blood and agony. Only when gurgles could be heard did he deliver

the final crushing blow. With a heart wrench and roar, he snapped his body backwards and drove her face and skull into the mat with such force that her body remained up in the air for a moment, though certainly not on the level of Aldoan, it was still impressive. Her body lay still, and Zenaia slapped his head over and over, licking the blood off his fists before falling limp as his victory was announced. Confused and looking over at the crumpled form, his eyes cast to the now opened, burly lap sack, and, to the shock of us all, did not spot any children inside.

Just a bag of leaves and some dead rabbits. Aldoan applauded him as he went back to his seat, looking over something on her phone before casting her attention to the last two competitors of the quarterfinals. Now, I realize we have an odd number of competitors remaining, and it dawned on me during the opening ceremony that one of them is fighting for the wrong. wrong side. Rule the footage, Watson!

She leaned over the balcony and bitter lip, grinning. It was the moment Stefano Justiano had attempted to accost Wendy. She ripped him in half in an instant with elongated fingers, pulled down her mask to stretch out her mouth and lap up the viscera before going back to lay down against the wall. Hold you, Windigo, Wendy, but I didn't think you actually were one. Oh, man. She laughed, reclaiming the moment over and over.

But this means you're not eligible to compete in this tourney. At least, not on this side. Wendy stood up and walked to the pit to confront Aldoan, still showing virtually no enthusiasm and borderline tiredness. What can I say? You took me. I was kind of in the middle of something with my friends, you know? We got our own shit to deal with, and it's a lot we're harder than this.

So if you don't want me, how about you send me back? Aldoan beamed down at her and laughed. If she wasn't the NFC champ and a destroyer of Wells, I'd find it endearing. Oh, honey, we took you, yes. But we always ensure that who we take has a reason to fight. Otherwise, nobody would ever be properly competing, and it'd be a boring fucking bloodbath. That's how it used to be. Motivation is the key to anything in life.

And while you may not be here completely willing, doesn't it strike you as odd that every competitor so far has just gone along with it? They all had a wish. So do you. Wendy's eyes flicker for a moment before returning to their half-open state. Well, you're in luck. While you're about to be disqualified from this tourney, there'll be another you're entering.

The wild card invitational. I'll provide details shortly. For now, be a good girl and rest. Wendy scoffed and stretched her arms out as she walked back. Just remember, you may be able to rip me to shreds, but only one of us can keep coming back. And I am one persistent, bitch. Aldoan smiled, and her eye narrowed as she cracked her knuckles.

I'm counting on it, kid. So, the tournament semifinals were almost set. Eustace de Kulta, Mirzlabsenea, and Rex Chug had all beaten their respective creatures of the night and proceeded on. All that remained was Nora Zane. As she walked to the pit for her fight, I felt faint. I couldn't for the life of me explain it, but something about her immediately lapsed my focus. Like seeing an old photograph for the first time in ten years, or the smell of a barbecue

on the first hot summer's day. It was intoxicating. Flashes of emotions and places I'd never seen hit me like a freight train. Hey, Sel, you good? You're sweating a lot, and I don't want that nastiness on my book. Nell peered over at me, taking my temperature. Jesus, you're not well. You want me to take over?

No, no, I'm fine. I'll be fine. Motor mouth has gone through worse than this, let me tell you. I feigned confidence, but my mind was burning. I ever tell you the time I called a monkey knife fight while I had the flu? You, uh, you did not. But that sounds horrifying and disgusting on several different levels, Sal. And we're watching literal monsters tear people to shred, so it's saying something.

If it helps, it was two men in monkey suits with machetes, and the flu wasn't the flu, it was seafood poisoning. I puked all over my Hawaiian shirts, the monkey suits, and one of the guys slipped right as his opponent was cutting him. It was not a fun sight. Nell stared at me incredulously before laughing and patting my shoulder. I guess you're full of surprises, Sal. I wonder what other things a guy recently released from a psych ward could tell us. Catch me in the interval. We'll share war stories.

I'm sure you've got plenty, right? I quit taking a drink of water, trying to calm myself as the lights dimmed. Oh, so many. When this is over, we'll go to a bar far from here, in between spaces, and filled with the best drinks you can imagine. It'll be on the house. The screen dinged, and Aldoan leapt from her place above to greet Nora, but something in her gate seemed different, more determined than before.

This looked almost personal to the champion. Four long fucking years, and you made your wish. Nora spoke for the first time. and her oddly soothing voice was dipped in a calm anger. Was it worth it? Was it worth taking away everything I ever had? Aldoan unstrapped the title from her waist and held it as she leered over Nora. Her towering frame eclipsing the light above her as she pressed it against Nora's face.

More than anything you can imagine. I'm so glad you were ready this time. Did they let you out of the crazy house to compete? I take it you've used your time well. Because what we have planned for you is custom fit to your personality. Nora shoved the belt away and jumped to deliver a crushing knee to the champ's face. She staggered back and fell to a knee, which Nora took as an opportunity to scale up on and drive her elbow down on the base of her skull, stopping just short of the strike as Aldoan

looked up with a mixture of anger, shock, and glee. I like to think so, but I know you and I know this fucking tournament doesn't care. about practice. We're made better through blood and suffering. I am no different." She leaps off and lands with grace as the crowd cheers. We're destined to do this dance forever, one way or another. Oh, I couldn't agree more, but you've got a long way to go yet. She grinned, wiping her nose and her eye flashed with the brilliance that betrayed the malicious energy she exuded. The elevator doors opened as if on cue, and Aldoan

grab the mic. Ladies and gentlemen, the final quarterfinal match of the NFC open weight tourney is underway. Already standing in front of us is the ever-vesant and absolute badass

Nora fucking Zane. Her opponent, a creature that only fights when God is asleep and is ready to rip her to piece. The daywalker, the ghoul of the Filipino mountains. The doors opened, and a black-haired woman emerges, crawling on her arms as her organs openly trailed behind her.

Judding out of her back are a pair of thick black wings. The ends soft and perched like additional limbs as she expediently crawls out and along the side of the wall, her greasy black hair hiding her face. Nora stood her ground, but even from where I sat, it was obvious. that this was symbolic of something. She turned to Aldoan who was already walking away and spat on the floor. You just can't resist getting a fucking insult and can you? She hissed, primed to strike at any moment, but Aldoan simply laughed and gave her the middle

finger as she leapt back up to her perch. Focus on them. Not me, champ. NFC quarterfinal match, Nora Zane versus the Manningle. Nora blinked and turned as the lower torso kicked her. the stomach with a mule kick, followed by a roundhouse to her nose and a hook kick to her temple, sending her crashing to the ground in a heap as the crowd jeered. My god, what a flurry from the legs of this creature!

I didn't even see the bottom half enter the arena. Nell, what can you tell us about the man in angle? Well, it's often confused with the walk-walk or the Oswang by outsiders. In Filipino culture, this is their equivalent vampire, witch and man-eater. Legends say women who were left standing at the altar split themselves into two, so the bottom half could wait while the top half hunted. Others say that they feast on the blood of newborns, and that's their favorite prey. She shows me a photo in the compendium of one shoving its proboscis into a screaming man

and slurping up his blood through sharpened teeth. So cruel. Why would Aldoan do this? I'm not sure why the commissioner and champ does anything, no. But we have our final match set, and if Nora isn't careful, she'll end up its next meal. The top half cackled and flew over the top of Nora, prepping itself to swoop down and bite. Nora flipped back and assumed a defensive stance, wincing from the shot she'd taken. But with two opponents instead of one, this was not going to be simple.

The moment she put her attention on the screeching top half, the bottom ran forward and executed a toe strike to her stomach, Winding her before executing a drop kick that hit her in the face and chest, again sending her tumbling backwards, regaining her footing once more, but this time dropping to a knee, the top half swooped in and slashed her bicep, taking her blood with it as it flew back to the wall to wait. They were breaking her down bit by bit, and while I expected Aldoan to be clapping, laughing or making a cheap joke, she instead was standing with her fist propping up her face and a look of disappointment written all over it.

She was not impressed. Norah could do little against them except adopt a defensive stance as they routinely battered and took more of her blood. At this rate, she would fall. Nora Zane looks like she's on the ropes, folks. How much longer will it be before she falls? Only time will tell, but I hope for our sake she gets back up. I realize bias isn't my job, but humans got to stick together.

Go, Nora! She looks up at me with shock, and the top half of the manning gulf flies towards me, hunger and rage filling its flight. In that moment, I see my life flash before my eyes, and I'm not surprised by the earlier memories, but the later ones. So, so many of them are blank. I barely have time to register what's going on, before I'm pulled down by Nell, and the creature misses its mark, flying back around for another go. What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?

Nell bellowed, drawing her blade. I, no, I just lost control. Something compelled me to do it. I protested, feeling foolish and realizing my headset was still on. Aldoan had stood out of her seat so quickly that it flew back against the wall with a thud. My knees gave out and my chest grew heavy. I was panicking. Nell sighed and slashed the wing of the creature as passed again.

As it screeched from the wound, it dipped to the ground and tried to restructed. Before it could, however, Nora stood in its way and placed her fists out and a knee up. Your fight is with me. I won't let you near him. Do not overlook me. The man in angle shot forward, and two things happened at that moment. The first was that it was stopped in its tracks with a sense of instinct you see in animals when they know the weather is changing, like it knew something was coming.

Then they cast its eyes up and whimpered. A great shadow had begun to grow by the world. behind Nora, crawling up the back of the wall and the head peeling away to loom over her, not to attack, but to protect it. What is this? A shadow has just formed over Nora. Has she got some latent ability she was holding back on? Because this commentator would have loved to see that before he was attacked. I stammered, adrenaline now fueling me as the fight continued.

Nora looked up in just as much confusion as her opponent, but instead of processing it, simply looked back at her enemy and took advantage. Running forward, she let loose a vicious back elbow that connected with the temple of the manning angle. As it staggered back and the bottom half came forward, she was ready. One kick blocked, the other caught and shattered at the joint with an elbow as sharp as steel. One leaping knee to its gut later and the torso had crumpled to a heap, but nor did not stop. She ran forward and grabbed the man in angle by the organ.

still trailing its body, ripping them away with her bare hands as she finally got the hair of the creature and held the head back as she delivered four horrifying elbows. Letting go as it stumbled around, she created some distance and let fly a knee with such force that the head was removed entirely. It soared through the air and landed at Aldewan's feet, much to her delight. A stunning Hail Mary victory by Nora Fugn-N-Saneh. She advances to the semifinals along with Miroslav Zanea, Eustis DeKolta, and Rex ultraviolence chug.

The question now is, what are they facing next? Aldoan jumped down and stared at Noor as she limped to meet the other finalists. Aldoan grabbed the mic as the spotlight shone on her. My, my, you have grown. This will be most interesting. The quarterfinals are over. All our victors have three hours to recover during our interval before we commence the semi-finals.

Bravo! She gave what seemed to be a sincere applause as the other finalists stood with her. Wendy still by their side. But before we can finish, we have one other matter to attend to. Our wildcard tournament! She claps her hands and the screen comes to life,

showing five blank boxes save for Wendy's inclusion at the top. Our full roster of competitors. will be announced at the conclusion of our interval and will run alongside those matches for your pleasure. Nightmares and humans are welcome. The winner will be inserted into the finals to make it a triple threat for supremacy and the right to challenge me for the NFC openway title!

She bows as the cheers of NFC rain down before looking over at Wendy. But, for now, now, since she clearly held back in the opening round, we'll focus on an exhibition match between the Dark Horse herself, Windigo, Windy, and Haleigh, and someone who has just been dying to get in front of an audience. He's originally from a hit channel called Beneath the Static that I'm told has a die-hard audience. Ladies and gentlemen, turn your cameras on and please. Welcome, Jay, J.J. Watson! From the elevator, J.J. Watson emerges. His legs emerge first. His torso bent backwards and stretching out farther than it feasibly should. His knees are bent at odd angles

like they were stitched onto the wrong body. He snapped his torso up in one swift motion, his face looking directly forward at a stunned Wendy. The perfect bronze skin, smooth black hair parted to one side with not a single lock out of place, shimmering white teeth like great pillars and big blue eyes, pupils dilated and staring without focus. Oh, JJ is ready to show you what lurks beneath the static, Wendy. Post-match interview. What's the story he loves for the sick and twisted? It's Landry Evie here, and I'm with the final competitor of the quarterfinals and an all-round badass.

Nora fucking Zane. Nora awkwardly smiles and waves, untaping her wrists and wiping the muck and blood away from them. Now, Nora, we just saw a bit of a heat exchange between you and our reigning, defending, undisputed NFC open weight champ, Aldwin Van Trier. At the risk of pissing her, or maybe even you off, what was that all about? Nora pulls some tape free and sighs, cracking her neck. It's not the right time to wax poetically about the past when I have to keep looking forward.

But I'll say this much I was once a fighter here at the NFC Aldoan and I fought and the result Well that That doesn't matter anymore What does is that I was cast out

And made to suffer I trained, fought back mentally physically and emotionally to be here That's all I want to say for now Well that's fair enough Not one to look at gift horse in the mountain and all that Now you fought that bloody weird creature and until the emergence of some weird shadow you seem to be on the ropes

of course you then proceeded to knock her fucking block off and send it into the rafters did you know you could do that i'm as perplexed as you are it's never happened before and i had no clue it was even there until i saw what she was looking at soon as i've rested up and had something to eat i think i've got some questions to ask our compendium owner madam lockwood norah looks behind her for a moment and scans up above her head, shrugs and focuses back on Landry. To be sure. My last question for you. You ran to the defense with my colleague Motamaut Sal Sabata in a moment that served to be a turning point for a fight.

Is there a connection there we're unaware of or are you just that nice of a person? She frowns at him and furrows her brows. Landry adjusts his sunglasses and coughs nervously. All right, all right. Maybe we can talk about the NFC World Care Tournament. It's running alongside your attorney and the winner gets a buy to the finals that will make it a triple threat. Should you make it through your semifinal

and anything else all of and chose your weight, do you see this being an additional problem? Nora shrugs her shoulders and takes in a deep breath as she considers her answer. I just see it as another obstacle to smash with my elbows, knees, and anything else I can utilize. Whether it's one opponent, two, or an entire fucking bracket, I will win and I will get my wish.

Nora walks off as Landry receives a notification on his phone. Oh, for fuck sake. Folks, I'm in the wildcard attorney. End of interview. NFC Wild Card Opener, Wendigo Wendy Hathow versus JJ Watson. Wendy's eyes narrowed and she cracked her knuckles in anticipation, sign. All right, we're both clearly freaks of nature. How do you want to do this?

J.J. Smile widens, and he leans down, leans. Learing at her. Hmm. You think we can just tear each other apart without issue, don't you? He chuckles and licks his lips. You haven't realized yet that this isn't your home, little one. He looks to what I can only assume is an invisible camera only JJ can see and flashes a far too perfect grin, mechanical in its nature.

The poor ghost so clueless, folks. But don't you worry, JJ can remedy that's true. stupidity. He laughs, shaking his head and slapping his forehead. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. As laughter grows more guttural, more manic, he drops to a knee and howls and glee. My goodness, my first true contest in a long time, and it's against a little girl who reminds me so much of my dear audience back home.

It's almost ironic. I can't get away from them how hard I try. I may as well say. Honey, I'm home. He laughs harder, getting off his feet to lunge at Wendy and pin her down, still laughing as this drool coats her head and mask. I felt sick watching it. Wendy, to her credit, was unperturbed.

Man, you ever been told how much of a fucking creepy you are? You reek of chemicals. Look like a dollar store horror mannequin reject and talk in such a creepy way that even the local pervert wouldn't touch you. but most of all She pushes him off with great force and sends the laughing, drooling JJ smacking to the canvas

before he writes himself to stare at her in that time she darts forward and in an instant is across the side of the pit clutching an ear in her hand and throwing it to the ground as JJ continues howling with laughter white fluid and pus

trickling out of his ear You're fucking disgusting JJ She quips turning back around and extending her fingers This truly is a blink and you'll miss it about. Fy fans, Wendy Hathale clears half the pit in a split second and takes JJ's ear with her. Curious that she doesn't go to taste it, though. No, not at all.

If you consider that JJ isn't human. Nell replied, searching the contents of her book for a particular entry, flickering through the pages until she stopped under her eye, a detailed diagram of a spectral shape that shifts at will to scare townspeople, blade bare for me to see. He's an Ithagin, a very special kind of trickster god that can shape-shift her into many things to enact his cruelty. But his most common appearance?

She trails off as JJ splayed out on all fours and began twitching while he laughed. His back hunched up and snapped, stretching out to form the long neck and thorax, a bulky abdomen housing an extra pair of spindly legs with gnarled hooks across the length of them, The front hands reaching up and bending forwards to form the raptorial saw-like weaponry as his skin darkens and the carapace shimmers under the light. Piercing silver antenna split out of his head as the hair recedes and gives way to grotesque, bulging eyes. The jaw crunching, splitting, and gnashing as mandibles rapidly replace the perfect teeth. He gurgles as his laughter gives way to hisses and growls. You are not in the hotel, just as I am not vulnerable to the unyielding jaws and death,

someone. He lunges forward and takes a swipe at her with his hooked claws, slicing the inside of her thigh as she darts back and ripping the skin, flex of black blood coating the hooks as he chuckles, his body remaining still. Wendy landed as her leg gave out, looking at it expectantly, hoping it would fix itself.

Instead, the blood continued to trail around her until she ripped away the torn fabric and wrapped it around her. If she was scared, she damn sure didn't show it. Well, I guess you're truthful about something, JJ. She said, breathing a little heavy from the blood loss, steadying herself as she rose to her feet. You know, we get cable in the hotel inertia. I'm aware of who you are and what you do, picking on teenagers for your own amusement. You're really that much of an attention whore that you can't stay away?

JJ didn't respond, swaying ever so slightly, like a brittle leaf caught in a mild breeze. He was waiting to strike. Wendy pulled off her sweater and threw it aside, showing a thin stomach that almost caved in, binding wrapping her chest and ribcage, old wounds and scars littering her body. This is the result of countless fights, feedings, and grueling battles. Some at home with my adopted family, others with the order of the 13th floor alongside my friends, the ones this fucking tournament ripped away from me at our crisis moment. You think you scare me?

You think the idea of being torn up and actually dying scares me? She laughs. It's hollow and bitter like she's remembering the bright side of a vicious beating in the unconscious state she'll fall into when the pain gets too much. You have no. fucking idea. I'd be so happy to go to sleep and never wake up to have that ceaseless hunger stop for just one day. Do you know what that kind of hunger does to someone? It makes an ordinary person angry on the first day, delirious on the second and manic by the third. Now take what I am

and amplify that number by thousands. Wendy takes off her mask and shows the gritted teeth biting on her lips so much that she's torn through the flesh, blood coating her chin as the teeth grow more spiked and the jaw grows larger, her eyes blackening and skin graying. She grows taller and the features of a once beautiful woman give way to a horrifying creature known for its insatiable lust for flesh. Crouching down like a sprinter at the starting line, she stares down her opponent like a piece of meat. So, just imagine what that's going to do to you now that I've let loose, JJ. I can't believe my eyes.

In that moment, the reality of the situation hit me like a freight train, and I feel the innate fear of being a small fish in an ocean filled with sharks. I can't let my composure falter, not with Aldoan's gaze bearing down on me. I take a long drink of water and tumble headfirst into my adrenaline. Amazing! Wendigo Wendy living up to her name as she assumes a more terrifying form. This fight looks to be heading to its climax, folks. Expect blood and guts galore. I was right. Within 20 seconds, it was over. Wendy leaves great dents in the canvas as she

tears forward. J.J. swipes at her the instant she comes into his range, his front forearm hooking into her flesh and pulling her in. She pushes forward, the skin tearing with the force of her movement, and an ungodified. A oddly shriek emitting from her, as she bites into the offending arm and pulls up with her jaw, tearing it free while her right hand slices into JJ's eye, the nails going straight through the soft flesh and pulling at the socket until it's wrenched completely free. She casts it aside and lets the wailing JJ stumble away, leaking that same fluid addled with a horrid chemical stench. Losing strength, he begins forming back to himself, the eye closing up and his suit to the same. tattered as he gripped the stump. Wendy watches him for a moment, bits of JJ's mantis arms still in between her teeth that she spits out as she stares him down. He's breathing heavily as she walks closer, every step impactful. Well, folks, it seems I underestimated this young woman's ability to let go.

I thought she'd be like my hardcore audience and just cave under the pressure of mortality. He looks up, That perfect skin cracking around the edges. But I'll tell you something, this'll make for great publicity. She kicks him square in the gut and he's sent into the air with a wheeze. As he falls down, she catches the back of his neck in her jaws with a sickening crunch, his body twitching in the air as he gasps. Looks like my time at the NFC is up. But when to go Wendy, Wendy, I made you see.

what lies beneath the static death itself. He snaps his fingers and the lights go out across the venue, obscuring us for a moment. When they turn on, Wendy is kneeling on the ground in her normal form, exhausted, and her mask firmly back on. A stunning turn of events! Right as Wendigo Wendy had JJ in her jaws, he pulls a fast one and escapes out the back door. But I think we can all agree that while Wendez. Wendy had some scrapes, it's absolutely her fight to win.

I look to Aldoan who is seething with rage, but concedes the fight is over and awards Wendy the victory. Wendy had Halle advances. We will announce the remaining participants at the end of the interval. But each has been told of their inclusion already. The tournament will recommence in three hours. Rest up. You'll fucking need it!

She storms off, leaving Wendy's still struggling to get up as the crowd disperses. I debate going down there to help, but a surprising hand is offered to help her up. Eustace DeCulta holds out a red-gloved hand, his curled smile betraying his keen and curious eyes. The guy gave off the sort of vibe one would expect from a peeping Tom on public transport. You had quite the ordeal, Miss Hatale. I knew you had something special in you. I just wasn't aware of how unique you truly are. His voice was like silk, every syllable softly declared and hanging in the air.

Wendy looked up before slapping his hand away, struggling to her feet. I know what you are and what you do, DeColta. A single handshake from you and I could end up in that nightmare fuel Pokemon satchel you keep with you. No thanks. She walks towards him and despite being a solid foot shorter gets in his hands. face and stares up at him. You come near me, I'll pull a disappearing act of my own on your jugular. Understand?

I look forward to seeing your future matches, and I do hope you succeed. It would be most fortuitous if we were to meet in the pit. I think you'd play well with my menagerie. He shows his teeth as he grins and backs away, bowing deeply. He stands and watches her as she leaves. An open door leading into the main lobby of the arena now open. Before I can process everything, his gaze locks onto me and I see something I never expected. The smile immediately dips into a low, sinister grimace.

He looks at me with a hunger and a hatred I have never seen before. Hey, Sal! A voice calls behind me. I turned to see Nora in an orange and white hoodie. The hood turned up and a warm smile beaming at me. immediately disarming my sense of anxiety. When I turned back, Eustace is gone. Oh, hi, Nora Zane.

You were fantastic in your bout. I knew Penkakzilla was deadly, but man, who'd thought it'd be used so well against monsters, huh? I stood up and felt my knees buckle, the adrenaline wearing off and hunger overtaking me. Before I even hit the floor, Nor caught me. Easy, big guy, I gotcha. Now let's get you some food. her informal nature was so unexpected from a woman i'd seen decimate something asia fears across the

continent but i felt myself just naturally going with it now looked and immediately busied herself with the compendium no no uh i have far too much work to do research for the wild card trints and whatnot oh and there's that uh that thing i have to attend to Gotta speak to Aldo and two about something. I'll catch him in a couple hours to go over notes, okay, Sal? She looked awkward and hurried herself past us as Nora stared incredulously. Huh, that was a bit odd. But no matter, let's go get some grub.

I'm sure you have some questions, right? I just nodded as she took me by the arm and kept me steady, as we barreled past the denizens of the audience, still debating who would win various scenarios, old champions, and other nightmarish spectres. The upper ring was sprawling and hard to navigate. I had no idea how Norr was so familiar with it. As we descended to the middle floor where the vendors and entertainment was situated, we passed

a bar serving strange drinks with a multitude of bottles, a beautiful Bernese mountain dog barking at the window, his big fluffy face licking at the glass until a man pulled him away. Hey, he's cute. Can we stop here? I asked. Feeling kind of thirsty. Maybe they have an adrenaline drink. She chuckled, but didn't stop as we made a bee line for the fighter's only cafeteria.

Not right now, but I'll make you a deal. I make it through the semis. You can buy me a drink. She winked, and I felt my stomach gnawed up. Couldn't tell you if it was the hunger or butterflies, but Motor Mouth was very much silent for a little bit. You wondering why I'm taking an interest in you, right? She called over the booming sound of the crowd and pumping metal music. I nodded.

He showed a support in me when you called my fight. I looked up and thought you were cute. Got a thing for the nerdy ones. But that's not all, is there? I asked my head pounding as I did so. Maybe it was the music. She looked back and flashed a cheeky grin. No.

But that's a story for another day. We gotta eat, and you've got more interesting questions for all of us. She laughed as we watched a fighter far too drunk for his own good, challenging us still eating Miroslav Zanea to a fight. One side punch later, and the guy was on his ass and vomiting. All of us, what do you mean? The fighters. You've got to meet an interview on the head of the semifinals in Wildcar, don't you?

I shrugged, and she laughed again. Man, you really are clueless. Nell wasn't kidding. You're doing part of her job, too. I'm doing you a favor by bringing you with me. We passed a betting table, showing the odds for the semifinals and wildcard. Eustace and Wendy, respectively, being the odds-on favorites to win. Nora and Landry Evey being the biggest underdogs.

Whatever was lurking in the booth and taking sips from paying customers, it had tendrils and shimmering red eyes. I didn't dare stare too long as we passed it. Down one more flight of stairs and we were in the employee section, housing the nightmares, fighters, and various services like medical stations, prep rooms, and the like. One long hallway to our left was all that stood between us and some glorious smelling food. As we got halfway down, however, Nor pushed me to the wall and put a hand over my mouth, her slightly taller frame covering me as someone walked past. I looked to her and was about to protest, but the look on her.

her face screamed danger. Her brow was furrowed. The calm and kind demeanor she'd shown was replaced with an instinct to protect. As I followed her gaze, I saw why. It was like watching a black swarm that undulated into the visage of a human man with long horns, a cloak of hungry, vivacious locus that jostled and crawled for position. The sound ripped through my ears, my eardrums threatening to burst and my skull screaming for breath as it neared. When the locust parted, a skull with an elongated back that stretched out horizontally peered down at Nora, the arms on the back of the thick spine pulling at a sheathed sword on its torso. The smell of rot was so powerful that I felt my vision blur.

You realize that by coming back here, you've sealed your fate and thus her deal must be concluded. It spoke in a thousand voices at once. Once, the boom of so many souls screaming for relief and joy and ecstasy, a beat of sweat ran down Norris' forehead as she tried to find the words. I'm aware of our arrangement and what it means to return. But I ask that you wait until my time in the tournament has concluded. The locus hissed and the cloak revealed more of this abomination.

The shimmering black armor clad in gold. the powerful arms on the shoulder blades, the hooved feet, and a worn-down, cracked NFC belt. It turned its head to me, and I felt the looming shadow of death put its hands around my throat. This creature was a foot away from me, and we both know it could crush me in an instant. Fear doesn't begin to describe how I felt in that moment. He spoke again, silencing her. I will decide when such a contest must be undertaken. Be it now, during your next boulter when you are nearing death at the hands of Aldoan, if you

somehow survive your next two bouts, I will add you to the chorus where you shall remain. The locus covered him again, and he walks away, humming. Hmm, you should have stayed forgotten. It would have been better for all. As he walked away into the darkness, both myself and Norr, collapsed against the wall in a heap. It took a good couple of minutes to regain thought, and I'm man enough to admit I was shaking. What the hell was that?

I breathed. Nora wiped the sweat from her head and stood up, clenching her fist. That was someone I made a deal with when I was last here. He offered me a fight I was not supposed to refuse. The penalty for leaving meant he could challenge me anytime, anywhere, and under his rules. If he beats me, well, you've seen what happens, where Aldoen rules the open weights, where anyone can compete. He rules the nightmare division. She swallowed and turned to me.

Genuine fear in her eyes. That was Abidon, the NFC of this champion. And he's coming for me. Post-match interview. What's the cracky sick and twisted freaks of the NFC? It's your boy, Landry Evie, with possibly my favorite guest thus far, the owner of the cryptic compendium. Madame Nell Lockwood. Thanks for having me, Laundrie.

But shouldn't you be prepping for your match in a few hours? Ah, all in good time. I got me stretches done earlier anyway, so I just need to be special, but really get me started. But onto you, it's well known that you've travelled the globe, cataloging the creatures of the night. But I hear you've also had a stint running a coffee shop and helping out with some special kind of bar. What brings someone like you to a place like this? It's true. I once travelled with my love.

before they were taken for me. After that, I was given a new rule by Freya to observe, assist, and guide the cycle. This, in turn, led me to the spaces in between. Thessaly, Nestor, Edgar, Cheddar, Chetorchino, Naya, and Kraus. When that was over, I was given what I was promised. A chance to take back what I lost. And how exactly does be in the co-commentaire and If I'm an analyst help you with that, Nell.

Nell draws a finger across her serrated blade and a smile flickers across her face for just a moment. Because I've been entered into the wildcard tournament. I might have a role to play here and I intend to fulfill it. But I want my wish granted. I want the creature that took my love away from me and I will do anything to make that happen. It just so happens they're an NFC champion. Landry pauses and stares at Nell. Oh, so you're in the tourney too, which means we might actually face each other at some point.

That's conflicting. If it comes to it, I'll make sure it's a non-lethal blow. After all, I know what you are. Nell walks off as Landry is left standing there, bewildered. What the fuck does that mean? End of interview. That was Abidon, the NFC Abyss champion. And he's coming for me.

She stared at the spot where he'd once stood, beads of sweat running down her forehead before blinking and smiling, trying to put the situation to the back of her mind as she took my arm and led me towards the bustling mess hall. Well, cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, we've got a meeting for you to attend. With that, she pushed open the doors to the semi-finalist eagerly chowing down on food. Rex Chug was downing a 40-ounce with glee, used to. As DeKolta sat in the far corner, throwing food into his satchel and eating some soft bread. To the back lay Wendy, nursing her leg while listening to some music. A blood bag IV attached to her through a thin tube.

Miroslav was undoubtedly still busy eating outside, and neither Nell nor Landry could be seen. Huh, they would still be training. Ah well, good to see you, Nora. A large bearded man in his forties sauntered over. his black apron sporting the cheesy line. Saturday is a day for dads across the front. A greasy dish rag hastily tucked into his pocket as he opened his arms for a hug, which Nora eagerly gave. He smiled, but didn't make eye contact when she let go, offering a gargantuan palm blinking

rapidly, which I grabbed, fear of bones being crushed immediately set aside by the warmth in which he held it. Nice to meet you. I'm Zunkold, the head chef. But you can call me Zunk. You the new guy? Oh, you must be hungry. Don't worry. I got a stromboli with your name on it. Oh, and let me know if I'm too loud. I've got AST and I don't always know if I'm coming on too much. He chuckled nervously, Nora patting his back. You're fine, Zunk. We'll let you know if you become larger than life. I promise. Sal, you want to eat, right? The stromboli is to die.

for. Plus, I can send the fighters over when you're ready. Sound good? Yeah, sure. Where are you off to? I asked as she stretched out her arms. I got a train. I'll catch up with you before the interval is over, okay? You can ask me what you need to know then, promise. Her hazel eyes shimmered in the light. I didn't know how to respond. Instead, I nodded sheepishly, and she hurried off. Zunk put his arm around me and funneled me past the fighters to get me seated. He nodded and excused himself, rummaging in the back room as he prepared the meal. The voice is low, guttural, and fills my ears. Looking up from the table, I saw the lights flickering and rapidly going out around me. One by one, the surrounding tables were plunged

into darkness, leaving only mine still dimly lit. Do you remember what? My body is frozen in place, like sleep paralysis, but with some limited movement of my head. The air is fetid, cold, and something is shifting in the dark, but I'm unable to see it. Whatever it is, it wants to keep its distance. But as the eyes fixed on me, I felt a surge of memories run through my mind as if a tape was on fast forward. Scattered moments of birthdays past and happy mornings spent with loved ones, years stripped away in an instant before my head hung forward, a cold sweat dripping onto the table while the remainder of my body

remained still. Clammy cold hands run their fingers through my hair and down my face. I feel sick like I'm this person's plaything. The eyes across from me stay fixated on me. The same guttural voice growling out as I feel the hands gently push my head to look at the table. A card, a bottle. A choice. Sure enough, a face-down tarot card to the left, a piece of paper to the right, and in the

center sat a bottle in the shape of a black human heart, ventricles and veins perfectly placed, letting the dark fluid rush around in its center and creating a slight steam as it bubbled from the top ventricle. The label read, The Society of the Sunless gives unto you the kingmaker. With consumption, he ascended to his. endless throne. A beast, a bar, a voice. The higher voice chimed behind me, rife with excitement.

The cycle repeats, the threat retreats, and for now rejoice. They kept repeating it as the drink bubbled over, the black liquid congealing on the table before thick smoke billowed out, the card burning at the edges and the letter unfolding to show my invitation from the NFC. My head swirled. The hands gripped harder and I felt the higher-pitched voice come up to my ear, dragging its tongue along the nape of my neck and into my ear as I shivered. This time it will be different, we promise.

The hands eased off and my body fell to the table, jumping up to fend them off. I was face to face with zunk, carrying a piping hot tray with stromboli and looking perplexed. You okay, Sal? I got a stromboli, it's a specialty of mine. Uh, yeah, I'm good, sunk. Thanks. It's actually nice to have someone who works here show hospitality. He blinked and looked down at my shoes as he spoke. That's no trouble. Having been here a while with the bloody past, I know what's like to want to start again. Oh, uh, did Nell tell you?

Tell me what? Is this Trumboli not paid for? I quipped. He laughed heartedly. No, no. I'm your co-commentator until Nell either wins or is booted from the Wild Guard. I've been here a while, and I know my stuff, I promise. He tapped his fingers nervously. I don't want you thinking I'm just a glory hog. Nah, if Nell recommended you, then it's all good for me. I noticed that Rex was staring at me as he belched the last of his drink. Had he seen something?

Hey, let me split that with you. He bellowed, rushing over. I sighed. Of course he hadn't seen. If it wasn't a fight or something to satisfy him, I doubt he'd seem much else. He was an imposing mass of muscle and brawn that on most folks would scream intimidating, especially considering what he did during the quarterfinal match, but now he seemed chummy.

A pair of warriors should always try to dine together. He cried, slamming his fist down as Zunk awkwardly split it. He mumbled, smiling to me and heading back. back to the kitchen. Rex stared at him as he disappeared, calling out to someone called Sancho to take over the evening shift as the big door swung back and forth for a moment. Hmm. You know he's the Jersey devil, right?

Dude has a sick history, and I do mean sick. Rex smirked as he bit down into the stromboli. The look of pain on his face when he felt the burning sensation run through his mouth was It's priceless. Nothing I can't handle, though. We chatted for a while, and to my surprise, Rex was pleasant. He had a prickly personality and was, to a degree, hot-headed, but he was passionate and dedicated to his gym.

His reason for being here? He wouldn't say, but promised me it was worth all the broken bones he could muster. After that, I spoke to Zenaia and Eustis, neither of which giving me much info on their motivations or techniques. Xenaius lured his words, probably from the drinking and declaring, State secret, with a wavy hand before he moved me on. Eustace, on the other hand, repeatedly asked me if I wanted to join the order of Leshi so that I could learn his secrets. I didn't. Walking to Wendy, she sighed and bandaged her leg tighter. Anything I wanted to say has already been said. Come back to me when I'm in the finals,

and I'll give you the interview of a fucking lifetime. Okay? I got shit to prepare for." She was frustrated. Not much was obvious, but the more she stared at Eustace, the more I worried she was overlooking the talent within her own bracket. In any case, I didn't want to be a bother, and I excused myself to look for the others. No Nell or Landry in sight, and the remainder of the competitors were unknown, so I cut my losses

and made a B-line for the upper ring again. It took some confusing turns and repeatedly bumping into fans before I realized how lost I was. Everyone passed me by without so much as an acknowledgement. The announcement rang out that I had thirty minutes to get to my seat and do my usual prep. To put it simply, I was mildly freaking out. Hey, buddy, you look like you could use a drink. I turned and saw that same bar from earlier right opposite of me. The doors open and a young man.

in his late twenties, washing a cup in the doorway. He grinned as a Bernie's mountain dog stood by his side, trying to get out and greet me. Druel flex already across his cheeks as he pants with joy. Not yet, buddy. Not the right time. He said before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small bottle wrapped in a thick black cloth. You're going to need this. Don't open it until you sat down. But when you do, read the instructions and keep it close. You'll thank you. me when the time comes. I couldn't even say anything, staring incredulously, as tired but wild eyes stared back at me from beneath thick circular black glasses.

He whistled, and the dog, eager as he was to see me, turned back to follow him. He leaned his head back to call to me one last time before the doors closed. Oh, and it's good to see you again, Sal. With that, the bar was shut, and I threw caution to the wall. wind, running up the stairs and trying to retrace my steps with Nora as best I could. Thankfully, I made it with some time to spare. No Nell sat beside me, but her book was propped up on the chair, and I knew she wanted me to protect it.

The lights dimmed, and Aldoan resumed her spot in the center of the pit with a swell of pride bubbling within her. The mic expertly in hand as the screen descended. Twisted freaks. You back for the NFC Openweight semifinals and the remainder of the NFC Wild Card opening round. Before we kick things off, I'll be listing the competitors for the wild card. I hope you're ready. The crowd shows their approval as the screen starts filling in the blank boxes underneath Wendy

and a now faded out J.J. Watson. She's a bona fide killer from a bygone and a bygone. age. She finds tracks and eliminates Crips without prejudice. One half of our commentary team and a burning desire to fight. One special member of our roster, the hudress, Madam Nell Lockwood. Nell took a bow and kept her expression neutral. She was focused and determined. Next up is someone we just had to give a chance to. after we reviewed his unique case. He's our fight interviewer and a true warrior of his clan, Landry Evey!

Landry, sheepishly waved as he adjusted his shorts, stretching out his calf muscles. Now it wouldn't be the NFC without some surprises, folks. Our first is a surprise even to me. But during the break, I gave an audience to two unexpected, individuals, one who's come back from the dead, and another who, well, you'll see. First up, he's somehow returned from the depths of hell itself and achieved a true nirvana state, Kwong Zhou. Sure enough, a scarred and paler Kwong walks from the dugout and bows deeply. The veins on his muscles are black and his skin is almost translucent, but

He radiated strength. Last, but by no means least, is an individual who made a point of entering when I informed him that he could not simply get into the main tournament, even with his credentials. Ladies and gentlemen, he is the NFC Abyss champion. Abidon! I couldn't believe my eyes. The champion of nightmares, the same.

Same fucking thing that had come inches to my face and threatened to take out Nora when he saw fit was now involving himself in this? The sounds of those locusts tore at my eardrums, even from this distance as he walked into the pit and took off his broken, blackened belt to hold high for all to see. Aldoan was beside herself with joy and bloodlust. The notion of champ versus champ must have been like Ambrosch to her and to the crowd. With that, the wild card roster was set, and we were due to get a match from each to kick things back off.

Zunk came and took a seat next to me, his extremely large frame actually putting me at ease from many more potential would-be threats. You ready to do this, partner? He looked nervous, eyes darting all around and breathing heavily, but he nodded, and I pushed record. Aldoan took the mic right on cue. Let's not waste any more time then. Bring out the next.

Quang stayed in his spot and stared down the elevator, whirring and coming to a stop. What rushes out is horrifying, to behold. A golden beak, beady little black eyes, wiry bowl hair with a bald spa on the front and long, thick claws on each digit. A Kappa? NFC Wild Card Opening Match,

Kwong Zhao versus the Kappa. It didn't wait for Aldoan to finish her announcement or to get out of the way. It simply rushed bold with the absolute desire to eviscerate in mind. I suffered the greatest shame and pain to get back here. I climbed the tower and follow the thread. I am here now because of my perseverance. Kwong spoke with such a calm elegance, his stance remaining neutral, a hand behind his back and standing upright.

The Kappa did not stop charging. It passed Huang and in that instant fell to the floor, its head being dragged by the momentum before it slammed into the opposite wall and coated it with a thick green fluid. It turned, furious, and charged again. Huang adjusted his stance and outstretched a fist towards the beast, furrowing his brow. Come into my range and you'll return to dust. But the Kappa persisted and the moment it was within a couple of feet, one large shot rang out that was so fierce, a small gust of wind blew up and threatened to knock my papers. When the dust cleared,

the Kappa lay in a heap with its entire skull concave, twitching on the ground as Kwong prayed for a moment before returning to the dugout, unfazed. My God! He just wrecked him! Zunk shouted, realizing his volume was a little too loud and sitting back from the mic. Man, Sel, you gotta admire the growth of this guy. That's right, Zunk. From the From complete shutout against Eustace to Colta to decimating his enemy with one dodge and one incredible punch, I'd say Kwong Zhao has done more than enough to redeem himself

in the eyes of the NFC. Aldoen, perched on the fence after the cap is charged, followed Kuang with her gaze as he sat down. He'd definitely piqued her curiosity. She leapt down and leaned back as she shouted at the top of her lungs. Kwong Zhao advances in our second wildcard match. On with the violence! This time, it was Miroslav Zanea taking point.

He looked, for lack of the better word, wasted as all hell, stumbling around and lackadaisical. It was very out of character for the usually stoic Dagestani. Still, he went into his usual position and seemed to have composure as Aldoan announced his opponent emerging from the elevator. Our first semi-finalist is the Dagestani super soldier Miroslav Zanaya. But his opponent will certainly be a test for him, not physically, but mentally. The Kikimura!

What emerged stood on thick red chicken legs, a basic dress, white shirt, and Babushka hood covering the long black hair, as two horns protruded from the base of the skull. Its skin was burnt, charred, and blackened. The eyelids completely stripped away and leaving bulging, milky white eyes in its wake. The lips were pink and cut, rows of white pillar teeth hiding just behind it. The lower jaw sporting three large bulbous sacks that pulsated. It moved as if it was a flickering image, hard to keep focus on, the more clarity the lights gave it. It felt wrong to stare at it for too long, despite it being my job. NFC. Openweight

semi-finals. Miroslav Zanea versus the Kikimora. The Kikimora flickered closer to Zenaia, and something immediately felt wrong. Zenaia had his head bowed in the exact same way he'd done his previous fight, but I could see no motion or movement from him. The closer the Kikikimura got, the more my anxiety and fear grew. This thing was going to rip him to pieces. Grabbing the compendium, I flicked through until I fell upon the entry detailing what the Kiki-Mora did. It was definitely a Russian demon that invaded dreams, but it had to physically touch you in order to enact its abilities. So why was Zena not taking advantage?

Then I remembered seeing him at the bar earlier, his slurred responses during the interview. I wondered, hey, Zunk, do people? He still sabotaged fighters or fights here often? He scoffed. Do I make a damn good stromboli? Yes, yes, they do. Sometimes outside interests look to make it bent. Or?

Or what? I pressed. He looked uncomfortable as he pulled at his sleeve, a grimace forming on his face. They want their spot in the tourney by any means necessary. The Kiki Mora wrapped its hands around Zenaa's arms, and the nails dug deep into his flesh. pulling him up. I was expecting him to headbutt, fight back, or maybe even go into that unusual

rage state he'd displayed for us before, but instead my worst fears were confirmed. He was paralyzed, his body a mere puppet for this horrific creature to play with. I watched in horror as the Kiki-Mora's eyes grew wider, and the lips parted to open the jaw. It pulled at its skin until a separation was made, what looked like a wisp of smoke emerged, and the Kikimor eagerly grabbed it with the free hand and devoured it, dropping Zenaia to the floor and screeching as the crowd cheer. Well, would you look at that? Folks, our first semi-finalist eliminated, and it wasn't even a fight! What the hell happened to that super soldier power?

Aldoan seemed bemused, laughing as the Kikimora went back to the elevator and descended. and descended, licking its lips. Zenaia lay on the ground, eyes white and no movement. Why didn't it finish him? Was it feeling generous? Zunk asked, leaning forward to look down at him. I trembled in my seat and closed the book, taking a sip of water with shaking hands and the fear of what this tournament and its alumni could do if they wanted. It did finish him. Le Kiki Moore eats souls, not bodies. Someone wanted Zenae a vulnerable, and they got it. As the next two competitors took to the pit, I remembered the bottle I had in my possession,

and I unfolded the cloth, realizing just how much I may need this in the other bouts. It was a silver bottle with the chain around it. Ice cold to the touch with a combination lock over the cap and a code written on the inside of the cloth, a small note just beneath it. Professor Ambrose, Ashton Smith's silver-tier potion. Your cycle shall not end so long as you keep this close. One glass for injury. Two for death.

You'll know when the time is right. Good luck. And protect them. Post-match interview. Fight fans, I'm here with our usual interviewer and wildcard competitor, Landry Evey, a man who, quite frankly, I'm a little nervous for. Landry, how are you feeling, man? Landry stretches with his shade still on, smiling.

Uh, well, initially I was nervous as fuck, you know, given with what we've seen here in the NFC, but... Now, I welcome this. Honestly, I do. It's a way to vindicate myself and my past sins. What do you mean by that? Do you owe a debt to the NFC? Nah, no. I guess... Look, fuck it. I might be my last fucking chance to say this anyway. I used to be in a gang of sorts you know we used to cause a bit of trouble

around my neck of the woods we got into a good few scraps with other groups and stuff but we always tried to keep the peace you know and we never strayed too far but one evening we got a warning that there was a fresh gang in the fucking territory and they'd been taking up all the other territories and they were coming for ours next

and they sent us a box of skin from our local rivals just to let us know that was air warning Landry swallows and he looks uncomfortable pausing for a moment and shivering These lads were dangerous But my boys They wanted to make a stand

They said they were going to die on their sword But I had a girl at home And a little one on the way I just couldn't take that risk So I ran They died And I left them for their fate As my boys died around me

Their leader cursed me Said I'd find punishment By watching others achieve glory While I languished in life My wife she left me And tucked the kid Said she couldn't look to me in the eye anymore Tell me if I ever wanted

To live an honourable life I'd one day need to learn to stand my ground and wash away that shame. The NFC hired me soon after that, told me if I didn't sign up, they'd hurt my wife and kid, so I did what I had to, think I'd be stuck in this cycle forever. But I guess fortune's smiling down on me. That's, wow, do you have anything to say to your opponents and rivals in the bracket? Landry takes off his glasses, and I see beautiful but pained emerald eyes, Stealed with years of agony as he looks at me and gently takes the mic he'd been in charge of for so long.

Yeah, I do actually. I might not be some fucking supernatural being or anything like that. But you law have nothing to fucking lose, and I have everything to fucking lose. That makes me more dangerous than the rest of you. I might be a happy-go-lucky lad having a wee laugh every now and then, but I still can fucking kill someone if I want it. I can still fuck anyone up on my day. When I bring my best, I'm as dangerous as to come, and I will bring my best in there.

So if you underestimate me or you bring anything less than your best, I'm going to fucking tear your head off. Best of luck to you. End of interview. There was little time to look at the body of Zanea as it was carted off by the cleaner crew. A wave of concern washing over me as they carried his corpse away. Something didn't sit right. Zenaia was a phantom of strength and skill, possessing that. that otherworldly strength he'd tapped into during his quarter-final bout.

How on earth did he get overpowered here? Who would want to get involved? My mind was ripped from questions as Aldoan put one foot on the balcony barrier and stood like an explorer surveying her kingdom, running a hand through her bleached blonde undercut hair, watching Eustace D'Colta take his place as the elevator shudders and the chain bringing it up heaved under the pressure. Eustace kept his hands in his pockets and grinned. Fight fans, we move on with our open-weight Grand Prix semifinals

and turn our attention to one of the two invitational fighters looking to keep his mystique alive. You know him at the nightmare catcher. Eustace de Coulter! He bowed in that overly courteous manner and regained his composure as the doors opened, and within an instant, that composer, Posure gave way to seething hatred. Black hair, long, bloodied antlers, a deer skull with small scraps of skin peeling away, a hunched

over frame with a descended stomach and wild, ravenous eyes, a Wendigo, an old, hungry one. Eustace looked up to Aldoan with a look of shock and betrayal. She shrugged her shoulders. And his opponent. Something I think will be most interesting to see, given his fixation on one of our wild card entrance, the windigo of Algonquin Blackwood. It locked eyes with Eustace and began charging, horrific growling and screeching coming from the beast

as Aldoan smile grew, and she threw her hand in the air. Begin! NFC Openweight Grand Prix semifinals. Eustace DeColta versus the Wendigo of Algonquin. Blackwood. Eustace made no effort to open his satchel, to bring forth a nightmarish creature under his control and end things in a snap. Instead, he threw it aside with his hat and cloak, rolling through the legs of the charging Wendigo and rolling up his sleeves as it turned to pounce. My, my, so I'm to be made a fool of in this Grand Prix, am I?

Oh, von Priere, you are merely allowing me to show off my son. skills with the fiery passion of hate. As he enunciated the final word, his right fist volleyed into the stomach of the windigo. It winced, but did not stop its trajectory, as it bit into the soft flesh of his shoulder, tearing a piece off and leaping to the other side of the pit to feast. A stunning development. Eustace DeColter has so far been the one to win this entire thing, yet he is now on the

receiving end of some vicious punishment. Sunk, what do you think will happen? If he doesn't get that satchel suit, he's going to have a slice, dice, and not looking so nice. Meanwhile, a cannibal boy over there snacking on that piece of Eustace like it's one of my strombolies. The Wendigo stared up at us as we spoke. Fear gripped my bones when I locked eyes and saw the sheer madness driving this creature to feast. I thought about the legends I'd heard of families huddled up during bitter winters, the spirit talking to the men and urging them to give into their hunger and to eat into their hunger

and devour their family. I felt that primal hunger locked on to me and the terror on my skin. So this is how I am to be treated as an invitational fighter. I must reveal why I am here before you now?

You could have simply asked, Commissioner Aldwin von Trier. Eustace's angry shout snapping me out of the trance and looking down at him, hand clutching his wound as he stared daggers at Aldoan. He wrapped it with some tape.

in his pocket, and while circling the still feasting Wendigo, pulled out a pair of brass knuckles and began approaching. No, literally, walking towards this hulking mass of muscle and meat, was he insane? Very well. No matter. I loved my family. Growing up, we always enjoyed traveling the circus, supplying our trade as the devilish decultus. I was the illusionist in training. My mother was our animal carer and expert. Father, the fire devourer and a weapons specialist with my elder brother, being our master of ceremonies. Oh, Yosef loved the pageantry of performances.

I wanted to be just like him. Kind, passionate. Eustace took several paces. He was 20 feet away now and stopped to ruminate on his past. The Wendigo finished. washing his meal and looking up with a melancholy expression, like he'd forgotten he was even in a fight at all. I remember the night it happened.

Father said a new attraction was coming to the circus. We were concerned. Mother and he went to check it out while my brother watched me. I was five and he was thirteen. I remember the blood curdling screams, my mother rushing to our wagon door with her arm hanging out of its socket, the fucking animal leaping onto her scalp and ripping it off with her teeth. Brother sustained as he lured it away from where it flesh and gurgles fading to nothing before the deafening silence fell once more.

Eustace clenched his fists together, seemingly staring at nothing. In my native Dutch, we would call this a blood-bought king massacre. The Wendigo charged and ran straight into an upper cut from Eustace. Brass knuckles firmly attached and sending the beast in some of its teeth flying as it toppled to the ground in a heap. Eustace breathing heavily. This was not a man accustomed to fighting with his fist. That abomination took my family in an instant. I vowed to never let it happen again.

I joined the Order of the Moth and dedicated my life to finding, capturing, and where control was impossible. He looked down at the windigo with disgust as he stepped over it, standing above its head and spitting on it. In her, the prize I have come to. When I got word, these creatures were housed here. I sought an invitation and acquired one with my then. Here I am, waiting for my moment, and now with my eyes. He leaned down over the still dazed Wendigo and raised his fist, brass knuckles still attached

into the air as he spoke. A wish to wipe out every abomination. He drove it down into the skull of the creature with prejudice. Two strikes, then three. A fourth shattering part of the skull before the creature twitched and fell limp. Eustace, sweating and still bleeding, rose to his feet and walked back to his bag. Aldoan's eyes watched him the whole time. What a come from behind victory by the nightmare catcher himself!

Zunk! Why did he know? use a satchel?" I knew the answer, but that only made it more disturbing to hear someone else confirm. I'm assuming you didn't think it worthy of being in with his other captive, Sal. I guess they'd want to finish it off personally, but, uh, well, if he wants to eliminate all of us creatures, it's going to make it hard to root for him, huh? I nodded, looking back at Eustace and waiting for Aldoen to call the fight. Instead, she was looking past him to something else lurking in the corner.

As he picked up his satchel, he noticed it had fallen open. But not in time to stop the pencil-like stinger from ripping into his shoulder and tearing it open as the visage of Mr. Stairs crawled up his back, the face twisting around as it cackled. You thought you had me locked up in that bag for aeons to come, didn't you? Well, you made a big mistake, pal. If I'm not trapped in there, I've got free rein and I'm in the mood for a new body. How about yours? He screeched, readying himself to burrow into the mouth just like he did at the exhibition match. But Eustace whistled and all other sounds faded away.

It was a single note, but it rang through the venue, stupefying us into a silence. As several hands began blindly searching from the satchel, each with the EDK branding on the tops of them. They moved in the same way as a spider, but with a greater sense of agility, Within moments, they sensed Eustace and crawled up his person, grabbing at Mr. Stairs one by one until they completely enveloped him, squeezing his wooden frame. Eustace's whistling grew higher in pitch as they tightened their grip, the wood splintering under the pressure and making the hairs on my body stand on end. When it hit the apex, the doll snapped, and with a powerful gust of wind, a smog escaped the doll

and floated out of the pit and down the elevator shaft. Eustace's eyes followed it for a moment, and it looked like he was intent to chase after. But he sighed and grabbed at his now pouring wound, grimacing before taking himself to the dugout, satchel dragging on the ground behind him as Aldoan declared him the winner. A damn interesting story, Eustace. I knew this fight would bring out the best in you ahead of the finals. Let's keep this party rumbling. and find out who will be joining you in the finals from the Wild Card Bracket.

He's in the Nirvana state. He's got that pure Zen that could snap into violence at any moment. Mr. Game of Death himself, Huangzhou! The attention moved to the dugout, but nobody emerged. Normally, up to this point at least, the fighter would be standing and waiting when Aldoan called them out. The courtesy more than anything. Plus, after all he'd gone through to get here, you'd think Kwong would want to be right out there

and claiming what he sees as his rightful spot. But two minutes passed and nobody came out, much to Aldoan's chagrin. All right, someone fucking wake up the Monkey King and bring him here. He's had enough time. She slammed a foot down and the ground shook a tad. You too have been on your own journey through hell, Sabata. I looked behind me and Kwong stood there, his eyes white and his jaw slack. Someone was speaking through him.

Someone sinister. This one climbed through the Kashadokuro for aeons and attained a higher state. He flitters between planes of existence and needed to suffer the most gruesome of fates in order to make the leap. But you, my word, you did it without even trying. He reaches out cold, clammy hands and grips my forearms, Zunk looking on nervously and unsure how to act. I have watched you travel between spaces, dip beneath the static, ascend the floors of inertia, and fly across the valleys of death.

I have seen you live, die, love, suffer, and struggle countless times, and yet you sit here before me, unable to even comprehend your brilliance or your danger. My eyes burned, and I felt the aura of a migraine rising in the back of my skull, like I was dipping my head into hot wax. I felt sick, and the more I heard him speak without moving his lips, the more terrified I became. This one has been borrowed to pass a message onto you, Sal Sabata, one that you need to hear, even at the cost of this one's safety. Aldoan looked up and began shouting to her security.

As Zunk pried Kwong away with ungodly strength, he uttered something that chilled me to the bone, though I couldn't place why. He's already here. Waiting to drag you into the void. Be aware. With that, his body seized and his nose bled profusely as he was dragged away. I stood there, dumbstruck, and feeling like someone just walked over my goddamn, grave. Aldoan muttered something about, before declaring Kwong eliminated due to incapacitation

and moving on. But I couldn't shake the inalienable feeling that something was watching me, piercing eyes from somewhere unseen in the venue, and a malicious intent that separated itself from the competitors below, the kind that threatened to take me at a moment's notice whenever it saw fit. Much like Aldoan, the crowd has grown restless, and their bloodlust has risen to an all-time high. This was to be expected. Most didn't leave the pit alive, and to forfeit voluntarily or otherwise was absolutely unthinkable. I was trying to calm myself down by scratching my palm when sunk placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and smiled, staring at the sheets in front of us.

Hey, hey, you know what I do when I'm nervous? I focus on colors in my mind that make me feel calm. Sounds dumb, I know, but if I get the urge to revert to what I was... Well, I just think of the color magenta and I feel at ease. Sometimes I try to fabricate smells too. The kinds that I can cook in my safe space and bring me joy. Try it sometime. It might help. He smiled and briefly looked over, kind, weary eyes meeting mine and putting me at ease as I grinned back and thanked him.

Well, what's you going to do? Summer Duds? Happens. Am I right? Moving on to our next semi-final match, though. I don't think we're going to get any disappointments. Ladies, jents, freaks of all kinds. He's the master of the death clutch.

And our other invitational fighter for this year's Openweight Grand Prix, Ultraviolence Rex Chug! Rex emerged from the dugout, draped in the flag of his people, the brilliant Netherlands colors proudly sporting his shoulders, as he completed the walk and imitated a sumo wrestler, stomping his feet onto the ground before clapping his hands together and staring down the elevator opposite, much to the crowd's amusement. As the doors opened, a familiar foe stepped out for the first time in a while. His mouth still covered in nails and sporting no signs of major,

your brain function. The puppet master stumbled out of the elevator and flopped to the ground, drooling and making no attempt to right himself. He looked exactly the same as when Eustace took Mr. Stairs and put him into the satchel. Rex stared at him for a moment and cocked his head before looking over to Aldoan. Hey, Comish, you, uh, you sure about this? I don't want to beat on someone who can't even fight. Ain't that against the fools? Aldoan's eyes flashed, and she looked. smiled wide at Rex, leaping up to her perch and laughing. I really shouldn't judge a book by its cover, Rex.

Begin! NFC Openweight Grand Prix semifinals. Rex Ultra Violence Chug vs. the puppet master. Well, fight fans and freaks of nature were once again greeted with an interesting matchup between the man who's made violence a part of his nature and a puppet master, who used his nature to inflict violence. That being the case, I'm finding it a bit conflicting to call a match, wherein the latter is at the mercy of the former from the get-go. Zunk, what are your thoughts?

I looked to him, but he was fixated on the fight with such intensity that his grip on the table was beginning to bend the wood. He looked indignant at the sight. Rex walks forward and rotates his right arm as he does so. I hate to do this, but I got a reason for being here, buddy. A lot of kids back at the death clutch gym need to know how to protect themselves and deal with that anger helpful. I need this dog. It ain't nothing personal. I promise.

He picked the puppet master up and let loose a brutal combination. First, the stomach, front kick to the kneecap and a furious uppercut to the jaw as he dropped down, doubling the impact and sending him swirling into the air. He wasted no time and caught him with a picture-perfect drop kick to the jaw. as the puppet master hurtled back to the ground, the shot careening him into the wall and leaving him in a heap still drooling. What a combo! You can slap 450 on that bad boy and bill me for the happy meal separately.

Rex showing us that he lives up to the moniker 24-7, and his students at home must be proud. Though I find it hard to cheer with the opponent limp, it looks like this one will be over soon, and Rex Chug will be moving on to the finals. No, he's just binding his time. Sunk breathed, leaning forward to such a degree that he threatened to topple the table, his body quivering with anger. I looked back, and the puppet master still looked as catatonic as before. His head slumped forward, Rex walking over to pick him up.

Man, I really thought you might perk up, but I guess not. I'm sorry. I promise to make this quick. Rex's left hand rose above his head, the fingers twisting into that unusual pose as they gripped the puppet master's chest. At this, the puppet master reared his head up, placing his hands on Rex's chest and opening his mouth, the nails driving further through his flesh as they split and fell out. Gone was the dazed over look, and in its place was a man who knew full well where he was.

Made you look, Rex. He hissed. But it feels... So, so good to be back in my own body. He changed you can't belate, huh? He pushed Rex away, and in that moment of separation, punched the air as Rex had done previously. The crowd and myself holding their breath.

For a moment, nothing happened. The puppet master stood up and wiped his face holding his stomach. Well, I never expected this to be an easy ride, But man, am I lucky this happened when it did? You pack a hell of a punch, Rex. Shame it had to be me, you met. But take out one meat head and Zenaia, take them all out, I suppose. Rex didn't respond.

He couldn't. Whatever had inflicted Zenae in those closing moments had made its way into him. He stared vacantly at the puppet master as he chuckled and threw out his hands, twitching the fingers and making Rex stretch out his arms. and look up directly at Aldoan. I told you we want it in, Jim. Can you see me now? The shot rang out, and the hole punctured through Rex's chest

created a small window for Aldoan and the puppet master to see one another clearly. He posed as if framing a photo while Rex stood there, gasps of air escaping his lungs before he dropped to his knees, falling face down into the mat. The crowd roared as my lungs burned in my chest at the sight, but before I could even say anything to close out the match, Zunk flipped the table and sent it crashing to the bottom of the pit. He always loved toying with others. If it wasn't small animals, it was locals and the towns we inhibited, unspeptending passerby or people

he could con. His craving for more got so ambitious. He managed to separate his body from his soul. Who would have thought he'd end up here in all places? Why was it I informed? He yelled to Aldoan, who snapped her eye to him and glared. Even if he was upset, he clearly made a mistake. Guess the apple didn't fall far from the tree, did it, Jersey Devil? The puppet master quipped, holding up Rex's body and making it agree with him before unceremoniously dropping it and laughing that foul laugh Mr. Stairs let out before.

What the hell does he mean, Zunk? I asked, seeing the anger building up in him as he darted his eyes to both sides. That puppet master down there, the one who just manhandled Rex Chug, he's my son, Malthus. But he goes by another moniker from his terrorizing days. He swallowed, and his fists clenched. The tension in the air was palpable, but I couldn't take my eyes off of Rex or shake the anxiety of this creature's intent. They called him the Black Dog of New Jersey. motion in the cleanup. I talked briefly with Zunk about what it transpired.

I'm standing here with the Jersey Devil himself, Zunkle Peabody, moments after the revelation that the formerly known Puppet Master and Mr. Stairs is known as Malfus, aka the son of Zunk. Could you tell us a little more about that? Zunk takes a deep breath and runs his hand over his face, through his hair, and counts the prime numbers before responding. In my youth, I was a terror in the Jersey Pines. The form I took out there was an ease what I actually am. A monster. A demon.

Alphas came along. I had a desire to focus on something still within my nature and culture of violence, but not bothering anyone else. So I came here when it was permitted to indulge in unsanctioned bouts when the mood took me and lived in a relatively quiet life. I see. Well, I can certainly understand a desire to start over, but I got to ask the main question. Why on earth was Malthus's body split between the physical one and that puppet? How did Mr. Stairs break free?

Zunk counts the prime numbers again and looks away for a moment. Shame causing the wrinkles on his forehead to deepen further. He was such a bright kid. I knew early on that he could manipulate living things. with enough concentration and practice. Started out making woodland creatures come up to him and pet them, and made dead ones dance before graduating them, mutilating them, and poking at their insides. Trying to find out how he could keep them as permanent playthings, even when they were decomposed.

Naturally, he'd graduate once more when he got older. That's where we stepped in. He didn't want to do it, but when several children start going missing, you need to act. blood of the father, hair of the mother and treasure of the offspring. We provided it to a cryptid expert, and they were able to separate Malthus's body and from the soul, leaving a servient husk. When they were a pair, it was contained and, though violent, didn't try to grow with ambition. Now, now he will want to go on a rampage. That's, wow, I'm so sorry you had to make that choice.

Our fans were confused as to how the seal works. If it could be broken by Eustace, why didn't Mr. Stairs figure that out and get broken sooner? That's the thing. Eustace Goulda was the one we went to for our seal. He made it. That's why it was so easy for him to ensnare Mr. Stairs in their bout. Exact same reason he was able to smash the doll when he got out.

Though injury and distraction clearly played a pivotal role in the soul escaping back to its owner, I don't blame Mr. DeColta. The fault is still within me. What do you plan to do now? Obviously, per NFC rules, resident nightmares cannot progress in an elimination-based tourney if their human opponent falls. But it's clear Malfus has plans that extend beyond the fight with Rex or this still mysterious situation with Zenaia. Do you plan on talking to him? Zunk rolls up his sleeves and sighs, frustration all over his face, and intermixed.

with a conflicted sense of duty and grief. I was a style to win for an unsanctioned match to take place during the open-weight Grand Prix finals as a showcase match. His desire for bloodlust, his interferences, and his great plans for getting out of here all have to be stopped by my hand. I brought him into this world and I will take him out of it, even if that means doing so with his neck clamped in between, my teeth.

The Jersey devil will make an appearance in that pit, literally. End of interview. I didn't dare to challenge his statements. He was furious and shaking. I couldn't begin to imagine how conflicted this must have been for him as a father. He stood up, and, with his back to me, said he needed some time before the fight. He was detached in his voice a tad deeper when he spoke. Something had switched in him, and it frightened me to think of what that was.

It frightened me all the more to see a gentle, kind man such as him, reverting back to a creature like the Jersey Devil. Still, I may be guessless for the first time in the tournament, but I'd be damned if it stopped me from seeing this debacle through to the end. I had a job to do. I took a long sip of water and removed my Hawaiian shirt, draping it over my chair and stretching before taking the mic as Madame Nell Lock strode to the center of the pit, taking one look up at me and smiling before directing her attention to the elevator.

Fight fans, we may have had an underhanded and quite frankly unsettling couple of matches, but this next one promises to be exciting. Nell Lockwood is a crypted expert and someone who has innate knowledge of monsters packed into the compendium, I have no doubt she has memorized. What can the NFC throw at her? She doesn't already know how to beat. Let's find out. I glanced over at Aldoan and felt my stomach drop into the floor.

She had that insidious smile I'd come to know that meant only one thing. She'd found a place to hit where it hurts. Ladies and gentlemen, the NFC provides. opportunities for all who request, and even those who don't. To that end, we are proud to let our employees under duress join our wildcar attorney. She is the huntress, the scourge of the monster community, and the owner of the cryptid compendium. I give you Madam Nell Lockwood! No bow this time. She simply pulled her.

serrated blade from its holster and held it in front of her defensively, patient, ready, focused. The doors opened and outcrawled a haired beast, snarling and ravenous. A lichanthrope. Its fur standing on end as white striking eyes locked on to Nell, with an ear-splitting howl it charged at her. NFC Wildcard Opening Round Match. Nell Lockwood v. the lichentrope.

I see. This is how it must be. Nell breath, holding out her arms wide and smiling as the beast sinks its teeth into her flesh, growling. I stared, shocked at her behavior, and struggling to understand her motives as the silver-haired creature tore into her, ripping away at the fabric and slashing her sides. What on earth is Nell doing? I called out, leaning forward and over the table, hoping my shouting willed her into activity, but she wasn't vacant or poisoned like Zenaa or Rex. She wasn't offering herself up as a sacrificial lamb.

No, she was being patient. As she smiled and looked up at the ears of this feral wolf, she whispered something in its ears before the sound of a blade cutting flesh and with a resounding shriek rang out. The wolf jumped back and clutched at its chest. The gashed superficial and immediately overlooked for another shot at the tender flesh he'd exposed on Nell's shoulder.

You think putting me in front of something I care about? I'll bet twisted and distorted beyond recognition will make me crumble. She called out, staring the wolf down, but clearly directing her words at Aldoan. I lost what made him special so long ago. I mourned him and moved on. All that's left now is a desire. to avenge him. She leapt back and avoided the claws of the wolf, landing on its shoulders as it fell forward. She brought the blade up again and grabbed at the hair on its head, wrenching it up with

surprising force as it whimpered. Look at me, Aldwin. Look at my resolve. Look into the eyes of a woman who will not be denied. She took the blade across the wolf's throat in one swift motion. It bucked her off and reared on its hind legs. Howling one last time, it rushed for her, only to fall short as the wound split open and blood stirred it out, coating her in black as it fell before her. She stared it down until it fell forward, unflinching. After a moment, she kneeled down and slit the beast's ear off, keeping it in her pocket and walking away, back to the dugout in a stunned silence. Aldoan shrugged, closing her eyes and smiling. What are you going to do?

Not everything you throw at the wall sticks. Now Lockwood advances. We're close to rounding things out. And our next wild card match promises to deliver something special. Another member of the NFC family looking to restore his honor to his name, Landry Evie. Landry steps out into the pit, nervous but happy as he waved to the crowd. and even wore the Irish dry-color flag over his back, grinning from ear to ear. And his opponent, we searched far and wide for something special and unique.

Wanting to ensure one of our own gets his true best. Well, we found it. The headless, the dula. NFC Wildcard opening round. Landry Evey versus the Doolahan. The elevator door opened. And a black horse galloped out, a rider clad in a black cloak and sporting a whip in the free hand.

Only, no, not a whip, not quite. A spine with a thick chain looped around the base, the bones filed into spikes, and the top finished with a scythe-like appendage. He ran around the circumference of the venue, a low and guttural pruning filling the pit as he cackles. Landry, to his credit, was not put off. He ducked down low and waited for his chance, the Doolahan racing around to face him head on, whip at the ready. Landry dodged as he looked for an opening, narrowly missing the notches of the bone whip.

He did this a handful of times, each exertion bringing him closer to tiredness, but his focus never wavering. He was looking for something. On the fourth attempt at dodging, however, Landry stumbled and was unable to leap in. time. The notches of the whip cracked down on him with extreme prejudice, flecks of blood and flesh flying into the air with every succession. Landry could do nothing once he was caught. Every strike took him seconds to recuperate from and allowed the Doolahan more time to get into prime position to strike again. It was a mawling, plain and simple, one that involved my new friend

and someone I admired. I watched an abject horror as this brave man was chipped away, piece by piece, his frame growing weaker. A surprise in turn by the Doolahan. This headless rider has waited patiently for his opponent to tire, and will now rip Landry's soul away one lash of the whip at a time. Can Landry do anything to stop this onslaught? We, I can only hope. I slammed my fist down and willed him on silently,

not daring to raise the ire of the crowd or Aldoan any further. As the horse came in, rearing up, rearing up for another crack of the whip from its pale rider. Landry dropped to his stomach and the whip missed. In that moment, he rolled underneath the beast and clasped the hooves with both hands as the horse began to drop down. The struggle was immediately apparent. Landry was no super-soldier or man of remarkable strength. He merely had the will to push forward, sweatbeads running down his already damaged body and the shoulders threatening to separate under the pressure. There was one thing that worked in his favor as the horse reared back and collapsed, crushing half the Doolahan

beneath its huge torso. Landry had done his homework, pulling something from the hoof of the downed beast, a golden pendant in the shape of a bullet. The Doolahan wrangled itself free and ran forward, grappling with the exhausted Irishman. Come on, you headless fuck. I'll send you back to where you came from. He called out, his grip intensifying as the crowd cheered. They pushed apart, both saw the sprawling backwards to a knee before the Doolahan rushed forward, paned firmly on its whip and Landry standing there, dear in the headlights. I felt the fear of loss rushed through me and it overtook me as I called out to Landry over the mic.

Landry is standing still. What the hell are you doing? Move! He looked to me as the hulking, blackened frame of the Doolahan towered over him, smiling before he gripped the pendant and drove it deep into the Doolahans' chest. At the same time, the Doolahen's chest, the dula. Doolahan wrapped a whip around Landry's neck and pulled. There was a silence as if time stood still and the crowd watched with anticipation. I watched with horror. The Doolahan slumped back and collapsed into a heap.

Landry stood, a hoarse laughter creaking out from his weary vocal cords, whip falling away to show deep lacerations to his throat growing redder by the second. Fucking gold. I always knew them fuckers had a weakness. He dropped to his knees and looked up, his head tilting further and further back, the split in his neck growing deeper as he uttered one final word before it detached entirely and he dropped to the ground. Dead.

Son. My stomach was in knots and I could barely keep the bile back as I pushed onwards to complete my commentary for the match, but somewhere in the midst of all that fear, hatred, and disgust was his sense of pride. I'm proud that my friend had found a way to go out on his own terms, proud he would be welcomed with open arms and that his family, though grief-stricken, would remember him fondly. What a display of heart from Landry Evie, a man determined to beat the odds and beat them he did. Aldoen, in a moment of uncharacteristic consideration, leapt down from her perch and took a knee by Landry's body, placing a hand on his chest and grinning. You did good, lad.

Slon, may the gods be kind to you. She stood up and looked to the dugout. To the final two members of each respective bracket, her lust for more was unquenchable. Time for our final, semi-final contest of the Openweight Grand Prix. We decided to do something a little different. This time around, first up is a face. We've all come.

to recognize and fear. Nora fucking Zane! Nora came out, black tape on her appendages, and a long wound on her upper thigh taped up. She didn't get too close to Aldoan this time, however. Instead, opting to stare her down as she stretched out. And her opponent? Well, not from our nightmare division.

Still a nightmare of her own volition. She was recruited by our talent. Scouts as a worthy challenge for Nora at this late hour and was promised her spot in the finals should she win. Like I said, we did things differently this time. Her teeth glistened under the bright spotlight, thick black smoke coming from the direction of the elevator, but nothing was coming up the shaft. Ladies and gentlemen, you are in for a real treat.

This young woman is a child of the void and a great manipulator that even makes me blush. They call her. The smoke billows and forms into a large, amorphous cloud. A woman clad in a dark robe emerges with her hands caked and black lightning. Her eyes are wild and manic. She laughs and takes to the air. She's coming straight for me. Temperance.

I breathed at the same time Aldoen. did, my head splitting under the strain of visions that ripped through me. I saw a bar, that dog from earlier twisting into some kind of snake-like abomination to defend me, or someone who I think is me. My friends fighting against several of these hooded individuals with one well-dressed man standing at the front, his dark, glistening skin, his long shadow towering over the bar, feasting, Always feasting. My bones rattled, and I shook with terror as this woman came closer.

She grinned, looking me up and down before backing off slightly. I am going to enjoy this. I want you to watch every bit of this. She dropped down to the ground and stood there, floating in place as Norr remained unfazed. NFC, openweight Grand Prix semifinals. Nora Zane versus Temperance. Nora wasted absolutely no time running forward and clocking temperance with a flying knee, sending her through the air and freeing Nora up to strike her with a follow-up kick to the stomach.

Putting her firmly on the mat, temperance cackled, riding herself, and floating with one of her hands cloaked in the sickening black flames. Nora cut the distance in half within an instant, ducking a shot of the flames and grabbing temperance by the wrist. Nope, I got both. It doesn't make him any less. or you any less dead. She reared her head back and smashed her skull into temperances before gripping the left arm, outstretching it and slamming her elbow and knee down to crush it between.

The resounding snap confirming the break we could all see coming. Nor is Zane is on fire, though thankfully not literally. This woman is a torte force of violence and precision. What will temperance do? I called, desperate not to lose another friend and terrified of what may come next. Temperance, to her credit, gritted her teeth and laughed through the pain. What will I do, Sal Saboda? Simple, I'll do what I was told to.

Check your unseen truth out of you by any means necessary. With that, she struck me. In an instant she floated up and away from Nor and fired a single shot of those sick flames at me. As it struck me, I was engulfed in a searing pain the overest. took me in an instant. There were no screams. There was no time. All I could see was darkness engulfing me as the sea of memories raced through my mind. A bar, a hotel, a plain, a tortoise. So much happening all at once, the pain ebbing away in the face of a blinding light. I was lost to the void, completely and utterly lost, sinking into a feeling of absolute nothingness, and the

The fear of that absence drove me to scream, but no noise came. My voice was and still is all I have. With that, I am a shell. It felt like ours. But within what I can only assume was a couple of minutes, I was hoisted up off the floor and helped to my booth by Nell, feeding me a drop of that silver-tiered potion from before. What the fuck? I breathed, but Nell sued me.

Not now. We'll talk after. You're going to feel weird for a while. The fight is nearly over, and I need you up and ready for this last one, okay? You need to show you're awake and alive. Nora needs to see that. Nell's face was racked with guilt and concern, but I did as I was instructed. Getting up, I saw sweating Nora pinning down a laughing temperance. A great shadow wrapped around Nora's frame as she screeched at the hooded woman.

If he's dead, I swear I'll bring this entire fucking building to the ground. She bellowed, trying to strike temperance, but unable to get through her smoke. Nora Zane smashes her way to victory and definitely absolutely saved my life. I word vomited, and it did the trick. Nora lapsed in concentration for just a moment to look up. Her body relaxing and allowing temperance to slip out of her grasp and float back to the heavy smoke. I did as I was told. Nora, how you've grown.

My master will be so pleased to see what else you can do. One final. That's all it'll take. Then they can eat you both and close the cycle for good. The void will reign supreme. Oh, that's... She gripped her arm and floated back through the void, still laughing as the crowd jeered and shouted expletives at her. Nor collapsed to the ground in exhaustion as Aldoen sighed.

Oh, God damn it. What is with our fighters today? Oh, well, that was still a hell of a violent affair. Nora, fucking Zane, survives to the finals. With that, she was assisted off the canvas and helped to the dugger. as Aldoan dropped down one final time. There was only one fighter left. Abidon. If you want something done right, do it yourself.

She muttered, walking towards the center and grabbing the mic. Fight fans, we have reached near the end of this half of the show. And I don't know about you, but I think we need a bit more definitive violence. So, I'd like to extend an offer to our show. our NFC Abidon, the Destroyer. That fucking locust-laden freak walked out, and I could hear the faint screams of those poor souls rushing through my ears again.

Nell squeezed my arm, and I centered myself as he stood on the opposite side of the pit. How about this? You last ten minutes in the pit with me, right here, right now. I offer you a bye to the finals of the Wildcart. tournament. The crowd erupted in excitement as Abedon looked around before holding up his broken, black and gold belt, stepping forward. Aldoan met his gaze and laughed, holding up her own. Oh man, that is the fucking spirit. Well, look at that. We got ourselves a main event, and it's going to be

bloody. She looked to me and winked. I did my job without thinking. Even my address. adrenaline pumped, a desire to see either one of these monsters fall, perhaps. NFC Openweight Champion Aldoan von Schreier vs. NFC Abbas champion Abadon the Destroyer. Begin! The clock starts ticking. Wasting no time, Aldoan rushes forward, gripping the top of her belt and slamming it into Abidon's face, the sickening French ringing out as steel metal meets skull. His body contorts and leans back, but does not falter. The locus converge around his head and begin pushing back, wrapping around her hand and the belt, while a free, gnarled fist finds its mark on Aluyn's stomach.

The wind knocked out of her, she pushes the belt harder and forces his body to bend back, the joints creaking under the pressure. He reciprocates with two more shots, enough to stop her forceful push and back her up. Creating some extra space, Abidon sweeps the legs and grabs an errant foot with one hand, holding her as if you were a child. Should you treat me lightly, Aldo, in Vontrier? I will make sure you carry the scar of the failure with you. Always.

In a flash, Abadon gripped her ankle tighter, and with ungodly force, hurled her into the canvas, face buried into the mat and unmoving. He was unrelenting as he picked her hulking frame up and slammed her again into the opposite direction, flinging her around like a ragdoll. I can't believe what I'm seeing. He's throwing her around like she's nothing at all.

Who would have ever envisioned this being done to the NFC Openweight champ? This creature's power was horrifying beyond measure. 90 seconds in and he'd thrown her several times before flinging her across the pit and into a wall, heads slumped forward and legs outstretched. I did not spend a lifetime of pain and suffering, toiling against denizens under the pit. The collective consciousness of so many people's fears, superstitions, and cultures, just to fall short here against a mortal. A powerful one. The locust screeched, and he pulled out a blade from his armor.

Three minutes. One slice from this, and you would begin to rot from the inside out. It will consume your flesh, your bones, and your soul. Once the rot has sufficiently spread in you or nothing more, I will take what remains as a memento before moving on to bigger things. His gaze flashed up at me, and I felt the incessant buzzing in my head. More images flashing. A bald, beautiful woman in a fancy suit with the most unnerving grin about her. A young man in a dark suit with a pompadour and cold dead eyes, a shadow with a monstrous spider-like face, devouring an unseen infant with glee.

All of them flashing rapidly in front of me as they turned to stare in the same way Abedon does. Cocking her head to the side, eyes narrowing ever so slightly and a twisted grin across their faces. They're the same. How are they the same? I grabbed my head and felt faint. So much was being thrown at me in such a short amount of time, and while it certainly

wasn't the physical ordeal the competitors had gone through, the mental strain was taking its toll. I focused myself, straining my eyes in protest of the splitting headache as the visage of Abidon pulled out the glimmering black blade, a sickening drone filling the air. An unholy cacophony of suffering became Abidon's marching music as malformed skeletal hand. His hands gripped the blade expertly at the hilt. Four minutes. There is a reason the Abyss Championship was never within your grasp, Altawin.

His droning voice undulating around the room. And now it never will be. Bringing the blade down on her head, I don't think anyone expected her to lean into it, grabbing it with her teeth and staring up Abidon with eyes awash with passion. The sound of grinding as she stood up slowly. purposefully, her back beginning to split and let loose the dreaded wings. Pulling the sword aside and letting loose, she smashed her skull into Abadon's and created some distance. You got some fight in you, Abidon. I like what I see. Let's turn it up a notch, shall we?

Pulling off her eye patch, a pure white orb situated in her eye socket swivels around until a small symbol appears, fixating on Abidon. It's hard to put into words what happened next, but something changed in Abadon, dropping his sword. The locust swelled and burst around him, the light sending them into a frenzy. He clutched at his head and wailed, moving backwards in a drunken stupor until he fell to a knee, Aldoan laughing as she took strides to cut down the distance. Five minutes. You know why I never wanted it. She raised the Abbas Championship, Avedon.

She raises a cinder-block fist, every knuckle cracking, and the muscles bulging under the pressure she was exuding. She cracked Abadon on the skull, the force sending dust and wind flying in all directions, as his face hit the floor and dragged itself to the adjacent wall. Ah, it's simple! I didn't want it. It was a limiter I didn't need in my competition. Picking him up by the head, she hurled him into the air,

and waited for him to come down before timing a perfect flying knee to the jaw. He fell in a slump, and every time he rose to his feet in defiance, she would strike him harder. Six minutes, seven minutes, eight minutes, eight and a half. Looking at the timer, I wondered if this abomination in Abadon could survive an onslaught by Aldoan any longer. But no matter what was thrown at him, he would rise up and cock his head. The bone fragments that made up his jaw pulling at themselves to allow for a hollow smile. He seemed to know something she didn't.

Aldoan's bloodlust was only growing. With every shot targeted, her growls and shrieks grew in pitch and fervor. I like you, Avedon! You may be the most interesting one yet! She hunched over. Those wings finally emerging from her back. They looked different, red tinged with black. larger and more imposing.

In the place of jaws were several large fists primed and ready to strike. Abadon laughed. A hollow, guttural hiss that went put with the sounds of these locusts unsettled me into my core. Heaven help who had to face either of these monsters next. His locust formed in front of him, and he reached behind his back for two shorter blades, priming himself for combat. Nine minutes. Let's dance one last time.

She grinned, the one working eye glistening as she stepped forward. I look forward to it. He hissed, a hint of something familiar in those words. He pounced, slicing at nothing but air as Aldoan back flipped, dodged and pirouetted through the air to avoid his blades. Small black lines omitting from the after image before fading, something dangerous lurking within them. She waited until she had an opportune position in which to strike, his blind spot on his back.

Licking her lips, she opened her wings and let the fists explode on him. Nine minutes, 30 seconds. Strike after strike rained down on Abadon, the pressure dropping him to a knee. Aldoan's laughter growing more maniacal with every successive blow, the onslaught was unending. The whore of Babylon, and on her forehead was written in name of her. Of Misson, the great mother of prostitutes and of earth abominate. Chicago, reciting the unholy scripture and hastening each shot. Nine minutes, 50 seconds.

It was over in a flash. The timer rang out as Abidon slipped through the shots and the final pose stood before us. Aldoan, a fist directed at Abedon's chest. Abedon, a pair of blades at Aldoan's throat. The challenge was over. Unbelievable! The two champs of the most terrifying combat sport organization have just put on a stellar display. Who wins, who loses, who cares? These two titans of terror will now go on to their next challengers. The question on everyone's mind is, who the hell can stop them?

The crowd gave uproarious applause as the two champions eased off. Aldoan placing the patch on her eye and the cloak around her neck. Abadon's locust calming themselves to form his usual black fail. A promise is a promise. You're on to the wildcard finals. When there, you'll get a rematch with me. Or a wish. I look forward to seeing which one it'll be. If you survive.

She punched him lightly in the shoulder and walked off, laughing. This round's over. Interval starts now. When we return, it'll be to determine the wild card winner and who the finals will be consisting of. So you'd best get your bets on now. I sat back in my seat, sweaty and sickly as the crowd began filing out again. This tournament will be the death of me. Rough day, huh?

Nell's voice rang through my ears, and I lifted my head from the desk, hoping I'd not wasted too much time napping. Looking at the clock, it had been about 45 minutes. Not as rough as it's been for you. What was all that about with the lichenthrope? Why'd you let him attack you like that? What'd you say? I couldn't help myself asking. Exhaustion and lengthy time spent in this tournament had doled my ability to be polite.

To her credit, she sighed and smiled, offering me a hand. Let's walk and talk. I have something I need you to see. I took her hand and we began walking through the bustling ring of fight fans, armchair experts, martial artists, and pundits who were eager to either stay out of our way or hurl abuse. Your commentary sucks, Sabota. He can't even remember shit from match to match. One man cried, throwing a drink at my head as we rushed past.

Mel, you cost me four grand when you took that dive. It was supposed to be a flawless victory. You owe me. Another bellowed, though this time smart enough not to strike. her. Everyone's a critic. Come on. We'll take the service elevator.

Passing by the Eldridge Food Shack that was now serving Mr. Moloch's takeout, I shuddered to think what was inside that, but didn't have time to investigate further, as Nell took us down a small alleyway that connected the upper and lower rings. Someone bumped into us, probably in a hurry themselves, and my grip was separated from Nell's, Getting the ground with a thud and still weak from the events. I took my time getting to my feet as the hand was outstretched, but it wasn't Nells. The moment I took her hand, I felt a soft, almost electronic boom that dulled all surrounding noises.

Looking at the body and the hand it belonged to, I came face to face with a young woman. She was no older than twenty at most, blonde hair flowing down her shoulders and a disarming smile on her face. She pointed to something by her side, and my eyes followed her hand to an unusual creature. A tortoise. I don't know what or how a huge animal like this was even here, but it looked at me with old, weary eyes. Filled with kindness and wisdom, he rocked his head back and forth before pushing it up against

my leg with a small affirmation of joy. I awkwardly petted his head, feeling the love he was giving me, but unsure as to why it was there in the first place. There's always a cycle. There's always an end. She said, handing me the same card I'd seen on the table a few hours ago. You are the one to break it. I don't understand.

I'm just an ordinary guy. I don't have anything special about me. I retorted, confused and overwhelmed, but she smiled. Neither did I, Sal. But sometimes it just takes a little time and help from my friends. She kneeled down to nuzzle the tortoise. Malachi has seen so much in his life and beyond that. He knows your special, just like I do. He even picked the name for me after my part had been played when I no longer wished to be Elizabeth Williams.

When I became seen, when I continued the cycle. I looked at the card, a small albino snake eating its own tail. The powerful king sat behind it on an imposing. throne, scepter in one hand, and sword in the other, slicing through the top of the snake with impunity, a small title at the bottom, the emperor. Looking up, I felt confusion and wanted to ask more, but the two were gone. In their place was a perplexed and frustrated Nell, ushering me on. What are you waiting for? We're on a clock, Sal, come on.

Following her lead, I pocketed the card and entered the small archway that housed the service. elevator. She pushed the B3 button and we descended. You asked me what that fight was all about. You asked me what that fight was all about? Well, I told you I had my reasons for being here and that we'd be killed if we left. That wasn't entirely true. She gripped the edges of her gloves. You would be, but I didn't want you to feel alone and more frightened than you understandably were at that moment.

But I told Landry that I had something I was fighting for in the NFC, someone I needed to face. It's Abadon, right? I pressed, looking to try and understand her plight. She smiled weakly and looked back at the soft light running through the slit in the elevator. The monster I faced was once a man, a beautiful man that taught me the ways of cryptid research, catalog and, when necessary, hunting. He was my mentor, my friend, my everything. Sir Simon Buck Nasty McGraw,

the man who caught the scourge of the Monongahala forests, liberator of St. Martin's land, countless battles against terrors of the night. She smiled and I could see tears in her eyes, her voice cracking as she spoke. I knew that moment I saw that facsimile of him, that she'd used it as a bait tactic to try to get me to fault her. This tournament never ceases to sicken me.

It may smell of Buck and carry his sins, but it's nothing of the man he once was. Aldoan knew I had my reasons for being here, and so she sought fit to torment me with a fragment of what Buck is now. I did what I had to, and I drew it again in a heartbeat. She turned to look at me. sincerity and pain plastered over her face. Because that's not my buck. Not anymore.

I don't know what I'd have done if I hadn't ventured down here and seen what they're keeping in the belly of the beast. I'd have never had the courage to set what's left of him free. The doors opened to a blacked out room the size of a warehouse, small lights flickering to life as we stepped out. When the room was fully illuminated, I saw. screamed. On one side of the building was an endless sea of beds with humans of all ages and size strapped into their frames. Metallic, bloodied shackles strapped around their emaciated joints, their eyes pried open with thin

pincers, pupils dilated and eyes darting around constantly. A thick, rusted feeding tube running down the course of their gullet and into their stomach, their muffled screams growing louder as they felt activity around them. Oh, my God, they're aware? I cried out, wanting to rush over, but knowing better, Nell shook her head. To a degree, always dreaming. One of them dreamed about buck fighting a beast. Days gone by.

And that abomination popped out. These are where the failed captains go. Missing people we don't care about. The losers have those bomb fights. Dark web contests. The NFC shoves them down here, hooked up to their special machines to do... Well, you'll see. I looked back in horror as one bed near us houses a thrashing, terrified woman.

She shrieks and chokes on the feeding tube until it roars to life. Her essence slowly ebbing away as something black and formless is ripped from her mouth. The tube running up the rafters and towards a large machine in the center. As it finishes its journey, a creature is dropped into the central chamber, soaking wet with fluids and screeching. It's a Strigoi, a Romanian vampire, to be exact. As soon as it spies us, it tries to rip through the bars and lunge at us unsuccessfully. The central chamber whirrs to life, and something unseen throws the Strigoi into a now-open portion of the chamber, along a small walkway and into a cage with food and a bed, alongside thousands

Thousands of others housing ungodly figures, big and small. This is where the supply of nightmares comes from. This is where the NFC gets its roster. The NFC would like to pass on a message from an anonymous source. She is the thesis to his antithesis, the beginning to his end. One cannot function without the other. She is his event horizon. We do not understand this.

to the NFC. I backed away towards the elevator. Every moment I spent down there just filling me with more dread and disgust. We need to get back upstairs. Talk to someone. I muttered, hot bile rising in my throat. Nell, steadfast as she stared ahead at the sea of bodies stuck in perpetual limbo, some fighting in vain against the tubes while others simply groaned and twitched.

I see you found my nightmare division. Good. That makes this easier. The sounds of locusts pounding against my eardrums. The smell of sulfur and rot. An undulating black shape descending from the rafters on the other side of the room. Abadon. I was but a wretched thing barely clinging to this reality.

No sounds. No strength. No purpose. It was countless years later when I focused enough and was able to listen to the disport of the universe that trapped into it, became one with it, was inspired by it. He looked down at his outstretched arms, rapidly rising and descending in size and structure as the locust swarmed around it, giving form to whatever he willed. I do not recall where I was before this, but I recall the pain.

The loss, I am still incomplete. Even now, the only thing that makes it stronger. He casts his gaze around the room and lifts his arms. The locust screeching as they descend on dozens of hospital beds, willing them into activity until the tubes come to life and the machine bellows as its mass produces more monstrosities. I can do nothing. My feet are rooted to the ground in fear at this unholy. action. I don't even see Nell as my gaze fixates on Abidon to the point of tunnel vision.

He cackles, and it sounds like the pained yells of every competitor as their bones are broken, teeth are smashed, and muscles torn. The sound of every one of their opponents in overzealous glee as they decimate their enemies. Is my ever expanse? Nell steps forward and blocks my sight for a moment. The room pulls more into focus, and I can feel my feet move. She's drinking from a flask that she throws to the floor in front of me, wiping her mouth and glowing faintly as she draws her blade. The black and red flask sporting a hexagon symbol emblazoned over the front, with the words etched, the hunter's dream. When the battle looms

and your senses must be at their sharpest, your vigor will find no end, nor will your bloodlust. On that elevator, and don't turn around so. She breathed, gritting her teeth as if holding back something. You need to trust me. The machine was spitting out countless horrors at an exponential rate. They were forming innumerable hands and tendrils with hundreds of eyes filled with insatiable hunger. I protested, but my body was already taking steps back without my realizing. I never took my eyes off them as I stepped into the elevator.

and press the button. Nell standing in front of that unceasing nightmare and his hoard as the doors closed on me. Sinking back against the door, I watched the lights and tried in vain to cover my ears from the sounds of violence below me, growing fainter as I ascended. I thought about how I got into this mess, how people I admired were having their lives inexorably changed or taken from them in this tournament. But most of all, I was ashamed of how utterly useless I was. throughout at all.

My voice and my mind are all I have. How often are they going to get me out of a pinch? I'll be honest. I felt like sinking into the floor and simply becoming part of the furniture in this pit. I wanted nothing more in that moment than for the elevator to never stop rising, to keep me stuck in this purgatory between the violence below and the impending violence above. I sank my head into my knees and sobbed, desperate for a way out. The elevator doors opened to the sounds of bustling pundits rushing to hedge their bets,

fans eager to buy more strange snacks, and experts arguing over who will win in the finals. But through it all, I heard those two voices over the commotion. A hand outstretched as I craned my head up. Huh? Having a rough one, huh? The first voice, a young man, asked. Well, duh. What would you do in a situation like this where you seem to be the only one that you're

Only one who doesn't know what's going on, Tristan. The other voice of a young woman retorted. He chuckled. Suppose you're right. Would probably do what I did last time. Take one for the team. She sighed, and I saw her crouched in front of me, blurred through tears, but fiery red hair and a warm smile still visible,

the man leaning against the doorframe to stop it closing. Hey, Sal, you won't know who we are. Honestly, that's not what matters. We're just here to do our bit. I took her hand, and she hoisted me up. Passing something on, we owed a favor. We wouldn't be here without that bit of divine intervention. He outstretched his hand to reveal a worn-down black iPod that I took into my hands,

holding it like an egg. The screen glimmering to life with a small crack on the corner, turning it over, revealed a slew of stickers and a small note. property of Sigurd Ross Johnson, if found, kindly return or face a monumental kick to the balls. What is this for? I asked, incredulously inspecting it and trying to uncover whatever secret it had inside. There's a playlist on there.

You'll know which one and what song to play when the time comes. Music is a remarkable conductor, a live wire for the bonds between us, or so they say, All I know is that it worked for us and it should, by extension, work for you when you venture beneath the static." My eyes widened at that phrase, but as I looked up to reply, they were gone. In their place was an usher for the NFC reminding me to get to my booth. I acquiesced and went straight there. Upon arriving at the booth, however, I saw two things that struck me.

being a new soundboard affixed my headset with some perspex glass to protect me, the former undoubtedly due to Zunk's outburst from earlier, and the latter from slightly two energetic competitors. The other thing I spied was a note resting on top of the compendium. It was neat, stamped with the compendium seal, and in a handwriting not dissimilar to what was in the book. Sall, this tournament is coming to a close, and you're going to see things you don't want to, things that will hurt you. But if you believe in anything while you're in here, make it this.

You are only as powerless as you let yourself feel. You are only as in control as you allow yourself to be. You can be the background noise in a busy room or the light that punctures the darkness, but either way, you'll always be my friend. N. Putting it to one side and affixing my headset, I looked over the iPod once more. scrolling through a series of playlists, ranging from bespoke and other haunted albums to Wendy's vibe sesh, and even Hotel Inertia beats to relax and scream to.

The guy has a good sense of humor, I guess. But the last one on the list simply read, For S, and upon opening it, a sea of familiarity washed over me. Songs picked out for people I knew from the tournament. Wendy, Nora, Aldoan, Zuncle. Then, people I could only vaguely remember in flickering images, but nothing concrete. Kraus, Nea, Cheddar, Malachi, and C, before falling on the name that stopped my scrolling and pulled at the pit of my stomach.

Nell. As if on cue, a shockwave ripped through the building, and the sounds of screeches and groans filled the pit. The pundits looked around, even Aldoan seemed perturbed, standing up from her throne and leaning over the balcony, staring at the elevator shaft. We had an hour until the next match, and I was still prepping my notes. A voice whispered in my ear, swirling around me and seeping into my ears, blocking out the sounds of the locusts and mounting screaming.

It was sweet, saccharine in nature, with a hint of malice laying in every hour. since it left. My bones rattled, but I felt no threat. I sat still as it urged me to plug the iPod in and hit play. Take the next step. Provide the backdrop. Set it in motion. It cooed as I obeyed, unable to resist the siren call of whatever this disembodied voice wished for. As soon as I clicked play, the song ringing out and filling the pit, the voice simply said, Good, so it begins. The elevator surged up and smashed into the foundations, sending dust and mortar across the venue,

coating it in a thick fog. From within, a sea of locusts could be seen rushing around, small scuffles, and the sounds of steel clashing could be heard amidst the chaos. What the fuck is that noise, Sal? Why did you? Aldwin looked over briefly, listening to the song before her eyes fell, and she bit her lip. Well, I guess I'm not the only one who knows how to pluck at their heartstrings.

But at least it goes out with a bang. Bravo, Sal. It didn't click there and then what she meant. But I had a job to do, and I stuck to it. Playing ignorant was not a strong suit of mine. Fight fans, we seem to be getting into things a little early. That sound of locust can only mean one thing. Our NFC, Abidon, the Destroy.

has someone in his sights, and that is surely not going to end well. He's not waiting for the finals to fight again. I think he has some punishment he wants to dish out. The smoke began to clear, and standing on the opposite sides were Abadon, uncloaked and gripping one of his swords with a clear sense of urgency in his body language. The skull's features bending to resemble something close to a surprise. On the other side stood Nell, cloaked torn to shreds and body-coversed. in uncountable lacerations, one in particular bleeding profusely.

But she was unperturbed. Knife still dutifully held out in front of her as she stared her enemy down. Hanging on a creature like you, the filth of the pit. It told me that I forgot what a damn good hunt felt like. If there's one thing to thank you for, it's reminding me of that feeling. She grinned and ran forward, sliding underneath Abidavit. John's legs and slicing one of his thighs as he stood there, dumbfounded, unable to counter him. You can be the most badass creature if you want, but everything has a weakness, and I will find yours.

The blade? Yeah, it will find it too. She circled around and put some distance between her and him, keeping her profile low and eyes fixated on him. But as she breathed, blood dripped steadily from the wound. She seemed to hone in on the song, and her entire body. frame changed. She heard something in that song that seemed to rouse her from that focused state. She stood up, craning her neck back and closing her eyes as she smiled. How long has it been, Buck? How long have I been traveling for? All things laid back to the

source, don't they? Maybe you always knew that. Abadon simply laughed, taking a stride forward, His grip tightening on the sword as he unsheathed it. Nell didn't move. A sickly black glow emitting from the blade, gnarled fingers expertly wielding it downward to a side as he started moving quicker. Nell didn't move. The locus hummed and formed around his dominant arm. The NFC Abyss champ is unleashing what I can only assume is a devastating maneuver that Madam Nell Walkwood would do well to avoid. No, move!

I cried, slamming my hand against the screen as the music swelled. I could see a tear in her eye fall from her cheek. He was within striking distance. In a flash, she stuck the blade between his eyes and dug it deep into a skull. There was an ear-splitting howl. The locus on his arms dropped to the floor in a death curl, but the sword never fell with it. It was buried in Nell's stomach.

Abidon backed away, clutching at his head in a frenzied attempt to Pulled the blade out, more of the accursed, winged beast coming to his aid and cloaking him as he stumbled about the pit. The crowd incensed and screaming expletives at the scene in front of them. Looking over to Aldoan's throne, she was already walking away. With some obvious discomfort, he dislodged the blade from his skull and stared at it. The red and black coating of it barely visible now that it seeped into his head. Well stumbled back, swaying as she tried to accommodate the weight, a heavy wheezing as she dropped

her knees. From my booth up above, I could do nothing but watch as the final moments unfolded, even my voice failing me as I listened to her speak. Bach, the horn is over. I'm coming home. In that moment of pure serenity, the most sobering of violence shattered it into a million pieces As Abadon threw the serrated blade with full force, locus embedded in the hiltz, and it collided with Mel's chest, striking her in the heart. Terror gripped me like a pneumatic device as one of the only safety nets I had in this place.

A true friend and confidant was cut down in front of me by that abomination, laughing as he walked back to the dugout to enjoy the spoils of his victory. opponent, my friend, left in the center of the pit. My lips trembling and tears in my eyes, I did what I was hired to do and called the match, only managing to utter one phrase before slamming my headset in disgust and breaking protocol to attend to Nell. I'll hail for the NFC Abyss Champion. I'll be the first to say what I did was unprofessional.

I broke protocol, climbed down from my commentary booth amid the sounds. of booze and jeers from experts, his uncle trying to reach for me as I ran the length of the imposing pits and towards my friend. Before I could make it to her body, however, someone stepped out and shot me a glance that froze me in my tracks. It was Wendy, her mask stained and red that trickled down her chin and eyes alight with rage. At this distance, in the same pit where many had already been slaughtered, I felt very much Much like a man who'd stepped into a tiger pit.

You have a job to do, Mr. Sabata. I strongly suggest you get your ass back up to that booth, because things are going to get messy. She stared up at the empty throne room where Aldoan usually sat, calling out the MIA champ. Aldwin, bring me Abidon now. I stared at her for a moment before my body willed me back up the side of the pit, and his uncle graciously yanked me up by the collar, concerned wracking his side of his seat. tired face. I can't take you anywhere, can I?

Look, there's time to figure out what happened with Nell, but we have a job to do. Once this is over, we can discuss next options, okay? Keep it together, Sal. Before I could even reply, a manic laughter ripped from the throne room, and Aldoan's voice boomed out. Since she's not yet past her semi-final match, let's give her the next challenger. The elevator roared to life as the sound of dozens of footsteps, scrapes, and incoherent babbling grew in intensity, as the elevator reached its destination and came to a

screeching halt, as the doors opened and the multitude of eyes, teeth, and claws tore at the doors to get out quicker. The lights were switched off, and Aldoan's voice tore through the stunned silence. With the lights out and the sole lights coming from my recording equipment, and a sea of at least twelve pairs of hungry, ravenous eyes darting around the place, I was on sure I'd be able to accurately provide commentary. After all, seeing and providing context is my job. Still, I persevered. Fight fans, I apologize for my lack of professionalism a few moments ago. Being unbiased is part of my job, but when it's a dear friend, you struggle to quantify the line between professional and personal.

I hope you'll forgive me, and you'll be thankful to know Zunkel is back to keep me in check. Zunk, we've got ourselves our very last semi-final match of the Wild Card Tourney with a power outage. Zunk stared down at the darkness below before his eyes fell upon the iPod still connected, spying Wendy's playlist and letting a small grin slip across his face for a moment as he saw the song. I think what happens next is we see just how far righteous anger can take someone's sound. Sure enough, as soon as he hit play and we directed our... our attention down at the pit, we could see flashes of brilliant light as these small creatures darted about the place, each looking for an opening in Wendy's guard to strike. Their bodies

were small, nimble, and the ribs exposed as dark brown skin stretched across them like thin paper, flecks of drool foamed around their mouths, and their eyes bulbous with a sickly yellow somehow widening when they spied their chance to dive for Wendy. The realization hit me, and I felt a mixture of horror and disgust wash over me, looking to the compendium for guidance only to confirm my suspicions. Some of these were children. They were a mixture of warriors that'd fallen in battle, and the others were inexplicably still kids,

but the Cheyenne and Arapahoe cultures had another title for their dreaded legends, named after the hunger they embodied in their emaciated frames, the little cannibals. Wendy, to her credit, kept her gaze firmly upon the empty throne room, and even in the flashes of light we are getting from God knows where, she did not move until they lunged. Then she struck. In a scene as beautiful as it was horrifying, she leaned back while maintaining her stance,

allowing the first of these creatures to lunge forward and swiped at its under, belly, spilling the insides across her torso as it flailed on the floor, two of its cohorts rushing over to feed upon it. The next was no more fortunate than the last, going for her legs as she nodded her head to the beat and brought her leg up at the right time, stamping down on the scar in tandem with a beat until the crunching gave way to a sickening squelch. She did not cease even then, goading the remainder to come forward. So it went, two would rush forward, and both would be caught in mid-air, hands flailing deftly

and screeching as a flash of brilliance highlighted the others tentatively stepping forward, as Wendy's hands grew, claws stuck out and pierced the sides of their skulls, squeezing on the head until popping sounds rang out. Casting them aside, she practically danced as she threw the two corpses to the ground on her left, directing her attention to the right as she did so. Ducking down, she darted forward and spun her arms around, slicing at anything within her range. When she was clear to the other side, six more gripped their necks, stomachs, and eyes as they fell

into a heap. The two that were feeding now, directing their blood-stained faces towards her as they leapt into the air, mouths open to chew away at her flesh. She responded by simply sticking a fist out and allowing one to chew on her, the latter being swiped mid-air, taking the head. clean off. She held this final one up as an example to the crowd, her expression unchanged, even when bathed in this light.

Do you like hurting other people? She asked, seemingly to nobody, as the main spotlight began to flicker to life, intermixing with the deep purple. She tensed her arm and it grew, the small creature desperately trying to get away, scratching at her forearm in vain with the teeth no longer clamping onto the free skin. In a flash, she ripped the tongue and organs from its skull, throwing them into the air as she held the remains of the skin and bones, using them as a bat to smash the viscera towards the throne room, towards Aldoan.

There was a splatter, droplets of blood falling down from on high as the crowd cheered at the absolute carnage Wendy had left in her wake. She pulled down her mask and it became obvious where the blood from before the match had come from. She'd been so fraught with rage that she'd bitten clean through her bottom lip, the blood soaking her chin and the teeth clenched and caked in a dark crimson, the music fading out. I do. Give me Abadon.

Now! She hissed. As the cleanup crew worked around an indignant Wendy, I began my end-match spiel, but something felt off. in how I felt and the atmosphere around me. It was the same as that perpetual motion between losing your balance and falling, but stretched out to impossible lengths. A sense of dread washed over me, seeping into my bones and gripping me with the same fear

I felt back in the cafeteria. This is how it always goes, you know. There's always a struggle. There's always a goal and there is always. grit my throat and squeeze, my chest burning and arms refusing to fight back, fingers tensed and toes curled in protest, but I could not break away. I could feel my eyes bulging as the world started to fade. A great loss. Flashes of moments I'd never experienced once again flooding my mind, a thick underbrush with a younger knell, a bar with hooded figures, a manor house,

with a monstrous skeletal hulking mass out the window. A flight over the seas of the dead with innumerable figures rushing through the seats to reach for me. A hotel with floor after floor of incomprehensible terror. And then, an isolation room. Pure white. A basic bed and toilet. A straitjacket wrapped around my body and someone peering through the slit in the door at me. Two pairs of eyes, to be exact.

One, upside down, a thick monobrow stretching across their forehead and curling into a shape on their forehead. Eyes wide and bloodshot, their hands and feet tapping at the frame of the door impatiently. The pair that were right side up half open. Milky white and gazing around the room. You have repeated this tale so many times and it ends the same. We have tried guiding you, whispering in your ears. and pointing you in the right direction.

Whispering in your ear and pointing you in the right direction. But it seems a more direct approach is necessary. We see many forks in the road and paths to take. We can only point you to the right one. The voice below called out after repeated tapping from the one above. She, we feel that you will not understand without our direct interest. Our direct intervention. Our goal is to end the cycle, to put us stop to the violence at any costs.

My head swirls. I feel the need to wrench my arms free, but I'm unable to do so. I simply stare ahead and ask what comes to mind without thinking. Why can't that one tell me? What does this mean? How the fuck did you put me here when I was just in the pit? I grow frustrated. The fear ever present, but my fight or fight.

flight instinct kicking in. She sighs, and the tapping resumes as furtive eyes above burn with anger. She cannot speak. Lodach sees what I don't, but here's what I, Moira, cannot. We are two of three sisters that are tasked with ensuring you go on the right path, as all things should. So many have died because of your conflict and we cannot abide it. You are a part of something that has existed in a balance for aeons, and it is up to us to end the cycle. We brought you here to help you remember, to help you act. As for the pit, she clicked her fingers, and one of my arm restraints grew loose. As I moved it, she beckoned me closer, and the air trembled around the door as I took each step, offering out a hand through the slit that, despite my better instincts, I walked towards

and took it. The second I got into range, she gripped me tightly, her skin starting to tinge an ugly puce. The veins coming to the surface and pumping rhythmically with the beating on the door as Clota began smashing her skull against the metal frame. I could hear something muffled in the distance, the beat of a drum. Flashes of images flooded my mind as I saw the visages of my friends laying dead at my feet. Rex, Landry, Zon, Uncle, Mel, Nora. You never left it. We just needed you to reach out and set the next reaction to an action.

Music is something that transcends time, space, and reality. It holds within it so many emotions and ties that cannot be broken. Some emboldened the weak and others decimate the strong. We are most curious to see what this one will do. The visage of these two women in front of me flickers in and out. I'm sat back in the booth, and my hand is outstretched onto the next song, and his uncle is staring at me quizzically, ready to switch the volume dial back to an even number. Sure enough, the screaming of locusts joins the music as a weathered Abidon glides from

the dugout, still holding at his skull where the jagged wounds sits, decidedly less of his his locust swarm with him, as exposed bone and scratch marks are visible from his previous battle. Aldoan walked back to the throne room, cape wrapped around her and arms folded as she grinned. You had my curiosity, but now you have my attention, Windigo, Wendy. It looks like we've already reached the end of the wildcard tournament. Only two remain, and the winner will meet Eustace DeColta and Nora Zane in the open-weight Grand Prix final. I'm excited to see who has the balls to do what needs to be done. Who among you is ready?

She screamed into the mic, the crowd cheering, some for Abidon, a lot for Wendy, who had, by this point, hunched down onto all fours, and kept her eyes locked onto a stoic Abidon. I don't give a fuck about any of that. I just don't want to lose another friend to a fucking animal like this, to a tournament that pits unwitting contestants against creatures in a game thing. No, they'll lose. I'll take him out before he can go any further.

And then, I'm coming for you, bitch. Aldoan chuckled and threw her hand into the air to signal the start of the bout. Begin! NFC Wildcard Finals. Wendigo Wendy Hathale versus the Abyss champion Abadon the Destroyer. Perhaps it was the fear of losing respect from the crowd. Maybe it was a desire to finish things quickly and heal up. But Abadon did not hesitate to rush forward, throwing his locust in front of him like a thick cloud.

This was the first time his entire frame was visible for all to see. A thick metallic plate covered his lower half, inscriptions littering the sides, and a black belt holding it together. Two small holsters for his swords on either side. He was nimble, so much so that within just a few seconds he was behind Wendy and striking her with a blow to the back of the skull. The force sending her flying across the pit. The locusts were waiting for her body to drop, picking her back up and holding her in place as Abadon ran in for another strike. A stunning start to what we could agree is both the finals and a grudge match.

Wendigo Wendy showcasing how much this fight means to her personally, as well as the desire to take on the queen of the NFC. But as Abidon has shown us in the last fight, he is the Abyss champion for a reason. What do you think will happen, Zunk? His uncle leaned back in his chair and pulled some food out of his bag, a piping hot stromboli that he took a hearty bite out of. I stared for a moment at his lackadaisical approach, waiting for him to finish. I think we've only just begun to see the violent delights that's turty heads.

And seeing all this competition, this bloodshed, it's making me hungry. Not just for food, but my own shot in that pit. I'll tell you one thing, though. Avedon is making a great mistake, rushing forward. Looking down, Abadon connected once again with Wendy. This time, a kick to the side of the neck that drove her into the side of the pit with a sickening thud. You are mortal here, Wendy. You cannot rely on those gifts from your own home.

For here, you are nothing more than another nightmare in my division to be conquered. I have my own desires for this tournament that cannot be stopped or interfered with. And rest assured, I will take as many of yours or his friends as I need to in order to get there. He shot a glance at me, and for that moment, my hair stood on end, even just having him gaze at me sent me into a panic. Well, unfortunately, you're going to have a tough night, Abadon. Wendy coughed, pushing herself up and cracking her neck, bruises and cuts all over her body. Because now that I know what you are, where you come from, and my row and all this, I can't let you progress any further. Abadon cocked his head to the side, and the locust reformed, forming around his arms as he began to pull at his swords, both of them,

Where the shimmering black was familiar, the sickly bright white of the alternative blade was a new kind of horrifying. Faces etched in permanent suffering rippled across its fine steel, and a soft moan lashed out as he swiped it through the air, crossing both blades in front of him. You are a bold, an arrogant one child, but I have seen you where your path began, and I know what you are, where you came from, and what you did. did. You were powerless to stop death then, and you are no different here. He began inching forward, careful not to dash into her guard. Wendy stretched back, and for the first time in a long time, she smiled. You know, back where I'm from, we have this guy, Sigurd Johnson, but we call him Ross. He's a total music head, arrogant, rash, and full of the worst, jokes you'll ever hear. He saved me from a cycle of violence in my own community, bringing me into

his without even realizing it. He didn't make it out of that hotel, at least not the way we wanted them to, because he made a choice to stand and protect the things he knew were important, even if his dumb-ass didn't realize it at the time. She cast her head upwards, perhaps reminiscing as her body shook with intensity. Truth is, he helped me figure out who I truly am. Because while I always thought I was a monster, I know I'm not what people think either. I just kept the damn moniker because it reminded me every single day that I was fed on in that house of horrors and that I could one day rise above it, a scar that had never

heal until I met them. Robin, Soma, Byrne, and Ross, Venet did. I am Windy Hadhali. I am a force to be reckoned with when I am protecting someone I care about. And you murdered someone I looked up to. Another person in my dwindling circle of people I love cut down for their ideals. She flexed her fingers and the joints grew with the nails, Looking down at them with curiosity and melancholy, Abadon inched closer.

He was almost in range. I guess we aren't so different in the end. But there is one big difference between him and I. Abadon lunged and lashed with the swords. A horrid groan left the white sword as it hit nothing but air. Wendy leapt into the air and landed on Abadon's shoulders, hand tensed like a spider ready to bite. I'm not bound by that cycle anymore.

And that means I will do anything to pull him from it. She drove her hand into the wound on Abidon's skull, and immediately the atmosphere changed. There was no screams. There was no time. The locust stood in place, silent and paralyzed, as Abadon mirrored them. She stood there for a moment before releasing her hand, covered in a thick, tar-like substance, and jumped down, throwing her fist into the air to abhorrious cheers. Aldoan jumped down, clapping slowly and mic in hand.

Well, I'll be. The kid's got skill. I live only for the best competition. And you just proved exactly why this is the best fucking tournament out there. You're in the finals, kid. Good luck. Aldoan's eye flashed, and she looked past Wendy to the sight of Yucson. Justice DeCulta, sauntering on to the stage to greet her.

Nora, standing at the foot of the dugout, one leg raised and arms folded, watching. A pleasure to watch, despite your maladies. He extended a hand that Wendy reluctantly took before he raised it into the air to louder cheers. I'll be taking him for now. Wouldn't want him interfering in our bout now, would we? In a moment, both relieving and horrifying, Eustace clapped his hands and laid the satchel down as his first pet from the opening round crawled out, the devourer. It reached for the still frozen body of Abidon, and as soon as its pale fingers had a solid grip

on him, it ripped him from where he stood and dragged him into the satchel, locusts and all. Aldoan, to her credit, laughed heartedly. And there's our second finalist, the nightmare catcher Eustace DeColta. Now, adding the Abyss Champion to his repertoire. Though I don't think he'll be able to hold him for long, he still has a near endless supply of horrors in that satchel. She cast her eyes to the dugout, and as soon as Nora saw her, she walked forward, perhaps determined not to let Aldoan get even a moral high ground on her, let alone a physical one. And lest we forget, our third and last, but by no means least competitor in the finals.

Someone I'm sure will do great things. Nora fucking Zane! As the crowd cheered and confetti rained down, the screen held up a timer once more to signal the interval. Zuncle got to his feet, and with his eyes focused on the ground, thanked me profusely, His enthusiasm causing his voice to raise slightly louder than he intended. Sorry, sorry, just got a lot of my mind, you know. The NFC granted my match with Malthus and, well, I better get ready. But Sal, don't judge me for what you see down there, okay?

I may be zunkled now, but I will always be the Jersey Devil. He patted me on the shoulder before heading off as Aldoan finished her announcements. Three hours time, we will crown the NFC Openweight Grand Prix winner and the next contender to my title. Betting odds and food are open now. See you soon. Eustace chuckled as he let Wendy's hand go and began walking back, a bitterness to his voice. It's a shame we have to do this. If you weren't what you are, I...

Think we'd be friends. But given your showing here, it's clear that you're no different to the rest of the division, to what my family dealt with before. Oh, yeah? How'd you figure that, David Blaine? She snarked, folding her arms and wincing from her wounds. He stopped and held up a hand as he circled around, a concerned look on his face intermixed with an uncontrollable excitement that I could sense even from here. Though I knew I had to rush to the infirmary, and more uncertainty gripped me now than

it had done when I stepped through those doors, I also knew that the finals were going to be the bloodiest of them all. Because after that's showing, Wendy, the only thing the NFC fears now is you. I couldn't help but feel the lingering sense of dread as I grabbed my Hawaiian shirt and took one final look down at the pit before leaving. The finalist walking off to the dugout with Nora flashing me a grin and pointing down towards the infirmary. Eustace muttering something under his breath as he caressed his satchel, and Wendy staring

at Aldoan as she sauntered off with a cackle. The only thing the NFC fears now is you. What the hell did he mean by that? Aldoan, Malthus, himself, and even Zunk were all feared competitors. why would Wendy be the one to fear above all others? Still, there were more pressing matters. I had to get to the infirmary and fast. Dodging the crowd of experts and would-be fighters wanting to give me a peace of their mind, I navigated through a large group of men before finding myself turning towards the darkened steps below, a dingy infirmary sign

hanging and a shape lurking in the back I assumed was Nora as I walked toward her. They called out the vocal cords raspy and weak as if this was their first use in decades. Nora, I can't hear you. What are you trying to say? I stopped and peered, trying to figure out what was in front of me and instincts stopping me from getting closer. Looking back, that may have saved my life. What stepped forward into the light and painfully close to me belonged in the deepest parts

of this building, or at the deft hands of only the most skilled combatant in that pit, not here. The sound became clearer. Each consonant gurgled out in a guttural drone, his eyes wide and piercing amid a sea of white makeup and thick black eyeliner, a red sigil painted on both sides of his cheek and joining down at the chin. He edged closer, gripping the sign tightly, strewn across in a thick, pungent putty that pulsated in place, nails digging into the cardboard. One started to peel away as it was forced further in, black rotting flesh poking out from underneath. What the fuck are you?

Where's Nora? I asked, realizing how futile and stupid I must have looked, asking this meat clown to explain itself when it could barely even speak. Then it let out a guttural screech as it dived at me. A piece of its jaw threatening to tear away from the jaw as it moved faster than its damaged body should allow. It howled. The sound like a banchie rooting me to the ground in fear as this ravenous monstrosity made a bee-line for me. Rotted fingers and bared yellow teeth housed in moldy gums ready to tear into me.

In that moment, it was as if time froze. From the dive to me closing my eyes and opening them, there was a resounding thorn. and crunch, dust kicking up all around me when I ventured to look and realized I was somehow intact. A woman stood in front of me, standing upright and sighing, an instrument strapped to her back that she shook the dust out of while grumbling. She was tall, her face covered in piercings, and her lips smeared in black lipstick. Her flowing brown hair nestled under a dark blue hoodie. The meat clown was now firmly stuck in the sidewall. One of the of his eyes sealed shut from the kick he'd received and his long gray tongue hanging loosely

out of his distended jaw. He didn't move, and the sign now stood next to him like a makeshift tombstone. Man, you just attract them like a vulture to carry on, don't you? I knew you were going to be a headache. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head as she turned, tiredness, racking her face and smile lines evident from one too many times having to put on a brave face. She irradiated calmness and strength all at once. She told me her name was Freya.

Of course I knew of her. All of Sturgeon knew of Freya the Barbarian, one of the weavers of fate. Legend spoke of those who monitored everyone's path. She reached out a fist and I bumped it awkwardly. I frowned and felt uneasy, looking past her to the doorway. She retracted her fist and laughed, shaking her head, obviously expecting more from me. as close before I see. No matter.

We can walk and talk. Let's go. You're going to try and save Nell, right? She opened the door, and I stopped before stepping past the threshold, hands firmly in my pockets as she eyed me up. I'm not going to stop you, you know, but there's going to be consequences. After a moment of hesitation, I walked ahead and passed through the dimly lit hallway, trudging behind her as she spoke.

flex of light illuminating her and showing a woman under strain, scars on her face from incessant acne that she'd inevitably once picked at, bags under her blue eyes, errant hairs that stuck to her face. When she caught me looking, she flashed a side grin and pushed them out of her face. Even someone like me isn't perfect, you know. Gotta embrace the bad with the good.

Wouldn't want any of my fans to have unrealistic expectations. Still, they'll persist. Much like you, they're compelled to. She paused as we reached the double doors and turned away from me. I figured it was now or never to try and connect the dots, especially if what I did next incurred some kind of penalty I couldn't get away from. The music, does it have something to do with you? I held up the iPod and the faint glow cast a long shadow along the back of the door.

She turned, and upon seeing it, her face sank for a moment, as melancholy settled in. Yeah, my sisters know how to bring me to the party, even when I don't want to be brought. My job is to oversee actions and consequences. As the bard, music is my primary connector. And since I'll always be drawn to those moments and to, well, you, it was inevitable to be here. But something is different this time. They want to put an end to the cycle and can't do so without my being here.

They think they're doing the only thing possible. I don't share that sentiment, but we all can only influence at a distance. Anything more? And we cause a bigger reaction down the line. She turned to me and stared at my pockets. If you use that silver tear now, it's not a loss that will befall you later, but something far more insidious. You will come to know so much and yet be left with so little.

It will change you in ways that even I don't know yet. She almost looked forlorn before that melancholy returned, and her smile, though pained, lit up her face as she sighed. But you've already made up your mind. So why am I wasting my time? I gripped the potion in my pocket and swallowed, nodding. She'd do the same for me, if she could. I croaked as I walked forward, Freya pushing the door open and allowing in the cold, sterile light of the infirmary as her voice called out. behind me. She already did.

Nora was waiting, leaning over Nell and carefully pushing her hair aside as she dusted off her outfit, meticulous in her efforts to make Nell look as clean as possible. You know, I didn't really know her, but I had heard stories of the great Madame Nell Lockwood, discoverer of the muddwellers, destroyer of the bone spider's scourge, hero of the spaces in between. She's a legend here in Sturgeon for all that she's done. Yet, I only got to see her in those fights. Nora shook her head, standing up and looking over at me.

I'm not an emotional kind of gal, but it's never easy to see someone you admire, just gone like that. Saying nothing, I walked over and stood by Nell's side, Nora backing off to give me some space, Pulling out the potion, I poured the contents into Nell's mouth and stood back, clutching the bottle in my hand. The room was silent for the briefest of moments, until it was broken by the extreme intake of air, pained cries, and gasping by Nell as her body thrashed, bent, and finally sat upright. She clutched at her chest, and with eyes watering, grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and pulled me close.

You just can't help yourself, can you? Her voice was low, pained, and filled with the kinds of complex emotions that I knew weren't meant for me. I didn't know what to do, what even to say as her voice began to break. Last time, you made that choice without me. I watched you go, and I promised I'd never let it happen again. I wasn't there the last time, and I vowed to be there this time to make my own choice and help end this fucking mess.

But I should have known better. I'm as bound to this as you are. She looked over at us, Nora wide-eyed and glancing at the bottle for a moment before returning her gaze to Nell. She shook her head and smiled, offering out a hand to help her up. Glad you're back in the land of the living Nell. It's almost time. I'll leave you guys to it, but wish me luck, okay?

She pulled me in for a hug that lasted just a little bit too long before smirking and dashing off up the stairs, leaving me to hoist Nell under my shoulder and follow at a snail's pace, obviously still weak from the proceedings. I ever tell you the story of the monk and the nun, Sal? She asked, heads still drooping on occasion as we cleared the hallway and made for the stairs. The sound of barking and enthusiastic gamblers filling the air as we ascended. I shook my head, and she continued. There was always two opposing views. Nobody's really sure how they started, but there was always a disagreement.

And eventually, the pact was made, pact was made, to go their separate ways. But the nun broke the pact, and which, and eventually, the pact was made. to her priest for a way to do away with the monk for good. I don't know what happened when they finally clashed, but the end result was two forces that would follow a pattern, whoever they went. One who regrets, one who forgets. As she finished, we reached the top, and she got up from under my arm, stretching and sighing as she looked at me with the same stare wracked with decades of regret, sorrow, and guilt.

All this time, and I never get used to it. Not once. She caressed my cheek with a hand and shuffled back to the booth, grabbing a bottle from her bag and drinking with vigor as I stood there, dumbfounded, and knowing I was the most obscure piece in a much, much bigger puzzle. Story of my life, really. After her, after I was the most obscure piece, After a quick refill on food and drink, allowing me to collect my thoughts, I took my seat in time for the lights to dim, and Aldoan to be already bathed in bright light, her cape shimmering as the sleeves fluttered behind her gloriously in the makeshift breeze. She had a flare for the dramatic, and that much as sure.

Fans of the violence, the nightmares, the freaks and the geeks. While we have one special exhibition match to announce afterwards, our NFC Openweight Grand Prix comes to an end now. Over a dozen fighters attempted to scale the horrors we put in front of them, and many lost their lives in an attempt at freedom, glory, and a wish. Now we're left with the three absolute best, in the NFC's first ever triple threat for not only the bragging rights of being this year's Grand Prix winner, but... Aldoan unstrapped the belt and held it high above her, that one eye flashing as the eye patch rumbled and teeth shimmered.

A chance to face me for the biggest prize the NFC has to offer. Any time, anywhere. To the end. The crowd erupted with cheers and chants as they stomped their feet and bellowed at the top of their lungs. They'd been waiting all night for this. We all had. For all the blood and guts and losses I'd seen down there, there was a distinct part of me that was excited for this.

Turning my preamp on, I prepared myself for what was to come next. If I was to end it all here, I'd give the performance of a lifetime. Without further delay, we bring you our finalists. First, she fought off winged beasts, vampires from the far east, and showed us why she's still got the heart of a champion. Nora fucking Zane! Nora walks out, fresh tape on her wrists, ribs, and legs, knees patted up, and feet there. She looks calm and collected as she takes her spot opposite Aldoan, quietly waiting.

Second, he's one of only two invitational entries in this tournament and represents the order of the moth. He has a satchel full of literal nightmares, and, if you'll pardon the pun, is the dark horse of this tournament. Ladies and gentlemen, Eustis Day Calta! Eustace walked out with purpose, but no fancy hat, cape, or full suit. Instead, he was wearing his blazer and shirt with the gloves off and only his satchel adorning him. His face sullen, much like Norse, focused entirely on the next steps he'd need to take. I was about to start talking as Aldoan finished up her announcements, but Nell put up a finger and looked down in horror, lip trembling. Last, but by no means least, she hails from the hotel inertia.

She ripped Giuseato in half, nearly tore the corporal J.J. Watson to pieces. eviscerated the swarms, the Tajian, and nearly took out our NFC, abyss champion Abadon, the destroyer. Winner of the NFC Wildcar Turney, Wendigo, Wendy Hattali! Wendy stumbled from the dugout, her hoodie and tatters, and the face mask nowhere to be seen. Her eyes were red, wide, and darting all around as foam bubbled in her mouth. As soon as she spied the others, she screeched and ran forward on all fours. Her clothes splitting as her form rapidly grew into the horrifying unleashed forms she'd displayed before, but in far less control behind it.

As the stomach grew inward, the thick, wiry hair protruded out the shoulders, and that awful, malnourished heaving filled my ears, I felt terror run through me. This wasn't a Wendy in control, not by a long shot. Aldoan leapt out of Dodge and up to her perch, a look of shock and uncertainty across her face as she surveyed the situation below, taking a moment of pause before shouting the phrase that seemed almost ceremonial, but nevertheless served its purpose in snapping me out of my state and hitting record. NFC, openweight Grand Prix finals,

Eustace DeColta versus Nora Zane versus Wendigo, Wendy Hathel. Eustace had already maneuvered himself far enough away to open his satchel without any change in his focused expression or word of warning, the long, spindly arms carrying monstrous, hungry hands poured out of the satchel

and towards Wendy, grabbing onto each of her limbs and trying to hold her in place. Nora, watching this and seeing an opportunity, rushed forward and secured a flying knee for Wendy's jaw, connecting with full force and sending her skull bouncing back before returning to face forward. What a stunning display of teamwork by two of the three finalists. In an unexpected turn straight out of a Shakespearean tragedy, we've not only seen fan favorite Wendigo Wendy go completely feral as the finals begin,

but Nora Zane and Eustace DeColta, recognizing the enemy of their enemy is their friend, even for the briefest of moments. Nell, glad your brush with death was only that, a brush. But what do you make of this? What's going to happen in the long run? Nell's usual cool exterior and knowledgeable bravado was nowhere to be seen, not due to exhaustion, injury, or her earlier thoughts, but because of what she was seeing down below with Wendy.

The woman who had fought so bravely and valiantly when she fell. Perhaps somewhere in the back of Nell's consciousness, she saw what Wendy did, saw how she reacted to Nell falling in that pit. Maybe Wendy felt as if she was drawn to Abadon the same way she was. In any case, she shook her head fervently, before finally speaking into the microphone as Wendy broke free of the arms, breaking some and biting clean through others, spraying blood. across the pit as she tore towards Eustace. She's going to be killed. De Almar.

Nothing about this was by chance, Sal. Wendy let loose a claw and grazed Nora's shoulder as she let out a pained howl, creating distance with a vicious kick to Wendy's knee. Nell persisted. Look at it. A former NFC champ who, well, undeniably more skilled than most who sign up for these tourneys, Has opponents who are either way beneath her in power, or just leave when their job is done in temperance? When to go forced to go through a wildcard first against an opponent who leaves after doing as he was told?

Then against the Abyss Champion, who himself is taken out prior to winning? And of course... Nell looked down and her hands shaped. My ears ringing with the eponymous words spoken by Eustace after Wendy's victory playing alongside. his mentioning of what happened to his family at the hands of an errant and ravenous Wendigo. The only thing the NFC fears now is you. I could see his grimace flickering with a smile ever so slightly as he pulled the bag

open to let out that same monster we saw from the very first fight. The devourer, arms draped in paper-thin, sallow skin, yellow veins pumping a thick liquid around its translucent body. beady little eyes stacked atop one another, a mouth filled with black, salivating gums, and a long, spindly tentacle protruding from its mouth. A nightmare catcher with the hatred of Wendigos. I finished, swallowing and feeling my hands shake as the realization swept over me. It crawled out with the same kind of reflexes one would expect to see from a tarantula,

immediately getting out of the way of Wendy's attack and drawing away attention from Eustace. As it wrapped its tongue around Wendy, she pulled on the creature with exceptional force, lifting it up and smashing it into the ground, dragging its flailing body towards her and raising a heel, crushing its skull in one motion, the limbs of the devourer tensing before falling limp. All the while, Eustace was pulling something much bigger from the satchel, utilizing the distraction to pull out a silver dagger with a glint in his eye. snapping his fingers, the tentacle whipped up and sliced through Wendy's chest, puncturing her ribcage and going for her heart. I only need pierce that black heart to be rid of you.

Clearly the right call to be made in your current fate. He panted, adrenaline running through him in an uncharacteristic moment of candid behavior. I wanted to like you, Wendy. Truly, I did. But this proves you different to the others only in your intent. He tensed his grip on the dagger as the tentacle began pushing on Wendy's spine, her jaw slack in shock. Forgive yourself first, DeColta. You took your eyes off another opponent! He barely had time to turn before Nora's elbow collided with his skull, followed with a stiff kick to the neck that dropped DeColta hard to the ground, sending his satchel and the dagger flying.

Nora turned her attention to the situation at hand, rushing forward to try and wrench the mammoth tentacle away from the rapidly deteriorating Wendy, now reverting to her human form as the tentacle bore deeper into her. Aldoan clapped with joy, lapping up every moment of pain, agony, and suffering as if it were the finest of cuisines. Eustace stirred on the ground, and upon seeing the dagger was closer to him than the satchel, gripped it tight and got to his knees, blood seeping through his teeth, and his knees buckling over and over as he stumbled to get it together.

First time I've experienced any pain since that night. How utter... But you're right, Nora Zane. I overlooked the other great monster in this tournament, the woman who last held the NFC belt. I won't make the same mistake again. Holding it as if it were a throwing knife in a carnival show, he carefully aims in the exact same way Abadon did to now.

Nell. Zenaa, Rex, Quang, they all succumb to something pulling at the strings. They're going to kill each other before this is over. I breathed, legs shaking under the table and threatening to bounce against the audio equipment. But I don't even care. The moment hits me like a freight train, and I cannot help but yell into the microphone as time slows to a crawl. Eustace is about to throw that knife at you, Nora. Get out of the way now! He threw it with prejudice. The silver sheen. gleaning as it cut the air and sped the length of the pit, hurtling towards Nora's back as she desperately tried to remove the tentacle.

He smiled, she turned to sea. There was a dull thud and the sound of flesh being split, a gasp from the crowd and the soft dripping of blood hitting the canvas. My heart stopped and I felt the world stop within me in fear of what was to come. Wendy, now human and with the tentacles still attached, held out a defiant hand that allowed the dagger to puncture clean through. Digits twisting and shaking as the other hand tried to form a fist and pull the dagger out. When she did so, still breathing heavily, she stuck the tentacle in the back with all her might.

It writhed and flailed before falling limp and attaching itself, a circular scorch mark on her back with a faint symbol still visible, but no deep wound observable. I don't know what you did, DeColta, or if you even knew you were doing it. But if we're going to do this, I'd do it with a clear head. She dropped to a knee as Eustace stared incredulously at her, unsure of how to respond. She coughed heavily before regaining her composure. Looks like whatever I throat you next will be it. Whoever's left standing could take on the Tony's jaw want to be behind me.

Seems as only fair since this is personal, right? She flashed him a grin, and it was so disarming, even I couldn't help but grin with her. Nell shakes her head and chuckles to herself. Eustace staggers to his feet, smiling, but clearly not able to withstand much more himself. I wouldn't have it any other way, Hatale. I didn't come this far to falter enough. Before he'd finished, Wendy cleared the length of the pit and stood in front of him. Hair now had tangled a mess as it blew down her face and her expression blank.

Too slow. She hissed before striking him once in the stomach. A shot so hard it split the seam in his waistcoat and sent the buttons flying. He spat out blood and stumbled back, groaning while keeping his eyes firmly fixed on her. I need to avenge them. I need to fulfill my problems. He cried, I can't let something like you wonder freely, knowing what you could do to anyone else. He cried, dashing for the satchel as Wendy dashed forward again.

This time she lashed out with a strike that was aimed for Eustace's stomach, but instead caught the satchel. The ensuing chaos was nothing short of a maelstrom of darkness and a wall of sound. As if a bomb had gone off, huge dust clouds kicked up around the venue. and a low droning followed with several distinct footsteps, cries, and undulating sounds crept through the venue. Whatever Wendy had done to the satchel, it allowed everything Eustace kept to come spilling out at once, but within a few moments, the sounds spilled out of the venue. The dust cleared and silence reigned once more. Wendy was shielding an unconscious Eustace, deep scratches on her body while Nora stood.

With that same black sheen over her as she held a shadow-like creature by the neck, tossing it aside as she spied Wendy. There was a momentary lull as the two women's eyes met. Nora cracked her neck, and Wendy moved Eustace to the side of the pit, panting and exhausted, but still game. You give me anything less than I'll know. Wendy quipped, rotating her shoulders and taking in some deep breaths. A cornered beast is more dangerous than a confident one.

Nora smirked, the black sheen still visible, but fading as she opened her arms. Of course, which is why I'll let you get the first shot. You let me approach? No bullshit? Wendy's eyes narrowed as she began to close the gap. Can't beat the shit out of you without you getting closer. Nora grinned, tension in the air. Wendy gritted her teeth and faked a left hook, driving her right fist under Nora's jaw in a searing uppercut that landed clean and sent Nora's neck backwards.

But Nora did not falter. With the arm in range, she held the wrist, and with one well-placed punch to the elbow joint, completely broke the arm. Wendy screamed and grabbed Nor with her good arm, folding onto her wrist tape as she fired volley after volley into Nora's stomach. But again, Nora did not falter. Instead, she absorbed every shot until Wendy inevitably tired, waited for her chance. and struck with a left high kick to the head.

As Wendy fell, her hand reached out and grabbed Nora's wrist tape again. The only thing holding her up, the sheer will inside her. Wendigo Wendy was out cold. The fight was over. As the moment calmed, the crowd erupted into cheers, and Aldoan stood up, clapping and laughing heartily. I took to the microphone and did what I did best. That was the most intense flight I've ever seen.

Not just here, but anywhere. This was an all-time classic, and I would love to see a playback again. And God, is it good to say, knowing that all three survived against the odds? What a final. What competitors? Give it up for the nightmare catcher, extraordinaire, Eustace DeColta, wildcard winner, Wendigo, Wendy Hathel, and the NFC Openweight Grand Prix tournament winner, Nora fucking Zane. It was a beautiful moment punctuated by the intense stare-down between these two women,

Nor declared her desire to fight, and so in three hours they'd go toe to toe for the ultimate prize. The NFC Openweight Championship. There was only one person among the crowd not applauding, not celebrating, and not cheering. Nell had been trembling since she looked over the distorted form of Wendy and had barely calmed down now that things had settled. Together we looked at the descending screen, showcasing the fight between Malfus, and and Zuncle, the countdown to their match and the title fight following it. There was a moment

of silence before she put her hands on my arm, gripping the bicep tightly. I stared back and went to open my mouth, but thought better of it, and nodded as we took off for her intended destination, darting and weaving through the crowds as deftly as we could, Nell refusing to let go of my arm the entire time, passing through the third ring of the venue, something. thing bumped into us and sent me hurling to the ground, smacking my skull on the concrete and struggling to get up amid swaths of eager audience members and looking to make a bet and grab a snack or discuss tactics. Each time I tried to get up, eyes blurry and ears ringing, something would knock me back over. A gruff hand took me by the shirt and hoisted me effortlessly to my feet,

dusting me off. It's going to happen soon, Sal. Protect him like you promised. A cocky, brash voice called from behind me as a furry head nuzzled against my hand for the briefest of moments. Before I could turn back, the figure pushed me forward through the crowd and towards Nell, who'd only just spotted me. We're up here. We got the area to ourselves. Just the three of us. She muttered, leading me to a wall adjacent to the pit, an embedded ladder leading to a hatch above. Three, you mean that guy and his dog who just picked him? me up? I asked, following her up the steps and the promise of fresh air filling me with

figure. She twitched when I said that, frozen in place as if stabbed with a dagger. Without looking back, she shook her head. No, not them. You'll see. With that, she hoisted the hatch open and climbed up, helping me to my feet as we traversed the concrete and over to a pair of sofas and a coffee table opposite the edge of the building. The stars above were rhythmic in their blinking, constellations I couldn't recognize swirling in the inky blackness, promising secrets untold if I just sat down to decipher them. Across from the building, we could see a pair of lit-up billboards, one highlighting the natural

beauty and mystique of sturgeon, the nation's black pearl, and the latter offering a stay at the eponymous Hotel Inertia, the pair of finely crafted olive tree doors sporting an aurora Boris serpent across the length of them, and a radiant woman standing in front, middle-aged, a shaven black head, and a trim frame adorned by a blue suit with not a single button out of place, smiling wide with the motto of the establishment behind her. The Hotel Inertia, a room for Sturgeon's finest, a floor for every single. occasion. I felt something the longer I stared at the billboard. Prying my eyes away felt like the smart thing to do as I followed Nell over to the couches. She propped her feet up and

winced, wounds still tender from her brush with death. It always finds a way to keep me going, though I hoped I'd never have to have this conversation. At least of all was you. She pinched her nose and let out a bitter chuckle. It is cruel, isn't it, Sal? She gestured for me to sit down, and mechanically, as if I was awaiting grim news, I did so. Setting up the recording equipment and hitting play, I fell back into my usual role as the broadcaster. I spoke my mind. Madam Lockwood, Nell, what is it you need to tell me?

I asked. Keeping it simple was the best course of action to begin with. Open questions allowed for better answers. She sighed and without looking at me, began talking, her lip quivering. We talked about the monk and the nun before. The idea that there is a constant cycle of birth, pursuit, struggle, death, regret, and forget. I'm not going to insult your intelligence by stating that it's just a... A story. We both know it's not. Since this began, both the story and this?

She gestured around her, signaling the NFC tournament. You've been kept in the dark about the various roles at work. Some of those threads will unravel themselves before the night is done, and some, some will be obvious, and some will inevitably hurt. But the one thing... thread, I suspect you wouldn't know without intervention, is the one I hold on to." She reached over the table and grabbed the music player, scrolling to her chosen playlist and hitting play. Slowly, she pulled out a locket from around her neck alongside the ear she'd severed

from the lichenthrope, placing it on the table with a small thud. This is the ear of Bucknasty McGraw. Sir Simon Bucknasty. McGrath, to be specific. He got the two-tiered moniker from taking out his first abomination, a lichenthroat that had been eating the denizens of a local indigenous village. Someone was obviously watching from afar and ended up here, recreating the beast. It bucked and kicked around while he vividly held on, laughing heartily like there was nowhere

else he'd rather be. From that day on, he was Bucknasty McRaw. Never a dull moment or cruel bone in his body, he'd only take down what was a threat. She smiled wistfully, eyes glazed over with years of pain and regret. He was my confidant. My friend and my everything. Far away from the eyes of Sturgeon in another world entirely. We were called to an underwater prison known as the Tempestra by an eccentric warden known

as Leichenberg. It was me, Buck, and our two friends, Nestor Holden, and Edgar Allan Crowe, which, yes, before you ask, he is a crow. A smile rippled across her face and her youth returned to her in these melancholic dreams. That was so young. I had a different title back then, long before I was known as the cryptid huntress and keeper of the compendium. No, instead I was known by something else. She cast her eyes to the night sky and bit her lip, her skin glistening in the moonlight.

The last scent eater. A chill ran through me as she uttered the title, a flash of images. filling my mind. A concrete prison, countless inmates slaughtered, strange offerings to old dead gods, someone being strangled with tears staining their face. I took a moment, breathing hard before collecting myself. The prison had several death row inmates in need of absolution. A sin-eater is an ancient, almost dead practice from my homeland. You eat the sins of the burdened one so they can pass on with these. But none of these monsters deserved absolution.

I was young, naive, and thought that a job was a job. What did I care about any ascension nonsense, these people espoused in their last fleeting moments, like such a stupid girl? She sighed. Buck, Nestor, Edgar, and I realized something was a mess. There was clearly something greater lurking in the shadows. When the final inmate was revealed as my mother, a woman I'd lost early in my life, I knew we'd been pulled into a trap, into his trap.

She stood up and stretched out her hand, aiming it at the moon. They wanted to devour sturgeon, a town full of unique people and energy that they feed off of. I have no idea where they come from, Sal. But they've done this for eons and will continue for eons more if they're not stopped. Who is he? What are you not telling me? My press, sensing something was amiss here. She bit her lip and averted her eyes from mine.

Was that shame? He has so many names. Superbia, the tamer of the void, the warden, the Stygian Walker. But the name I knew him as was Amos. He's my father, Sal. He entrapped us in that prison knowing the only person who could free his people from their human cages was a Sin-eater, each one worshipping a different sin of their volition, carefully hiding in plain sight. When I did his job, he set the trap, a way to get me. They have a new name now, one you may have

heard before. She looked over as the hatch swung open and a bandage, tired Wendy hoisted herself up and walked over, arms still bandaged up and face mask once again in its rightful place as she finished Nell's sentence. The unbounded. The same scourge that dogged us in the hotel. They recalled the order of the eighth floor before we came to know them intimately. The very phrase stood my hairs on end and made the surroundings feel like they rattled for a moment. Nell nodded.

Yeah, Amos planned it out perfectly. even using Buck against me. Buck was special, you see? The McGraw family had been intertwined with the Lockwood family for over a century, especially as they were keepers of the compendium. The true bridge between the human world and that of the folklore,

they safeguarded the threats and misunderstandings both sides would have. Buck, being their, eldest and golden boy, he was special. He had an innate ability to see what nobody else could, to befriend any creature that had the capacity to love and to identify the weaknesses of those who could seek to do us harm. But in this particular instance, it was my specialties that were needed. My blood was used as bait. She took pause and passed the locket over, the faded image of a younger knell in her

twenties, dreads tied back in a bun with dimples in her cheeks as she smiled ear to ear. A dashing man in his 30s, winking at the camera with his muscular arm draped over her, adorned in tattoos and a thick black beard, sporting a Stetson and a gold tooth that shone brightly from even the sepia-toned photo. His ears adorned with piercings and a stretched lobe on the right. Behind them was a burly man with slicked back hair, kind eyes, and mid-laff as the black crow on his shoulder shrieked loudly. She directed my attention to the severed lichenthrope ear on the table, adorned with piercings and a small hole at the bottom of the skin. Amos, is, final cruel act was to make me.

me undertake a choice that would forever change me. He'd infected Buck and made it clear I could either join Amos and leave Buck to his fate or help Buck at the expense of letting my dear father escape. Tears formed in Nell's eyes, but decades of battle left her adapt at maintaining control. She wiped them away and cleared her throat. So, I did what I had to. I killed Buck I killed Amos too

But that which is already dead Cannot eternally die So So it goes That left me With a world devoid of Buck And a new purpose Seek out the evil

That subjected him to a fate worse than death Help end the cycle And guide the next group In their time of need need. Such is my role. By rejecting my father and my lineage, I become the watcher. I've seen so many in this cycle cell. Most recently, Sully, Buck lost me, but you can still save Nora. I looked at her, dumbfounded, wondering how on earth. I fit into any of this.

Nora Zane does not need saving from anyone. She's clearly a beast who knows how to fight. I'm just an ordinary guy. She smiled at me, clearly in a place of far greater understanding than I was, but without that air of superiority. She simply offered warmth when she spoke. She knows as well as you do how strong she is. But that isn't the kind of saving I'm referring to.

She will need you. at a critical moment and how you respond will change everything afterwards. She sighs and tucks the ear away, keeping the locket out. And as for you, being ordinary, right now, yes, but much like Buck, Sully, Sigurd, and Seema before you, you'll become something wonderful when the time is right. She leaned forward and kissed my forehead, a motherly affection running through me as she cupped my cheek and patted it gently before walking off to the hatch. In the right light, you even remind me of him.

She grinned. I saw years peel away in the wake of her joy. I just nodded, still dumbfounded. Well, I'd best get our notes prepped for the exhibition match and have a word with our eponymous Nora. You still have the interview of a life? time, right? Turning back, Wendy was already splayed out on the couch, armed draped over her eyes,

and one leg crossed at the knee, bouncing in rhythm. A promise is a promise, Sal. I'm sure all those at home will get a kick out of this. She took her arm away from her face for just a moment, long enough to give the hotel inertia billboard the finger. Fucking hellhole. I wonder how the fuck it's even still standing. So you were a resident?

in this hotel? What happened? How did you get from there to here? I took out a notepad and began hastily jotting down shorthand. Something I'd learned to do from my younger days as a fight analyst on live broadcasts. Certainly not for the bum fights, regrettable as those were to be a part of. Resident isn't the right word. I wouldn't have even said I was from the Sturgeon prior to meeting the gang, because to me, Sturgeon didn't exist. Every floor and that fucking structure is its own reality. It's...

Own world. One floor, where we met our friend Robin, contained an entire tent community basking in the sickening sounds of a grand gazeba atop the hill that made them all docile, sickly, weak. When we stopped the sound, they began

tearing each other apart. The last thing we saw was the elder's skull being caved in as the doors closed. She sat up and leaned forward, putting a finger up as if to stop me from asking something. To be clear, the elevator stopped inside the tip of a rooftop terrace, not unlike the ones we have here with the hatch. There was nothing above us but black skies. The expanse beyond this floor was endless, and yet we ascended when we got back in, not descended.

That entire hotel houses things you could never dream of, including, Where I came from, a cul-de-sac of domesticated monsters. For the first time, I saw a deep pain in Wendy, even more pronounced than the initial anger after seeing Nell fall. She was shaking, fists balled up so tight that the fingers cut into the palms, eyes alight with passion. I don't remember being a child. I just remember waking up in the middle of the... this prissy, far too perfect cul-de-sac with monsters pretending they weren't monsters. That bitch over there on the billboard picked me up.

And my body was just filled with the kind of impending doom you feel when you see someone driving dangerously on the road in front of you or walking down a street at night, and the only other guy on the footpath has his hood up and is making a beeline for you, just absolute fucking dread. As she knocked on the door of the people that would become my adopted family, I remember her looking down at me with wide eyes, tiny pupils, and a grin that looked like it was on tenterhooks.

She said, you'll be a fantastic offering for him before everything faded to black. And then, sometime later, I found a crazy guy named Sigurd laying in a crumpled heap by the elevator doors. I tended to him, and he got to see firsthand what role I played. in that hungry family, that of their endless meal. I don't know what it was about him, something in the way he behaved or spoke to his friends. Fuck, maybe his will to survive.

But I swear to God that it was the first time I truly woke up. She ran a hand through her hair, breathing out dramatically and sniffing. Oh, man. If and when I see him again, I need to thank him. improperly. He helped me see something in myself that I knew was always there, but had been too stuck in my own head to realize. Freedom?

I asked, tapping my pen against the notepad. She shook her head. Value. After that, we acquired some new friends. One in the town of Sickly Sounds, a guy in a lone radio tower, and so that went. We'd eventually take on the order of the eighth floor and all their horrors before we ended up reuniting with the concierge on the top floor. Worse for where, and with a couple of losses in our wake. But when all was sudden done, we had her beat, and Sigurd walked over to put an

end to things. I'll never forget how she smiled when the lightning struck or the last thing she ever said. The wind picked up, and I felt a bitter snap behind it. Either my empathy was through the roof, and I could feel what Wendy felt, or something ominous was in the air. down, seven to go. She finished, getting up and shaking her head. I'm only just now understanding what she meant, but that question led me to rumors about the NFC and their tournaments. I decided to make myself a target for the upcoming open-weight tournament and seek out more

answers. Maybe get my wish along the way if I happen to win. Of course, that didn't happen. And it leads me to a question for you, so. She leaned down and looked me dead in the eyes. mask more intimidating up close, power radiating from every pore of her skin. Who made me feral? Who controlled Kwong Zhao? Who is pulling the strings? And why? You don't see it as convenient that used as DeColta? Known Wendigo-Hater ends up facing

a version of me that couldn't see sense? That former challenger Nora Zane is in there too? They're setting up for something more. I bring. breath, the tapping of my pen stopping. But what? Why? All I know is I'll be on hand to help, however I can. Something tells me that we're all going to be needed when this is over. Beyond that, I have a feeling this exhibition match is going to be interesting.

She cracked her back before walking off, holding up a lazy thumbs up with her good arm. Thanks, Sal. Dix's a skill guide to do what you do and let me run my mouth like that. Hope it was worth it. I hope you see Sigurd again, Wendy. I'm sure he'd be proud of what you've done here. I know I am.

I blurted out, almost on command. She stopped in her tracks and didn't turn back, but I saw her hand shaking as she put it back in her pocket. Oh. Now you know my wish. Good luck, Sal. You'll need it. Sitting there and gathering.

my notes, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed in the moment, as I had done so many times throughout this tournament. It's not so much that the world revolves around me, because it doesn't, but to even consider I have my own part to play in this is a lot to absorb from someone who is used to calling the action from the safety of a booth or behind a computer screen. Why someone as decidedly dull and boring as me has a place here among killers is beyond me. But the more time passes, the more I feel that surge of emotion and desire to do something.

No matter what happens next, I have to do my part. I just wish I knew what it was. Picking up my things, I realized Nell had left her locket, and not wanting it to get stolen or lost, I picked it up. A flash of memories hit me like a freight train, holding on to a great beast as a younger Nell screamed in fear, a conversation shrouded in darkness with a pair of sunken eyes floating in front of Nell as I stood there, powerless, a deal with a gold-toothed shadow and a handshake that sent shockwaves through my body.

Hurts, doesn't it sell? Whipping around, the voice seemed to come from all directions, and I immediately recognized it as that of Moira, one of the sisters, a tapping that sounded as if it was pounding on my eardrums reverberating around us, the thick air ripe with the smell of sulfur. All those places, all those memories jostling for position, like a mass in your skull. It builds strength, malice, and accumulates the experiences you build over time before one day bursting and taking you with it. Life isn't like a box of chocolates. No, it's like an aneurism. You never know which moment will be your last.

Hands gripped my shoulders and thick yellow nails dug into the soft flesh, pulling it up at my tendons and moving me without my consent, my arms reaching out for the locket, more giggling in my ear, and Clodagh's incessant banging making my eyes throb. We are tired of waiting, tired of constant missteps by you and those associated. If you cannot willingly understand the truth, we shall force it out of you.

There is too much at stake for failure. Hands grasp around the locket, and the images begin to burn into my skull, downing a drink that burns my insides, a lightning strike surging through my body, a gunshot to the head, a plane crash, a white snake curled into my arms as I slip away. The tear-stained face of someone I know strangling me, I helplessly struggle and buck my hips for dear life. Everything ebbs out of me and my knees buckle to the floor. All I see is red, my nose dripping blood and the world fading into nothing more than a pink hue.

She needs me! My gurgle, the hands pushing down on me with extreme force, the tapping evolving into a thunderous chorus of aggression at my resistance. More flashes as a deep shade of red fills my periphery. vision. A young woman laying in her apartment, blood everywhere, in an empty crib. The sounds of despair as the woman on the other end of the phone is beaten to death. Nell crouched over a body and sobbing. Nora, Nora's warm face as she hugs me before her last fight in the NFC. Why is she hugging me? Trust me. I'll win it for both of us. Something in me snapped, a protective

instinct I didn't know I had, pulling at the hands and feeling the pain surged through my chest. I didn't care in that moment. I just knew I had to get up. No, I have to. I am all she has. We bring each other's strength. You can't stop that. My body moved before I gave the command.

My left leg flew out from under me and drove itself upward. Front of the foot colliding with the face of Moira behind me. Bone fragments and blood accompanying a loud groan as I felt. felt my body freed and the thunderous booming returning to a tap. Not waiting for retaliation, I swiped the locket into my bag and dashed for the hatch, nearly tumbling down the stairs as I hit the button, breathing heavily. What the hell did I just do? I took my time walking back to the venue, nobody giving me any trouble or even a dirty

look for once. If anything, people seemed to go out of their way to avoid even looking at me, which after what had transpired previously and was welcomed. I sat down, just as the two-minute bell called out, and the exhibition match was announced. This was going to be bloody. As the lights dimmed, Aldoan walked over to me, Cape billowing behind her and a manic grin on her face, as a cinder-block hand slapped my back and damn near-winded me. Sal!

Glad I caught you. Loving the musical vibes you've been putting out there. So much so. that I have a few additions for you. I mentioned to Madam Lockwood there, and she said they were already on the device. Damned if I know how technology ain't one of my friends. But if you could play these during those ever-so-pivotal moments

in the upcoming fight, and during mine and Nora's entrance, I'd be pretty damn grateful. Oh, speaking of, since I'm the one fighting, I'm going to need you to do the announcing. That won't be a problem, will it? Her eye flashed, and the eye patch rumbled. The exhaustion of what transpired out there, suddenly setting in,

making me feel decidedly ordinary as I nodded. You got it, Commissioner. Whatever you need. I croaked, fumbling with my bag, as everything spilled onto the table, Aldoan laughing as she walked off. You know, that's why I like you, Sal. You just do it. You're certainly a changed man.

She stretched as she sauntered off to get the microphone. I guess even warming up wouldn't stop her from showmanship. I reached out for the locket when Nell grabbed it first, as if she knew I shouldn't touch it. Whisking up my notes with far quicker hands and placing it on the table, she thanked me before silently pointing to the recording material as the lights dimmed. Fight fans, before we reached the. the conclusion of this night under the NFC banner, we have two very special matches for you.

Our first is one forged in blood and spilled just as much. It'll be a battle between father and son as the former attempts to help the latter see the air of his ways, and perhaps seek a little justice for the lives lost here. Let's throw it over to Commissioner Aldewan von Trier for the official introductions. I pointed to Aldoan, who grabbed the mic with gusto and began her spiel. Without further ado, let's get this blood feud on the road. In the corner to my left, he is the Jersey Devil, a resident chef, and the father of violence. Put your hands together for Zuck!

I looked down at him. He was in a tank top with fighter shorts. His gargantuan frame only accentuated without the chef's outfit and apron. His usually pleasant expression replaced with a cold indifference as he stared a hole in the opposite direction towards his opponent. And in the corner to my right, he was a standout fighter in this year's tournament and one that brought us violence at the very start of the proceedings. So it's only right we end with him. He was formerly paired with his entourage, Mr. Stairs, but he was formerly paired with his entourage, Mr. Stairs, but he's now back in his usual form, the Black Dog of Jersey, Malfus!

She gave both an eager look before leaping up into the safety of her perch as she walked off, but not before throwing her hand in the air and bellowing NFC exhibition match, Jersey Devil Zuncle versus Puppet Master Malfus. Malfus, unchanged from the last time we saw him, took furtive steps forward, cocking his head to the side as he grinned. The nails in his lips now nothing more than bloodied holes which stained his teeth. Well, pups, we knew this is going to happen at some point. To be the baddest, you have to take out the best and the weakest.

You taught me that. Zonk stood his ground, unflinching in his resolve and unwilling to move. I didn't teach you a damn thing. I'd try to channel your anger and hatred to something. productive. I thought you'd grow out of it. He clenched his fist. But you only got worse. Without warning, Zunk struck himself square in the stomach with all his might,

his eyes widening in pain, and a wheeze leaving his lungs as Malthus continued to walk him down. Well, you didn't teach me directly, but I sought out info, determined to find out what was so wrong with me, until I was found, reborn, and told the most important. piece of wisdom I ever get. Do you know what that was, Dad? He twitched his fingers, and Zunk pulled his head back. Fingers pulling on the hair so tight it threatened to pull out thick black tufts. Malthus leaned forward, inches away from his father's bloodied face.

The sins of the father will always impact on the sun. You can so easily reverse that if you're willing and open to doing what needs. be done. He curled his hand, the fingers twisting, and Zunk's body doing as he obeyed, his arm volleying back for another unprotected shot at his face, but his head also being forced forward by the other hand in a macabre torture technique. He's using him as a goddamn punching bag, literally a human puppet. Is there anything he can do, Nell? I look over to her. The book is closed and she is resting her elbows on it, hands clasped and over her mouth. Not if he wants to keep what little of his soul he has left, Sal?

She replied, as if speaking from experience, I felt a lump in my throat as I looked back. Malthus laughing giddily at the prolonged beating his father was sustaining. Marvelous! Now let's try taking out that tongue. No more bullshit spewed from your mouth! He clapped his hands, observing the battered figure, and framing him like he'd done with Rex.

Hmm, get the head entirely. Hard to say when you having so much fun? There's really no. hope for you is there, boy. If I brought you back to your mother, what was she think of you now? Zunk called through gritted teeth and smatterings of blood. Malthus just laughed. But she'd probably wonder how she came back to life and why she's nothing more than a bag of bones. Still, better than being a sack of me, right? I'd have probably had to cut her up too. So say as the A punch flew from Zunk that instead of hitting his own face would connect with the stomach of his son,

the force of which sent him flying back, feet dragging through the pit floor and dropping him to his knees. Hey, Sal, there's a song of mine on there. Think you could do me a solid and, uh, you know, oh, and don't put it on an odd number. He didn't even look at me, instead muttering the prime numbers in quick succession under his breath. Sure enough, I scrolled down and saw a single song under his name simply called Blizzard. The deep bass rang out and Zunk cracked his neck as he walked towards Malthus, who, to his credit, was up to one knee and one hand on his stomach, the other twisting in front of him. Again, Zunk saw resistance, his right arm striking at him repeatedly and smashing his ears,

jaw and nose, but each shot just made him more determined to walk forward, spitting out blood on the fourth punch. Malthus backs off and places his hands and legs against the wall as Zunk walks him down, determined. You always thought the Jersey Devil was a goat-like creature of the night, didn't you? I never told you that it was always just me, a part of me that I kept firmly locked away and promised to never touch again when I met your mother. After we had you, bad people came after me. Very, very bad people.

They got to her while I was away. Made you watch what they did to her. Christ, you were four. Zunk stopped in front of his son, pity across his face. I went after them. Did what any husband and father would do, but worse. Still, you changed so much after that. but I believe there's still hope for you.

Some glimmer of what your mother was in there. You just need to take my hand and we could put this behind us. A few broken teeth and some fractured ribs is nothing to a family like ours. He outstretched his hand and Nell shook her head in dismay. Malthus stretched his own out and for a moment I thought we'd see our first good ending to about. To my horror and disgust, I was wrong. Malthus leaned forward and sank his teeth into Zunk's hand, biting all the fingers until he tore off one of the digits at the midpoint.

The blood sprang across his face in the canvas. She spat the finger out and coated his hand in it, giggling as he crawled along the wall and away from Zunk. There is only one family. And it sure as hell isn't yours. With your blood on my hands, I can show you just how good I am in control. As I did with Sinai, Rex.

And the rest, I am damn good at carrying out my master's will. And as long as I get to cough people up, I'll keep on doing it. He held his hand up, and Zunk's face grew vacant. His mouth hung open, and he bore the same expression the others had done before. This was the prelude to the end. I can't believe this. Of all the sick things I've seen in this tournament, biting the literal hand of feeds has got to be one of the worst. Malthus should be ashamed.

But given his poor antics, I don't. I don't think that's possible. Get up, Zunk! Move for God's sake! I pleaded. My hands shaking and the fear of losing someone else with no means to save them filled me with such dread, but there was nothing I could do. Nell didn't move from her analytical stance, and the crowd bade for blood as the techno

music swelled. Malthus walked over with confidence, pulling a weapon from his back and brandishing it playfully as he got closer. He showed no hesitation as he drove the blade deep into it. Zunk's chest, dark blood running down his torso to the delight of his son. Guess blood ties do run deep, huh? Best of luck, Dad. I'll keep your legacy going and improve on it. He patted the shoulder of his still standing but vacant father as he began to walk back, never seeing the surging knee coming for his temple as he turned. Malthus flew through the air

and crumpled into a heap on the ground as Zunk lowered his leg, sadness and disappointment riddled across his chest. Malthus tried to scramble, but Zunk was quick. He picked him up by the head, his gargantuan hands, cupping the younger man in them as if holding a cocoon. He slammed him down once to pacify him before hurling him towards the center of the pit, no longer able to crawl away. Every step Zunk took bore the weight of what he was about to do, echoing the gravity of the words when he spoke. As of late, you've been doing terrible things. Things that cannot forgive, forget, or ignore. Please, man, I'm sorry.

I'll leave the group and I'll stop what I'm doing. I'll change, I swear. Oh, God, oh God, please, help. He sniveled and darted frantic eyes around the venue, but none would intervene as his father honed in like a lion ready to kill. There is no other avenue left for you, Malthus, but let me offer you one final piece of fatherly. Zunk raises his fist, his entire body twisting back with the force he's generating, and

his eyes glowing like that of the Jersey devil he's synonymous for, Malthus is whimpering a mere backdrop to the swelling beat and his father's chilling final words. Leaving this world is not as scary as it seems. With that, he drove a fist down onto Malfus' face with such force that the venue shook. When the dust cleared, there was a divot left where he was a divot left. Malfus' head resided. The decapitation marks on his neck clear as day, something resembling scorch marks across his necklining, as Zunk raised his bloodied fist from the hole and walked back without a single word. It was over. I looked over at the broken body of a man who had spent

this entire tournament dismantling the enemy, pulling their strings, and making sure at least three families were torn apart by his insatiable lust for destruction. But my mind wasn't on that, nor was it on what was going through the mind of a man who had just rekindled the flame of his old violent moniker to take out his son. Hell, for a moment, it wasn't even on the upcoming title fight that would determine everything. It was what he said in those final moments of bravado that stuck with me, the claims of pulling the strings, making sure everything went to plan for his masters. But, before I could ask Nell what she thought, I was handed a slip of paper that contained

the details for the bout, the standard things like the fighter's names, monikers, and the match stipulations. There were two things on that slip of paper that caused me to break out in a sweat and my heart to jump into my throat and stay there. Just two simple sentences changed my world and raised the stakes of the title fight exponentially so. The match type, three stages of hell, first to two victories wins the belt, the names NFC champion von Trier and Sabota, Nora Sabota.

Before we begin, a quote from reigning NFC openweight champion Aldoan von Trier. I've never been interested in anything other than seeking out and crushing the best competitor. It matters not to me who they are. their gender, discipline, orientation, species, or beliefs. Only that they have the willingness to seek greater heights and a chance at feeling something other than the basics this world has to offer. Two tournaments, 16 fighters, 22 matches, one more to go.

The NFC tears people apart, but in doing so, it's also brought me closer together with some of the best people I've ever known, so much so that the psych ward feels like a distant memory. Now I only see the final fight in front of me and the details on that paper. It's time. This is the end. This tournament has seen an untold amount of violence, losses, twists and turns that none could have predicted when things began. Now I sit here with a slip of paper in my hands that not only highlights the importance of this fight with a three stages of hell contest, but bears the name of the challenger in a way that

has my body quivering with fear and confusion. Noah's Sopoda, I breathed, hands shaking and fingers tensing on the paper, crumpling it at all the edges, and my indexed finger tearing through ever so slightly, a fractured image of an NFC fight I don't recall commenting on. My hand was already on the iPod, pushing the button for Noah's song. I shook my head and stared at Nell, bleary-eyed, and unable to see her clearly, like a cameraman struggling to focus. Her image blurred and froze, the sound of footsteps around the corner thundering in my head. Freya walked into view, tired and hands bloodied.

She looked like she'd been through hell. This is it, Sal. Once you start their recording, and the match begins, you will put into motion things with far-reaching consequences. What if I get up, walk away, and take it? ignore with me. What happens then? I asked, hoping there was some kind of solution that didn't involve anyone else getting hurt. Your end would come at a different place, a different time, but with the same result, it's not enough. You have to do more. She put her hands over mine, and I felt the warmth, the rage, and the desperation ripped through her body and into mine.

You can still make this go the right way, but you have to be willing to stand in the line of fire. To be willing to give up something precious in order to see this cycle end. She pulled her hands away, and I still felt the cocktail of emotion surging through me and eating away at the fear inside me as she straightened up and looked down at the pit. This is where it all comes together. I hope you've been paying attention. Good luck, Sal. In a flash, I was stood up with a microphone in my hand and a defiant look on my face.

I was acting on instinct, and I was ready. Those in attendance and following around the world, the NFC Open Way Finals have ended, and we are at the end of all things. We saw many step into this pit with hopes of becoming the eventual victor and having their freedom and wish granted. But only one stands tall and as a firm favorite to win the title. Ladies and gentlemen, she is the former title challenger and practitioner of Pankak Salat, Nora Zaboda. The music swelled as the pit was bathed in a deep blue light. The video screen above showing highlights of Noor's exploits throughout the tournament. Every blow she landed, every strike meeting flesh and sending her opponent into the ground.

The Oswald, the Man and Engel, Temperance, Wendy, all fell to her crushing might and will. She was truly unbreakable. It went further back and began showing a title fight between a younger Nora and Aldewan without her signature eye patch or cloak. The two weren't yet sporting that killer instinct or bravado I'd come to familiarize with either of them. They stood amid a sea of bloodthirsty contenders and experts in the crowd as the NFC open-weight belt was held high up, shinier and with a name emblazoned over it, Nora Sopoda.

You sure you're ready for what happens when you lose sane? Aldoan sneered, her teeth shimmering even from the screen. Eighty arms folded while the referee checked her over. Never been stopped yet, and don't see it happening anytime soon. I'm a style bender, and no matter what you throw at me, you won't break me. Nora bounced in place, her arms at her sides as she fixed her gaze upon the much taller Alderman. So long as I'm focused, nothing will stop me.

The referee raised his hand, and this archived footage played out. No superpowers or maddening techniques, just two warriors slugging it out to see who would come out on top. One particularly nasty knee from Nora swelled Aldoan's now defunct eyes shut. She clutched it with a grimace before grinning and throwing a right hook that sent Nora plummeting to the ground. Aldoan hopped onto her back and hooked her legs around the abdomen, flipping back onto her hands and driving Nora head first into the mat with a sickening thud.

and mouthed something and pointed towards the crowd, which parted upon seeing the trajectory of the finger. A man in a Hawaiian shirt, tan skin, and slicked black hair. Me. A younger me. Nora tried to get up and screamed through gritted teeth. Cheater, but was met with a kick to the face that turned her lights out. Aldoan rushed towards me and the footage flickered and ran back to the original fight sequence

Nora had faced in this tournament with the music for the music for the game. reaching its climax as she mouthed the words, I'm unbreakable. Her confidence was supreme. Was I the only one that had seen that? I felt sick, but the adrenaline was still strong, and my senses heightened as Nora walked from the dugout, black and gold tape adorning her forearms, legs, and ribs. Her stair was cold, calculated, and focused. She walked towards the center and began shadowboxing as cheers rained down on the pit from all sides.

The crowd, despite their desire to see blood spilled, was firmly behind the challenger. The music faded, and I scrolled to Aldoen's choice. My eyes stumbling over the title, before Aldoan's boisterous laughter filled her usual perch as an eye gleaned from the dark. I hit play. The pit was shrouded in darkness. The surrounding crowd began singing, joining this unruly choir of darkness as their champion emerged.

The video started up again, and we retreated to an extensive list of Aldoen's fights and title defenses. The latest, Tetsuo and Abadon, still very fresh in my mind for their violent and strangely beautiful affairs. I could see the elation on her face with every single conquest, every bone broken, every muscle she tore, and every time she was forced to dig deeper than the basic effort to put an opponent away, she relished in it with every fiber of her being. In that moment, it was so much easier to remember she wasn't a human, but her moniker wasn't

just for show. She was beyond humanity, beyond nightmares. There she was, emerging from the darkness with a new cloak, the white fur of the hood and sleeves pairing perfectly with the black and brown, a thick black clasp around the top keeping it in place as the sleeves flapped behind her. The taped and scarred muscles glistening under the spotlight and eye. eye wide with excitement as she stood on the perch and held her belt high for the crowd to cheer for. And introducing the champion. She runs the pit with an iron fist. She is the undefeated

whore of Babylon and the reigning and defending undisputed NFC openweight champion, Aldoan von Treer. Throwing the cloak and the belt in my direction for Nel to deftly catch, smashing into the ground as she landed and squared up to Nora. The eerie choir of the crowd feeling like a premonition that filled me with dread. NFC. Openway title fight in stage one. Begin. Aldoan started stretching and rotating her shoulder as she took tentative steps around the pit. The lights dimming as the crowd settled down and the corners of the pit darkened. In their absence was a sickly swirling mass I couldn't quite make out. Its presence making me feel like retching and the hairs on my arms standing on end. It felt wrong. You know what this is about.

out. First to two knockdowns past the 10 count wins the strap. Welcome to the first stage of hell. The great unknown. Get complacent, distracted, or overpowered. You get launched into what lies behind us. Aldoan threw a handback with a sly grin. Your worst fears realized and your Skin will bubble and burst. But it'll be a reminder that your first knockdown can be your last. She outstretched a hand to the still bouncing Nora in a far too friendly grin. Good luck, bitch. In a split second, Nora closed the gap and launched a furious assault on Aldoan.

An inside leg kick to the left leg. An oblique kick to the right knee that buckled the champ. Nora stepped onto the larger woman's leg, driving her left fist. into the side of Aldoan's skull while her right elbow hammered down on the center of her head. As Aldoan fell back in surprise, Nora volleyed forward with a crushing knee to the face, sending blood and sweat everywhere. Aldoan managed to shove her off as she got to her feet, hands clasping her mouth and a look of total shock across her face. Nora took the opportunity to leap up and, with all her might,

land a thunderous drop kick to her opponent's face and neck, sending her flying into the blackness across the pit. There was no sound of collision, just a faint scream as the counter rang out. I cannot believe my eyes. Did the champ just get complacent? Or is Nor's Subota that good? What a combination in targeting every sweet spot she had. Kick, knees, punches, elbows? The challenger is a force of nature. I yelled into the mic, sweat running down my forehead as Nell smirked. Sounds like you're really rooting for her cell. Now something that I don't. She winked, and I felt my stomach tie into knots. I still don't know what I was feeling then, but it was a surge of pride, joy, and hope.

Maybe it was love. 8. 9. 10. The counter rang out, and the bell rang. Nora 1. Aldoan 0. The spotlight focused on Nor, who stared directly at the spot Aldoan had fallen into, refusing to showboat even for a second.

She knew damn well this was far. from over. I'm not playing into any more of your games, your bullshit, or your manipulation, Aldwin. Get the fuck up and get out here. We're finishing this now. Norr's body tensed. Her oar grew black, and I saw something move in her shadow. A long figure ran from her feet and into the black wall, cutting through the darkness to run

up the side of the pit with a pair of yellow cat's eyes filled with rage. From the large vacuous hole I assumed was its mouth spew a thick black fog that surrounded Nora, as if imbueing her with more strength. She breathed heavily and her anger only grew. Come on! She roared. From the shadow walked Aldwin. Some of her exposed skin scorched and hands clasped on her eye patch as she walked.

Manipulation, please. I've never been interested in anything other than seeking out and crushing. the best competitor. It matters not to me who they are, their gender, discipline, orientation, species, or beliefs. Only that they have the willingness to seek greater heights and a chance at feeling something other than the basics this world has to offer. Her back bubbles and the wings she'd shown off in her match with Tetsuo, crowded, thicker, and with the mouths already open.

She unclasped her eye patch and the bulbous white eyes swiveled around, the sigil burning bright over the front of it. I used this against Abidon to keep him in check, but clearly I do not need such a shackle against you. No tricks, no bullshit. She reached up, and in one swipe pulled the eye out and tossed it aside, clicking her fingers, a slew of chains rose from the small metallic holes around the tops of the pit walls, rising into the tops and above the crowd, linking together with a small circular opening that reached

out to the now-un obscured night sky. The stars far more incandescent than usual, as if all living things were gathering for this bout. When the chains were finished, a red hue enveloped Aldoan's body, her skin reddening and her good eye downright flashing with the amber glint, the pit now resembling a thunder dome and the black smog around them closing in, still unceasing in its desire to entrap and feast on any unwitting soul. The shackle, however, goes both ways. You're about to find out how much of a bad decision you've made. Welcome to stage two!

NFC Openweight Title Fight, stage two. Nora dug her feet into the ground and charged forward, rushing to strike Aldoan with a left hook. Aldoan twisted her frame up to the right, and, while bending an ungodly angle, struck Nora in the ribs, the crunch and resounding scream making my stomach turn as Nora was pushed to the side. Aldoan did not let up. Flexing her arms once, she ducked low and ran forward, hitting Noah's exposed jaw before

Then, driving her other fist into her stomach. Winded and unable to reply, Noor was powerless to stop Aldoan as she drove the fist further in and lifted her off her feet. It was that sight that sent chills down my spine. The champion holding Nora's body up with nothing but her fist buried deep into her solar plexus, Nora twitching and writhing helplessly as Aldoan's bravado shifted for something akin to righteous indignation. This is what happens when you're going to you.

you insult the queen of the NFC. She squatted down low, the floor of the pit warping underneath her and threatening to give way as steel-to-capped boots bore her weight before she leapt into the air. Nora's body still draped over her fist. She bellowed, pushing up on her fist and letting Nora fly higher, Aluyn's wings beating furiously as the mouths open and waited until Nora's limbs were in range. As soon as they were, they clamped down hard on her forearms, Aldoan crossing her ankles over

Noah's neck and locking arms around her head in an upside-down crucifix. She's going to do what she did to Tetsuo. I breathed, my hands shaking and the music blaring. No, please, no, Nora, you gotta move! I smashed the desk as the two of them collided with the ground, kicking up dust and obscuring my vision. When the scene cleared, Noah's body was stuck in the ground the exact same way Aldoan's last. victim had been. Her arms were drenched in blood from deep bite marks, the mouths of the wings lapping up the blood as Aldoan simply stared at her downed opponent.

This is not a knockdown. You have more to give than this. I refuse to believe you're falling so soon. She looked disappointed, almost despondent as she walked over to Noor's limp body. I did everything I could to hold back my emotions, but I must have been shaking more than I realized as Nell put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I think you're worrying too much, Sal. Remember how Nora got to where she is now? She fought tooth and nail to reach this point. Not to mention.

Nell's eyes narrowed and she leaned forward. That shadow isn't just for show. Aldoan pulled on Nora's ankle and ripped her out of the ground, pulling back on her right foot to deliver a crushing kick to the face. But before she could, Nora struck. She wrapped her arms around Aldoan's waist, kicked her in the nose to release herself, and pulled her forward into an almighty suplex, smashing Aldoan face first into the ground. A stunning maneuver by the champ and followed up by the Challenger's picture-perfect suplex.

I said, thinking about Zenaia for a moment, as Aldoan pushed herself up to an equal footing, smiling with blood pouring from her nose. That's what I want to show me everything you've learned. Do not waste a single drop! She charged forward and beat her wings in front of Nora, blinding her for a moment long enough to let her wings wrap around her, take a bit of flesh and exit, cackling. He had kids.

Nora mumbled, dropping to a knee to clutch her arm. He had children, and you use that against him, as you use everyone. Aldwin folded her arms, defiant in her stare. I told you, I didn't manipulate shit. I just care about the fight. Yeah, you care about the fight. I know. But you pulled these people from their homes and put them into a death trap with only one way out.

Nor clenched her fists, and the black R grew stronger as she gritted her teeth. And I'm going to remind you of every one of them! Aldoan laughed and dove down for another shot at Nor, but this time she was ready. Grabbing the wings in mid-air and pushing her body back, Aldoan struggled against her. You know who else had people that depended on him? Rex Chug, the death clutch master. Sure, he was arrogant, but he was doing this to prove he belonged. Those students have no master because of you!

She pushed Aldoan away and punched the air where the wings resided, just like Rex. The shot rang out, and both would split open with gaping holes where the malice had just resided. Nora stood still, fists still outstretched. You force people to compete in that wild card. Knowing full well the monster that awaited them within, Landry, Wendy, even Nell, you did everything possible to make them suffer, including putting Sal in the worst position possible, in his condition. How dare you? The shadow belched forth a thick, gold, and black smog, forming around Nora's arms and channeling

the same black lightning temperance had once held. I still don't get what this is. But it seems like I have my own black box of techniques. I'm going to scorch you with as many as I can until you don't get up anymore. Aldoan, hands shaking and tenderly touching her wings, let her fury loose. When she did, it felt like a sonic boom went off in the venue, power erupting from the spot she stood in and threatening to overwhelm me as I sat some 100 feet away. Nor had darted forward and hurled one of her lightning shots.

The first deftly dodged by Aldewan and the second caught in her already scorched arm. You want to insult me with these poultry moves from people not even worthy of getting here. You want to push me and see what it's like without the shackles? Without the restraints? She cried, screeching for something outside the pit. Something indeed answered. From the now defunct elevator shaft came the most horrific groaning I've heard in this pit, parking back to a moment early on in this tournament when another unwitty competitor stepped to Alderman and met a grisly end.

First came the blackened bone hand, sinew and veins still clinging desperately in its place with the stench of rot filling my nostrils. Before long, the full frame of the monstrous skeletal beast had emerged and forced its way out of the shaft. and towards its master's side, her wings receding back into her and her hands shaking with rage. I don't care if you survive this, or I win by default when it's over. I will put you down right now before you insult me with lesser scraps techniques. Gasha da Coro! Feast on her! This hulking mass of bone and terror began making its way towards Nor. the pits of the eyes glowing with the same amber hue that was within Aldoans.

The jaw slack, and despite a hollow skeletal frame, I could see no end inside of it, as if all light was snuffed out within. The notion of being swallowed up by that thing frightened me to my core. Nora, however, was undeterred. She took a step back and waited for the huge arms to swipe. When they did, she leapt up and ran up the length of the other arm, her body blazing with this thick black aura and her eyes wide. This next shot!

She roared, hands glowing not unlike that of Wendy's, when she tore through her competition. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once. She threw punch after punch at the side of this monstrous creature, each one threatening to crack its skull, her rage only building with every successive strike. Then the creature turned. Eyes glinted bright,

and Nora shielded her eyes as it twisted with remarkable. speed, pulling an elongated, bony finger up and towards one of Nora's outstretched fists, curling around it and holding her in place. In a flash, Aldoan materialized in front of her and bore down on the still-blinded Nora. Made you look! She hissed as she stretched her arm out and volleyed Nora on the side of the jaw with a slap that left her eyes vacant, rattling her brain around her skull. Then, as her body fell limp and all that held her up was the skeletal hand.

hand, Aldoan did the unthinkable. She clicked her finger, and the gashed decoral began to unhing its mammoth jaws, rearing back to take a bite out of Nora. I felt my bones rattle and my ear's ring as the fear mounted in me. I wasn't about to watch this woman who knew so much of me have her life snuffed out. But what could I do? Nora! I cried, not thinking before I spoke. I've got your back if you've got mine, you hear? Nora's eyes flashed and she looked at her trapped shoulder as Aldoan glared over at me. Meddling boy.

She scoffed. Now who's looking bitch? Nora hissed as Aldoan turned back and saw what she was doing, already too late to escape. Nor raised her free hand, now sharp as a blade as it glinted in the moonlight, the same black hue now running through the perfectly straight digits and sharpened nails, before bringing it down square on her trapped shoulder, separating the flesh and bone from its furrowing the flesh and bone from its host. See you on the other side!

Nora screamed as a series of small lights flashed into existence before dimming. The prelude to an explosion. Aldoan screamed and covered up, but it was too late. The blast was so powerful, it obliterated the entire top half of the Gasha Decoro, the hulking creature falling back before fading into the blackness that rapidly stretched over and consumed it. Nell grabbed my head and pushed me under the table as the shockwave ripped through the chain link fence of the Thunderdome and sent chunks of steel flying in all directions, some supposedly

hitting spectators as they cried out, the sounds of steel piercing flesh and crushing bone filling my ears, before pained yells and cries of approval punched through the malaise and terror. When we emerged, Nora was sat against the wall, clutching her wounded shoulder, blood rushing down her palm and soaking the spot where she lay, but the wound looking cauterized. Her head was hung low and she was out cold. Aldoan sat on the other side, her body warping the border of the pit where she'd been thrown into. She was shaking and her breathing was heavy. She made it to her feet with the struggle, clutching her ribs that had been undoubtedly fractured by the blast and her leg limping behind her.

She was bruised, but not beaten. Aldoan won, Nora won. Aldoan stood there, breathing heavily herself and clutching at her chest. and wincing, whatever she'd done had taken an ungodly amount of energy from her. Ever the pain in my ass, ain't you, Nora? Oh, man, who'd have thought had come to this? She cast her eyes up towards the circular hole in the pit, moonlight bathing down on her battered frame,

and the red hue from before completely gone. I got nothing left but what's in these limbs. I'm looking at you. I'd say it's the same. Am I right? Nora stirred and coughed, wiping blood from her mouth as she struggled her feet. You're not wrong. Seems we're tied on a piece with nothing but our will to carry on.

Seems pretty appropriate. The two women stood there amid the wreckage of their first two falls, still undeniably powerful and unyielding in their resolve. Incredible! Norah Subotus, She sacrificed her own arm to avoid certain demise, and in turn cost herself the second point, but put both competitors on an equal playing field. The champ is still on her feet.

Nora is still on her feet. This means we go to the final stage. But what more can these fighters take? I was sweating, no longer from the heat of Aldoan's power or fear of Nora's demise, but from the sheer thrill of competition intermixing with the uncertainty of what came next. motioned for Noor to step closer until she was around ten feet away, standing in the center. She clapped her hands, and the central area of the pit rose up until it was above even us on the top floor. The bottom of the pit now fully engulfed in the black smog, bubbling over

and writhing. In Aldoan's hands were two knives. They were both placed behind the other's back foot. As soon as they were firmly in place, two long black tendrils rose up out of the pit on either side. taking the form of thick hands that grasped tightly around the lead ankle, interlocking the opponent like a shadow shackle. This way, we know without question who the true champion is. Aldoan beamed, the scars of war now prevalent on her face. When one goes down, they go into the pit. If the winner isn't careful, they could go with them.

So watch your step. Nora looked at her ankle before. or looking over at the crowd, where by chance, her arm had ended up, singed but largely intact, save for the top being malformed, and the shadow hue is still present over it like a thick sheen. She looked back, grinning as she stepped forward, looking up at her enemy one last time. You say run? I say let's go! NFC Openweight title fight, final stage.

The surrounding lights dimmed and two huge spotlights focused on either side. as the bell rang out and the women began slugging it out. A right hook from Aldwin, a left uppercut from Nor. The two were unrelenting in their strikes. The moment either one backed onto the knife, the pain simply spurred them forward. It was pure combat, and it was beautiful. There was little for me to do, but call it as I saw it, seeing these two fierce strikers stripped to the bare minimum

as they fought on the precipice of their existences. knowing that the edge they tumbled over was the edge of everything. The two even began laughing as their shots became more vicious. You know what, Nora? You're a one woman, O'ra! She chuckled, throwing her weight behind a monstrous haymaker that landed on Nora's jaw. She moved with it and followed it up with a shot of her own, laughing. Break, I'm trying to win here! She leapt up and drove a knee into Aldoan's jaw, the shackle, firmly pulling her down and onto one of

Aldwin's own knees on reflex. Both women staggered, but didn't fall. I'm just a woman standing in front of a woman, asking her to hit me with everything. Several more strikes rang out before the battle wounds took their toll. Both were beginning to tire, and it was clear the finishing shot was in sight. Time to put you to bed, Zane! Aldoan shrieked, pulling her hand back and outstretching her palm, striking Noor directly under the jaw, and rattling her brain against the inside of her skull.

You'll fall as you did before, and this time I'll make sure everything about you stays forgotten. I am the champ. Aldoan pulled her hand back again, ready to strike, both women screaming the other's name like a macabre battle cry. Nora ducked under the strike and collided her skull with Aldoans, the force making an audible thump as the crowd. fell silent. Aldoan's eyes rolled back into her head, and after a tentative moment, she began to fall backwards. Before she could tumble into the pit, however, Nora severed the shackle

and grabbed Aldoan with her only good arm. Unbelievable! The bout is over. The knockout is sealed it. Ladies and gentlemen, Nora Zane, Sabota, whatever. She's the champ. Nell stood up and clapped. Zunk had emerged with an expression of joy and relief, and even Wendy had ran up to be. join us. Out of breath, and seemingly in a state of panic, she tried to say something and pointed to Eustace, who was trailing behind her with the look of absolute terror on his face. But we were beyond at all in that moment, caught up in the elation of the fight. The match was over. We had a new NFC champion, Norse-Saboda. I want to tell you that as the fight ended,

there was a beautiful moment of togetherness where I hugged Nell. We cheered on a victorious Nora and everyone walked away largely unscathed, but that would be a lie. Because if there's one thing in this tournament, its participants and those who seek to interfere outside of it have reminded us, it's that paying attention is the ultimate rule. And we forgot about something critical. Abadon. After I had finished my moment on the mic, Wendy pulled me to face her, and I'd never seen a look of such fright on her face.

Sal, you need to call out to Nora over your microphone. She has to kill Aldwin. Now! I stared, confused, and wondering if she'd even seen what had just happened. Wendy, the fight is over. If Nora isn't going to kill her, that's on her. I'm not in a position to tell her otherwise. I'm just a guy.

You are not just a guy. You're someone she loves, someone she fought this entire fucking tournament to protect. You are her goddamn husband, and you need to get through it her before we all die. Wendy shook me as she said it, the power of her words, both turning my stomach with nerves and unseeding memories I didn't even know I had of a younger me and Nora. Nights we'd spent in the gym training, movie evenings, intimate encounters, our wedding day. By the time I turned back to the mic, Nora had pulled Aldoan onto the ground where she lay motionless. The raised pit began descending as the black smoke receded.

Nora, you need to put an end to Aldewan now. I breathed, feeling disgusted with my own words. This wasn't me, wasn't what I was about, but I trusted Wendy. Nor looked at me for a minute, confused and unsure. Versaaccio, it broke. You need to end it! Eustace called out at the top of his lungs as the lights went out in the venue, save for a single white and black hue emitting from Nora's arm.

Her eyes widened and she sprung to action, jumping to the stands to grab her arm and leaping back from the second floor of the stands and down to where Aldoan now lay, screaming at the top of her lungs as she used her own still clenched and disembodied fist to puncture Aldoan's stomach, raising her body off the ground and skewering her there. Then a voice came from all directions. I waited in the dark and the dismal for my moment. So much time spent putting the pieces into place. Blood spilled and pain endured.

But all things must cycle and all actions have a reaction. This is but one of many. The locusts. The sound of the locusts. Not from the pit. Not from the rafters. From behind me. I swiveled and it felt like everything was in slow motion.

The uncoiled and exposed frame of Abadon gliding up the stairs, his mouth-formed hand, already around Eustace to Colts his throat, as he smashed him into the wall and left him there, blood pouring from his ears. Wendy and Zunk stepping forward to defend me. Abadon slicing at Zunk's throat with that sickening black blade in less than a second, swiping away at Wendy with a calculated shot to her arm and sending her reeling to the reeling to the floor as sunk clutched at his wounds, blood pouring down his apron. I know what must be done in order to put an end to this cycle.

And while you both have done marvelously to put things into place, there's still something which you must give unto me. I will not be denied. His voice, calm and collected, screamed in my ears as if I was hearing something I shouldn't, my nose bleeding and I was struggling to focus. Nell stepped forward and Abadon nearly closed the gap, gripping her throat tight and lifting her off the ground as she kicked and struggled. This is how it ended for him, is it not?

He jested the sound of his laughter like hearing someone mock crying, ungodly unsettling in its nature. How fitting. You may join him in the same manner, the cleanse of your sin. Stop! I begged, pushing forward to try in vain to save my full. I'll go peacefully, just let her live. He cocked his head and observed me for a moment, nor is screaming behind me.

Pitiful, no matter if it's this cycle the next, you cannot resist intervening. You still think this is all about you, do you not? He grabbed me by the shirt and lifted me up, cutting into my wrist and drawing blood, catching it on his hands before unceremoniously dropping me and descending to the pit. Your blood is special, not you. You are merely consequential. Nora rushed forward, but exhaustion was clearly overcoming her. He threw one punch to her stomach, and grabbing her by the hair, threw her into the corner where she lay.

Then he floated over the body of Aldoan, staring down at her. My other half, however, that is much more important. Nell pulled herself up and seemed to see something I didn't as teeth. ears ran down her face. Please. No, not him. Sully, so sorry. He pulled the motionless Aldoan up and threw the arm aside,

pushing the blood into her mouth and holding her against him as the locust coalesced. Whatever formed in that moment was unlike anything I'd witnessed in my life. An ungodly union of flesh, power, and darkness that threatened to engulf anything around it As it grew in size and ferocity with its greed, whatever Abidon had done by forming with Aldoan, it was going to consume us all. As the wind picked up and the form grew, the black light burst out on top, through the circular opening overhead and into the darkness. One by one, every star flickered and died,

the infinite void eating them as it split apart and gave way to huge shrouded shapes looking down from up high. Their forms unusual, barely humanly. I dare say if I could see them, I'd have gone mad. I see you've been busy. Is it darn? The furthest from the left called. We've missed you ever so much. The longing has been practically painful.

We need to feed. We need to grow. We need to consume. The last one said. Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, what we feast. You took far too long. The greedy god, I'd sooner rip your eyes out and thank you. Another said.

The form in front of us, calling itself Amos, didn't speak in a way I could understand, but bellowed out sounds that changed in intonation and pitch, making my teeth rumble, and my stomach threatened to upchuck its contents. When the center one spoke, my skull burned with images of lives I hadn't led, as if something within their words was forbidden to me. Very well. We shall intervene, but if you do not put him into the cycle, we will cast you out. Something began groaning up above. They were moving towards us, trying to break through. I panicked, looking around me at the carnage, zunk being tended to by Nell, Wendy trying to rouse Eustace in the world crumbling in front of me.

I could do nothing but cower. I felt my chest tighten and my limbs grow weak as I succumbed to my feet. ears. The void could have swallowed me up for all I cared. I was as useless as useless could be. Then I hear the click on the iPod one last time as a song began playing. Sal. I looked up from my knees and saw noors exhausted and bruised face in front of mine as she crouched down. Sal, I know you don't know what's going on, but I need you to trust me. Everything will be fine in the long run. I know what needs to be done. But you, you know. You know, you know. You know, You need to keep it together. And most importantly, you have to remember.

Before I could even reply, blink, or react, she kissed me. She kissed me in a way I'd never been kissed before. The world fell away, and every aspect of my fear was eroded until nothing but serenity and love remained. It was an all-encompassing moment that sent a shockwave through my synapses and brought so much to the forefront of my mind that it made me dizzy. When she pulled away, I saw tears in her eyes and felt them in my own. Why was I crying?

Every time we do this dance, it's always you that ends up on the chopping block. But when I got stronger, we knew it was going to be different. I think we just pretended like this moment would never come, even when you didn't remember. I looked at you and knew we'd end up here one day. I wish I could have had a moment with you. The real you and me. Time's up and we're out of options. This is going to rock your noggin,

but I need you to watch, to pay attention. To remember that no matter what happens, I will always love you. She gently kissed my forehead, and I felt her lip tremble, a tear running down her cheek and onto my head, as she got up and leapt down into the unfolding chaos below. Do you know what she's just done so?

Nell asked, looking over at me with the sense of pride I hadn't seen on her face before. She's just ensured everything changes. Don't look away. Don't falter. Watch. I did as I was told. I stood up and watched this amazing woman I was only beginning to recall, walked towards the jaws of infinity,

a slew of untold horrors reaching down to clean dominance over our world. And I watched her put a stop to it all. She broke into a sprint, dodging flashes of this forming mass's power until a shockwave knocked her back, and the form stopped growing. It cracked, splintered, and broke away, revealing a tall, thin man hunched over and clutching his body in adulation. She leapt up and grabbed onto him the black shadow I'd grown accustomed to seeing around her body now rapidly growing in size.

The shadow pouring itself into her and something in her hand. Aldoan's eye, the one with the seal. I don't know what's going to happen when I detonate this. It does the trick. Is it goodbye, Sam? It's good luck. I love you. She took one last look at me before the remaining energy filled her body,

glowed bright and burst. The resounding blast knocked me back against the wall, and I lost consciousness. Everything was shrouded in darkness. My ears rang as the music faded, and when I woke up, I saw the devastation that had been left behind. All that remained in the pit were two belts, neither of their champions holding them. It's been a year since that tournament of nightmares. Looking back on some of these notes and the broadcasts the NFC would send out to anyone paying attention, it's not gotten any easier to sift through the memories, but I know who I am and what my purpose is now.

Nell left in the wake of the damage, and once everyone was safe, she said she'd returned for the next tournament, but had her own story to finish up first. I wished her the best and missed her the moment she went out of sight. Wendy still shows up from time to time, says she's not gotten all the pieces of the jigsaw yet. When it comes to Hotel Inertia, says she'll be by my side when the time comes. Zunk still cooks for us, and Eustace DeKolta turned out to be one hell of her. an ally when it comes to rebuilding, but once things were standing and ready, he said,

the order of the moth has the answers he needs, and he left before we could inquire further. I hope we helped him find some degree of peace amid such chaos, at least. Now a new tournament is about to begin. Two months from now, a team-based scramble to unify the NFC Abyss Championship and the Openweight Championship belts. Everyone is welcome, and that includes the best and worst of the bunch. One among them was a black envelope that I received a week ago, a sigil not dissimilar to the one on Aldoan's eye sealing it shut with red wax. Inside was a date, time, and a warning.

A warning still ringing in my ears now when I prepare to compete in my first ever NFC tournament. Wendy, Nell, and Eustis dutifully by my side, as we prepare for the untold horrors from my own. all realities. I know who I am now. I remember what I'm capable of. I will see Nora again if it's the last goddamn thing I do. That warning does nothing but motivate me to climb to the top with my team, claim those belts, and get my wish, to bring Nora back and demolish the monsters that took her, mocking me with their note. We do not regret, we do not wait. We will break the cycle, repent. But we each took a section and wrote our own declaration of war, of violence, of things to come,

adding in our own jab that has become synonymous here with violence, victory, and a desire for vengeance. We do not forgive, we do not forget. We will break your spirit together. Glory to the NFC.