The prep room beneath Limbo's arena had become familiar territory. Gray concrete walls, recycled air that tasted like metal and tension, the distant rumble of the crowd above filtering through layers of reinforced steel.

  Beatrix stood in the center while Kivi ran final diagnostics on her systems, checking power distribution, neural pathway integrity, the thousand small details that made the difference between victory and death.

  "Troika's fast," Rain said, projecting data streams onto the wall. Combat footage flickered, a blur of integrated blade systems, rapid strikes, aggressive close-quarters style. "Fifteen wins, three losses. All three losses came from fighters who could match his speed or had superior reach."

  "We have neither," Beatrix noted.

  "No," Rain agreed. "But we have coordination. And we have ninety seconds of Rage Mode."

  Virgil interjected.

  "So sixty seconds, max," Kivi said, not looking up from her tablet. "Make them count."

  Beatrix touched her mother's gloves, tucked into her belt as always. The leather was warm from her body heat, soft from years of use. Her pre-fight ritual.

  "His team?" she asked.

  "Good." Rain pulled up more data, three technicians, all Cerberus affiliated, all with solid records in digital warfare. "Not elite, but professional. They'll probe for weaknesses, try to exploit any gaps in your firewall. Standard Cerberus doctrine: hit hard, hit fast, overwhelm through superior hardware."

  "Good thing we have the No Hardware rule," Beatrix said.

  "Yeah. Not many Cerberus is Limbo." Rain grinned. "For them, it's like fighting with one hand tied."

  "Don't underestimate him," Kivi warned, finally looking up. Her hair cycled through cautious yellow. "Bitter fighters are dangerous fighters. He's got something to prove."

  Virgil confirmed.

  "Politics," Beatrix muttered.

  "Everything's politics." Rain closed the data streams. "Speaking of which, have you seen what Vanth said?"

  “Who?” Beatrix shook her head.

  Rain pulled up a news feed, volume low. Sebastian Vanth, Head of Cerberus Clan, all blonde long hair and weaponized implants, speaking to a reporter outside Orcus, the Cerberus stronghold:

  "The future of Acheron, battered by a scav?" Vanth's laugh was sharp and mocking. "Blake backed the wrong horse. Rauk was soft, untested, given everything on a silver platter. And what happens? Knocked unconscious by someone with stolen military tech and no clan backing. If that's Acheron's standard now, maybe we've overestimated them for years."

  The feed cut to Blake's response, a tight smile, controlled fury behind his eyes: "Results speak louder than rhetoric. We'll see whose fighter stands victorious."

  Rain switched it off. "The whole sector's watching this fight. Cerberus vs. Acheron proxy war, played out through you and Troika."

  "Great," Beatrix said flatly. "No pressure."

  "Hey." Kivi stood, putting a hand on Beatrix's shoulder. "You've got us now. You're not alone in there."

  Virgil added.

  "Math doesn't comfort me the way you think it does," Beatrix said, but she smiled slightly.

  "Final check," Rain said, pulling on his neural interface rig. "Kivi's in station Alpha-7, monitoring power and physical systems. I'm in station Beta-3, handling digital warfare and counter-intrusion. Virgil coordinates internal defense and tactical analysis."

  "And the plan?" Beatrix asked.

  "Simple." Rain's grin was sharp. "We keep their team busy while you keep Troika busy. When you see an opening, one burst of Rage Mode, twenty seconds max, knock him down. We hold their hackers off your systems long enough for you to finish with Power Strike. Clean, professional, no excessive risks."

  "Sounds easy when you say it like that."

  "It won't be." Kivi's honesty was oddly comforting. "But we'll make it work. That's what teams do."

  Virgil noted.

  Beatrix nodded, rolling her shoulders, feeling the Dreadnought Protocol's weight in her skull, the Cyclops Core's steady pulse in her chest. Enhanced muscles, reinforced bones, neural acceleration, all the chrome that had nearly killed her, now keeping her alive.

  "Let's go prove Vanth wrong," she said.

  Rain laughed. "That's the spirit. Let's embarrass both clans equally."

  Rain settled into his station in Limbo's technical warren, a cramped booth with three walls of screens and more processing power than most small ships. Other team stations lined the corridor, dozens of support crews, all preparing for their fighters' matches.

  "Oh, this is nice," Rain breathed, fingers flying across the interface. "B, you seeing this? They've got quantum-encrypted routing, redundant firewall architecture, and, holy shit, is that a Pallas-7 intrusion suite?"

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Virgil confirmed in Rain's earpiece.

  "Equal access to toys I couldn't afford in three lifetimes." Rain was practically vibrating with excitement. "Kivi, you seeing this on your end?"

  In station Alpha-7, three corridors over, Kivi pulled up her own displays. "Yeah, hardware monitoring is gorgeous. Real-time cellular analysis, power distribution visualization, even predictive strain modeling. This is what proper support looks like."

  "Kids in a candy store," Beatrix muttered, walking toward the arena entrance. But there was warmth in her voice. Their enthusiasm was infectious.

  "Okay, serious now." Rain's voice shifted to professional focus. "Beatrix, I'm sending connection request. Accept when ready."

  Virgil displayed.

  "Accepted," Beatrix said.

  The connection established with a faint click in her mind, not invasive like the first time, but comfortable now. Familiar. Rain's presence in her neural architecture like a friendly ghost, monitoring her systems from the outside while Virgil managed from within.

  "I'm in your head," Rain said, and she could hear his grin.

  "Try not to snoop," Beatrix replied.

  "No promises. Your browsing history is ."

  "I will disconnect you."

  "Please don't, I'm joking, I'm joking." Rain laughed, then his tone sobered. "Seriously though, this is good work, Virgil. Your internal architecture is... impressive. Military-grade integration, adaptive protocols, elegant design."

  Virgil responded.

  "Aww, the AIs are bonding," Kivi teased. "Now can we focus on keeping Beatrix alive?"

  "Right. Yes. Focus." Rain pulled up combat feeds. "Troika's team is online. I'm seeing three signatures, codenamed Anvil, Hammer, and Forge. Creative naming, Cerberus."

  "Their approach?" Beatrix asked, reaching the tunnel that led to the arena floor.

  "Aggressive. Already probing the arena network, testing response times, mapping routes to your neural architecture. They're good—professional, coordinated, clearly practiced."

  "Can you stop them?"

  "Can I?" Rain's confidence was absolute. "Watch me."

  The tunnel opened into Limbo's arena, a vast circular space in the cylindrical station. Gray sand covered the floor, fine and treacherous. Overhead, the crowd filled every available space, thousands of bodies pressed together, their noise a physical force.

  "BEATRIX 'SCAV FIST' ALIGER," the announcer's voice boomed. "Round of 64. Non-affiliated. Record: one win, zero losses."

  “Hate that nickname.” Beatrix groaned.

  The crowd's reaction was mixed, some cheers, some hostile jeers, everyone wanting to see what the scavenger who'd beaten Rauk could do against real competition.

  Across the arena, Troika was already waiting.

  He was taller than Beatrix expected, lean and angular, all integrated weapon systems and reinforced joints. His augmentations were visible, blade housings in his forearms, enhanced musculature in his legs, targeting arrays in his eyes. Cerberus style: functional, military, designed for overwhelming physical force.

  No external weapons, though. Limbo's rules had stripped him of his clan's primary advantage.

  "MARCUS TROIKA," the announcer continued. "Cerberus Clan. Record: fifteen wins, three losses. Cerberus's sole representative in the First Circle."

  That got a reaction, Cerberus supporters in their section roaring approval, Acheron supporters responding with mocking laughter. The political weight of this fight was palpable.

  Virgil reported.

  "No kidding," Beatrix muttered, approaching the center mark.

  Troika met her there. Up close, she could see the Cerberus tattoos on his neck, the clan designations that marked him as theirs. His eyes, enhanced, scanning, fixed on her with professional assessment.

  "Heard you knocked out Rauk," he said. His voice was surprisingly pleasant. "Impressive. He's an arrogant ass, but he's skilled."

  "Thanks," Beatrix replied, uncertain how to handle pre-fight pleasantries.

  "Don't expect the same result here." Not a threat, a simple statement of fact.

  "We'll see."

  Troika smiled slightly. "Yes. We will. Good luck, Scav Fist."

  "You too… Marcus." She tried her best to make it sound insulting.

  The referee's voice cut through: "Fighters ready. Standard Limbo rules apply. Fight until incapacitation, submission, or Arbiter ruling. Begin on my mark."

  Beatrix shifted her stance, feeling her enhanced muscles respond, neural acceleration preparing to engage. Across from her, Troika settled into a different style, weight forward, hands loose, ready to strike.

  Virgil confirmed.

  "We've got you, Beatrix," Kivi's voice in her ear, steady and calm.

  "Let's make this clean," Rain added.

  The referee's hand dropped.

  "BEGIN!"

  Troika moved first, fast, just as advertised. A testing jab, blade systems still retracted, feeling out her response time.

  Beatrix slipped it, not fully, felt the air pressure of his fist passing her cheek. Counter-strike to his ribs, quick and sharp.

  He blocked, absorbed the impact, pushed her back with superior reach.

  Virgil noted.

  They circled, trading positions, both fighters professional enough to not commit early. The crowd noise faded to background static as Beatrix's enhanced senses focused down to the sphere of combat, three meters in radius, everything outside it irrelevant.

  Troika lunged, blade systems extending from his forearms with a metallic . Two twenty-centimeter combat blades, integrated directly into his bone structure.

  Beatrix dodged left, felt one blade pass through the space her throat had occupied a millisecond before.

  Virgil observed unnecessarily.

  She countered with a low kick, enhanced strength driving through her leg into his knee. Connected. Solid impact.

  Troika's defensive augmentations absorbed most of it, but he stumbled half a step. First point to her.

  "Nice," Rain's voice. "But B, they're already probing your firewall. Anvil is running intrusion protocols, testing for gaps."

  "Handle it," Beatrix said, ducking under another blade slash.

  "On it. Virgil, reinforce sector seven."

  The fight continued, a dance of enhanced bodies, predictive algorithms, and brutal efficiency. Troika was good, better than Rauk, his blade work precise and practiced. But Beatrix had Virgil's tactical overlay, had trained for weeks with Bodhi's coaching, had learned to trust her augmentations.

  They traded blows, his blade caught her shoulder, shallow cut, minimal damage. Her elbow strike cracked against his jaw, snapped his head back.

  Virgil warned.

  "Blocked," Rain reported immediately. "But they're persistent. Trying multiple vectors."

  "How long can you hold?" Beatrix asked, blocking another combination.

  "Long enough. Focus on your fight."

  Virgil interjected.

  "Rain…" Beatrix started.

  "I see it. Kivi, I need you to monitor B's App integrity while I deal with these assholes. Can you do that?"

  "Already on it," Kivi confirmed. "B, your targeting overlay might flicker, that's me running diagnostics, not them breaking through."

  "Understood."

  Troika pressed his advantage, sensing her divided attention. A rapid combination, blade, blade, kick, blade, forcing Beatrix backward across the sand.

  She blocked the first three, but the fourth caught her thigh. Pain flared, quickly dampened by her enhanced systems.

  "Thanks for the assessment," Beatrix gritted out, pivoting away.

  The crowd roared. This was what they'd paid to see, two enhanced fighters, both skilled, trading real damage.