This chapter was difficult, a lot of things happened in my life, I only managed to write something because I really liked the idea of this story, but I admit that this chapter didn't turn out exactly how I wanted.

  I'm going to take some time off to organize my head.

  Ps: I noticed that some people were bothered by the unapologetic protagonist, so here's a warning:

  In this chapter, the protagonist will be cat called, it will be in a very lascivious way, and he will like it... you have been warned.

  [Point of view: Edith Nivea]

  "We’re here," Marcus says, coming to a dead stop right in front of me.

  I look at the building, my voice wavering with uncertainty. "Are you sure this is the place?"

  "Of course it is." His response is immediate, dripping with a misplaced confidence that makes my skin crawl.

  I glance up at the flashing neon sign vibrating above the double doors. The words Super Freedom Spin hum softly against the damp night air. My brow furrows, and I turn to Marcus to voice my confusion, but he cuts me off before I can even get a word out.

  "Criminal organizations," he says, pausing for dramatic effect. He wants the word to sink in. "They need front businesses for their illegal operations. Places that appear legitimate, preferably with high foot traffic, to camouflage their 'profitable activities'."

  "Profitable activities?" I repeat, the curiosity winning out over my common sense.

  "Illegal gambling, prostitution, drug and gun sales."

  A cold shiver snakes down my spine, and my stomach performs a slow, nauseating flip. The reality of being chest-deep in something this dangerous is finally hitting home.

  "Usually, they pick something boring, like a cleaning service or garbage collection," Marcus adds, finishing his little lecture.

  I squint at him. "And how exactly do you know that?"

  "I’m pretty sure I saw it in an anime, or Breaking Bad." He shrugs as if there’s no difference between the two.

  Before I can even begin to tear apart his 'sources,' Marcus marches through the doors. I’m right on his heels as he struts inside with a ridiculous amount of purpose, chest puffed out, head held high, scanning the room like he’s looking for a target.

  The interior is massive. Eight long rows of washing machines stretch toward the back, where a dedicated staff handles large-scale orders. The place is packed with a demographic split: human men and anthro women. While the men are mostly buried in their laundry, the anthros have stopped dead in their tracks. Every eye in the building is locked onto Marcus.

  They aren't just looking at him because he’s finally out of his armor. They’re staring at the exposed, well-defined muscle of his arms and his golden-brown skin. His emerald-green eyes seem to sparkle under the fluorescent lights, paired with a seductive, arrogant smile and brunette hair slicked back to perfection. His muscular chest is practically bursting against the seams of his tight white shirt.

  Wait, what was I thinking about again? I ask myself, blinking as I stare at his back. Oh, right. The shirt.

  Marcus had picked up a change of clothes from a pawn shop earlier. The shirts weren't just tight, they were cheap and printed with the most bottom-of-the-barrel vulgarities imaginable. That’s the real reason he’s the center of attention. Every anthro in the room is gaping at the bold, black capital letters printed across his chest, 'RAPE BAIT'.

  [Image]

  And this was his least scandalous shirt.

  "This situation can't get any worse," I whisper, dying of pure shame.

  But I'm wrong. It can always get worse.

  "Damn, boy!" a mole construction worker shouts, practically undressing Marcus with her eyes.

  "Look at the lucky rabbit!" a panther yells from across the room.

  "Atta girl!" A hyena let out a raucous, barking laugh. "She snagged a hot Latino and now she’s showing him off!"

  "Let me put a FANGER in ya!" a country bear hollers.

  "Damn, baby. Turn around and show momma what you’re working with," a mechanic boar grunts.

  "Hot damn, you're cute!" howls a wolf biker.

  A cat leans against a machine, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "She may be small, but she must have some pussy grip to keep him."

  "It’s not just the front," a skunk near the entrance adds, her eyes roaming lower. "Look at dat ass. Momma wants a bite."

  I stand there, frozen. The comments fly around us like a hailstorm. Each word feels like a physical blow, and I can feel a frantic heat rising in my cheeks. I pray for the shouting to end, but it only ramps up in intensity.

  "Damn, dat azz look good in dem jeans!"

  "Hey baby, you a grower or a shower?"

  "You're every chair's dream!"

  "I'd like to gargle those marbles!"

  "I would love to see him squirm beneath me."

  "Yo baby, ever had your dick sucked from the back by a fat girl in an overcoat?"

  "I’d like to slap those buns on the grill!"

  "Hey thick dick, c’mere baby."

  "He’s so hot, I bet he cums lava!"

  "Let me suck ya cock, pretty boi!"

  "Chico! I want to eat your ass like pico de gallo!"

  I cringe, my stomach twisting into a knot of embarrassment and simmering anger. How can they say these things right in front of him? I glance at Marcus, expecting to see disgust, or at least a flicker of annoyance. Instead, he’s wearing a smug grin.

  "This is crazy," Marcus comments, barely holding back a chuckle.

  "I am really sorry," I tell him, my voice barely audible over the thrumming machines and the vulgar chatter. "They’re… they’re horrible."

  He just shrugs, his smile never wavering. "Relax, coelhinha. I’m enjoying this more than I should," he says with a laugh.

  I stare at him, stunned. Does he actually like the attention? I wonder silently. Is Marcus… a whore?

  Before I can follow that horrifying line of thought any further, Marcus stops in front of an anthro buffalo. She’s dressed in a white outfit with security ID pinned to her chest, guarding a reinforced fire door.

  "What do you want, male?" the massive woman asks, her tone dripping with irritation.

  Marcus pulls out his phone and flashes a message on the screen. "We received a message to look for Madam Shì Hún."

  The buffalo’s eyes widen. She snaps up her walkie-talkie, barking orders in a hoarse, urgent voice. "I need a replacement at the entrance. Now. I’m escorting visitors to Madam Shì Hún."

  Marcus expected this shift in behavior, he gives a soft, knowing chuckle at her reaction. The buffalo turns back to us, her expression now deadly serious.

  "Follow me," she orders.

  She leads us through the heavy, reinforced door, which shuts behind us with a solid thud, cutting off the noise of the laundry room. We follow her down a dimly lit staircase, our footsteps echoing sharply against the cold concrete walls. I can feel the tension building with every step, my heart hammering against my ribs.

  Marcus, however, is the picture of calm. He scans his surroundings with a mix of curiosity and caution. How can he be so confident? I think to myself. Especially while dressed in a stripper-tight shirt and denim shorts that hug his ass like a second skin?

  We finally reach the bottom and enter a wide, brightly lit hallway. Doors line both sides, perfectly identical and spaced far apart. The corridor seems to stretch on forever, the silence broken only by our rhythmic steps and the distant, muffled hum of machinery. I can feel the weight of the entire building pressing down on us from above. The air is thick, smelling of industrial detergent and something else, something metallic and unrecognizable.

  How much further? I wonder.

  The doors are numbered, the digits climbing higher as we walk. I try to keep track, but the sheer number of them makes my mind race. Eventually, we reach the end of the hall, where a large steel elevator door waits. The buffalo presses a button, and the doors slide open with a gentle hiss. She steps inside and gestures for us to follow.

  I hesitate, looking up at Marcus.

  "It’s okay, Edith," he says, his voice brimming with confidence. "I’ve got your back."

  I really am a pathetic woman for needing a man to calm me down, I think sadly.

  Taking a deep breath, I step into the elevator. The doors slide shut, the buffalo presses a button, and the floor drops away as we begin to descend.

  [Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]

  Holy shit, what have I gotten myself into? I swear to myself, the anxiety gnawing at me. Are we going all the way to China to find this bitch? Who the hell even dug all this out? Some kind of dwarven moles?

  Despite the internal panic, I keep my face a mask of calm. I can’t let it show. Edith is already a nervous wreck, and she needs me to be the one holding it together.

  The elevator doors slide open, revealing a massive garden bathed in soft, artificial twilight. A gentle breeze rustles through the leaves of the surrounding trees, carrying the sweet, heavy scent of blooming flowers. At the center of it all sits a tranquil lake, a small waterfall cascades down a rocky outcrop, its splashing water creating a soft melody that fills the underground cavern.

  But the moment I take a single step into the garden, a warning flashes in my mind.

  [Detection Alert]

  ‘Aside from my inventory, it seems that the other parts of the system work.’ I think silently. ‘I need to test my powers later, I don’t know if I have access to everything.’

  [You are being observed by 10 creatures with ill intent.]

  As the last notification window fades, I feel a sharp spike of killing intent radiating from the ceiling. Whatever is up there remains shrouded in the darkness behind the blinding spotlights illuminating the cavern.

  "Wow," Edith whispers, snapping my focus back to her. "How can someone maintain a garden this huge underground?"

  "With a shit-ton of money," I respond, my brow furrowed. "This isn't just a garden, it’s a flex. A demonstration of power."

  Edith looks at me, confused, but I don't have time to explain the nuances of criminal posturing. Near the lake sits an elegantly set table, decked out with fine Asian china and a silver tea set. An anthro bobcat sits there, her smooth gray fur contrasting sharply with her piercing, amber eyes.

  "I have been expecting you, sir," she says. Her tone is dead neutral, completely devoid of emotion. "Your companion, however, was not anticipated. Though, that is easily rectified."

  With a snap of the bobcat’s fingers, the buffalo guard who escorted us appearing with an extra chair. She sets it down, and the bobcat gestures for us to take a seat.

  "So, you’re Madam Shì Hún?" I ask, my voice laced with curiosity.

  Strangely, she freezes for a split second, as if catching her breath before she can find the right words.

  "Yes," she finally says in that same robotic tone. "I called you here to discuss your request. Documents capable of fooling large institutions are difficult to acquire, but not impossible."

  "But they’re going to cost a fortune, even for someone carrying gold coins, I imagine?"

  She simply nods, confirming the obvious.

  Before I can dig deeper into the logistics, another figure joins us. An elderly anthro tigress with gray tufts peeking through her orange and black stripes approaches the table. She carries a strange, greenish teapot that looks hauntingly familiar. Even with her advanced age, she moves with the lethal grace of a seasoned predator. Her eyes stay fixed on the cups as she pours the steaming liquid, her thumb dancing lightly over the teapot's handle.

  "Please," the bobcat says, lifting her own cup. "Drink."

  Edith picks up her tea, tilting it toward her lips, but I move fast, clamping my hand around her arm to stop her.

  "Marcus?" she asks, startled.

  "I really didn't want to do this," I mutter. I reach into my inventory and summon a handful of purple powder. "But you guys started it."

  Without another word, I hurl the powder directly into the bobcat's face just as the old tigress slips away from the table.

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

  The bobcat collapses instantly, hitting the ground and erupting into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

  "Marcus, what the hell did you do?" Edith cries out as the bobcat thrashes on the grass, her cackles turning hysterical.

  I turn to Edith, my expression dead serious. "They tried to poison us. I just retaliated with a heavy dose of Euphoria Powder."

  Edith’s grip on her cup tightens until her knuckles turn white. "B-but..." she stammers, her nerves finally getting the better of her.

  I gesture toward the bobcat, whose laughter is now dissolving into frantic, hysterical sobs. "She’s probably not even the real Madam Shì Hún."

  To prove my point, I grab my own cup of tea and drain the entire thing in a single, defiant gulp.

  "Marcus!" Edith screams, her voice cracking with pure terror.

  [Poison Detected]

  [Poison Neutralized]

  “I knew it.” I whisper, opening a smile.

  [Analyzing Compound]

  [Sodium Pentothal Identified]

  The moment the liquid hits my system, I feel it trying to take hold, and the intent behind the brew becomes crystal clear.

  "It wasn't lethal," I comment, slamming the empty cup back onto the saucer with a sharp clack. "But trying to slip us a truth serum? That's some dirty-ass pool."

  Edith gasps, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in shock. I reach out and pull her tight against my side, my protective instincts flaring. I’m ready to make a move, but a sudden, sadistic laugh cuts through the air, stopping me cold.

  "You are a very interesting man, Mr. Marcus," a voice says. It’s aged, raspy, but vibrating with a terrifying level of authority.

  I look up. It’s the old tigress. She isn't just a servant, she's the one in charge.

  [Image]

  "Smart men with good instincts are rare, my dear rabbit," the old tigress says, her voice smooth as silk as she settles into the seat previously occupied by the bobcat. She adjusts her black robes, her eyes locking onto Edith. "You are a fortunate woman."

  Edith stammers, her bunny ears twitching nervously. "W-we aren’t a couple, Madam Shì Hún! Marcus and I are just... friends. In fact, we’re both single."

  Shì Hún’s eyes narrow, her expression becoming unreadable as she turns her gaze back to me, dissecting me with a single look.

  "A man like you, single? That is something you don’t see every day," she murmurs, a sound almost like a purr vibrating in her throat as she leans forward. "Usually, the state would have married you off by the time you were seventeen."

  I'll admit, I loved the attention from the girls in the laundry room, but this? This old woman trying to poison me and creeping out the coelhinha? I’m starting to get seriously pissed off.

  Time to fuck shit up, I think, a sadistic smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

  I whip a common dagger out of my inventory and hurl it at the old tigress. I use the bare minimum of my strength, making the throw look like it's coming from a weak, normal human.

  SWISH!

  My body is a powerhouse, but my brain is even further beyond human limits. I see everything that happens next in perfect, high-definition slow motion.

  As the blade leaves my hand, two figures drop from the ceiling, emerging from the darkness behind the spotlights. The first one lands with her back to me, arms spread wide to shield the tigress, she takes the knife right in the shoulder. The second one lunges at me, a shiny blade glinting in her hand. At first glance, I take her for some kind of rat, but the membranes stretched under her arms give her away, she's a bat.

  "Nope!" I bark. I twist my body and launch a kick straight into the charging bat’s chest.

  The one who shielded the tigress spins around, revealing she’s a bat as well. She snarls at me, her face contorted with rage.

  "洋狗!" she screams.

  "My bad, but I don't speak Coronavirus," I fire back, blowing her a mocking kiss.

  "Rrrrrrrr!" She growls, charging again.

  But halfway there, her boss’s voice cracks like a whip.

  "住手!"

  The bat freezes instantly and turns toward her master.

  "Leave," Shì Hún says, her tone stern and final.

  In response, the bat ninja bows low. She reaches up, yanks the knife out of her own shoulder, and hurls it into the ground near my foot before retreating.

  "Heh. Ninjas protecting an Asian mobster. A bit cliché, don't you think, Edith?" I turn to my side, but the rabbit is nowhere to be seen. "Edith?"

  "Your 'friend' fainted the moment you kicked my servant in the face," the tigress says calmly, sipping her tea as if we hadn't just been trading blows.

  [Point of view: Edith Nivea]

  I wake up with the bitter, lingering taste of green tea on my tongue and a head that throbs like a rhythmic drum. As my senses return, I realize my cheek is resting against something warm, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of a breath.

  "Ah, you’re finally awake," a soft, gentle voice murmurs. "You’re just as fluffy as I thought you'd be."

  I blink, my vision clearing to reveal Marcus’s face. His emerald-green eyes are staring down at me with an uncharacteristic softness. What happened? Where am I? I feel a hand stroking my head, and as I shift, the realization hits me, I’m draped across Marcus’s lap.

  I scramble to my feet, my ears twitching in a frantic, nervous blur. "W-what happened?" I stutter, my voice trembling.

  Marcus opens his eyes fully, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "You passed out," he says simply. "So I gave you a little something to wake you up."

  "Your pockets are remarkably deep for someone wearing such... restrictive clothing, Mr. Marcus," Madam Shì Hún comments from across the table.

  "Stop staring at my ass, you horny grandma," Marcus retorts.

  Shì Hún lets out a laugh, her voice like velvet. She treats his insult like a child’s tantrum, entirely unbothered. "You are a truly curious man, Marcus Carvalho. Few have the audacity to speak to me in such a manner."

  I take my seat at the table, caught in the middle of a bizarre standoff between a Latino man in a vulgar shirt and an elderly Chinese mobster tigress. The tension is thick enough to choke on.

  "I apologize for the poisoning attempt," Shì Hún says, her voice smooth and calculated. "I was simply intrigued by a man carrying such precious coins."

  "So you thought drugging us was the best way to get introduced?" Marcus asks, his tone dropping into something calmer and far more intense.

  Shì Hún lets out a low rumble of a laugh. "It was merely a truth serum. A necessary precaution, Mr. Carvalho. In my line of work, trust is a rare commodity."

  "You could have just asked!" I snap, my irritation finally boiling over. It's the first time I've raised my voice since we sat down.

  Shì Hún turns her gaze toward me, her eyes softening ever so slightly. "Ah, my dear bunny, the world is rarely so simple. But please, Mr. Carvalho, tell me. How did you know the tea was tainted?"

  Marcus scowls, looking more inclined to punch her than answer, but I quickly place a hand on his arm. "Please," I whisper. "Be nice."

  His eyes are narrowed, body coiled for combat, but at my touch, he visibly relaxes.

  "The teapot looked familiar, but it was your thumb on the handle that gave it away," Marcus says dryly. "I noticed a small hole that your finger covered only when you poured mine and Edith’s tea. I remembered the 'Assassin's Teapot' from a post."

  Madam Shì Hún’s eyes widen in genuine surprise at his sharp wit. "And how does a male like you come across such specialized information?"

  "9gag."

  My jaw drops. He saved our lives because of a meme site?

  "I am not familiar with that particular school of assassins," the tigress replies calmly, taking another sip of tea. "A Western institution, no doubt." There’s a faint hint of disdain in the word 'Western.'

  Marcus leans back, his eyes locked on her. "So what now? Are we talking business, or are you going to try another trick?"

  A slight smile curves Shì Hún’s lips, as if she hasn't had this much fun in years. "The documents you require are not easily obtained. They require resources I am loath to waste."

  "If it were impossible, we wouldn't be sitting here," Marcus counters, crossing his arms.

  She beams at his defiance. "The problem is that it will cost me favors with powerful people. Money alone is not a sufficient incentive, Mr. Carvalho."

  Marcus sighs, looking exhausted by the theatrics. He reaches into his pocket and dumps a handful of gold coins and shimmering jewelry onto the table. The tigress looks at the pile with complete indifference, her tail swinging lazily.

  "Is this meant to impress me?" she asks, her voice dripping with disdain. "I told you, money is not enough."

  "Just making sure," Marcus says, sweeping the treasure back into his pocket. "What do you have in mind then?"

  Madam Shì Hún turns to me, her golden eyes glinting with amusement. "He has a strong spirit, but he knows when to yield. An admirable quality in a male."

  Marcus growls, but I intervene again, resting a hand on his leg to keep him grounded. He looks at me, his green eyes burning with fury, but my presence seems to act as a tether.

  "Let’s get straight to the point," Shì Hún says. "I have a proposal. A tournament. Three fights against three different anthros. You don't even have to win, just participate. In return, I provide your documents."

  Marcus leans forward, his fingers drumming a rhythm on the table. "And if I do win?"

  Shì Hún smiles, baring her sharp, predatory teeth. "For every victory, a favor. Win once, and I clear the debts this little bunny has accumulated from her college and... irresponsible purchases."

  "How do you know about that?" I gasp, a chill of fear running through me.

  "I don't let people into my garden without knowing everything about them," she purrs. "With a second victory, I will introduce you to a trustworthy contact who can move your jewelry out of the country."

  "Making it untraceable," Marcus finishes.

  "Exactly. But the third fight... that will not be easy. It will be against the most powerful warrior at my disposal."

  Marcus grins, a voracious, focused look in his eyes. "Then it’s only fair I ask for your most precious possession if I win that one, right?"

  Shì Hún blinks, shocked by his sheer audacity. Then, she lets out a hoarse, barking laugh. "If you win all three fights, I will give you the documents, the debt settlement, the contact, and my most precious possession, the Flaming Prism, my beloved fire opal."

  Marcus looks at me, seeking my approval. I feel a knot of worry in my chest, but I also know what he’s capable of. He’s a hero.

  "Seems fair," he says, turning back to the tigress. "But I want guarantees. No deceptions."

  "You have my word," Shì Hún nods. "And my word is law."

  "Let’s do this," Marcus laughs. "I always did enjoy a 'Tournament Arc'."

  Shì Hún stands, her imposing presence filling the space, and they shake hands to seal the deal. She claps twice, the sound echoing through the garden. From the shadows of the ceiling, four anthro bats in ninja attire descend silently.

  "Escort Mr. Carvalho to the locker room," she orders. The ninjas nod in eerie unison. "And you, dear Edith... please, follow me."

  Marcus gives me a look of concern. I try to smile back, but my stomach is in knots. Separating us wasn't part of the plan.

  She leads me through large double doors into a VIP lounge that looks like a slice of a Chinese imperial palace. Red silk, golden ornaments, and carved dragons decorate the room. Further ahead is a decorated balcony overlooking the arena. Shì Hún gestures for me to sit as a human servant in a tight green tunic pulls out an ornate chair.

  The arena below is a massive octagon surrounded by a high fence.

  "Marcus..." I whisper. I turn to Shì Hún, my eyes wide. "Please, can't you just take the money? He doesn't need to get hurt."

  Shì Hún laughs. "Oh, Edith. This isn't about money. This is power and entertainment for my allies, and my enemies."

  "But he could die! There must be another way!"

  "If you're worried now," Shì Hún says, her laughter echoing against the silk walls, "imagine how you'll feel when he loses and is... shall we say, 'used' in front of the public?"

  My heart stops. "Used?"

  A sadistic, malicious smile spreads across the tigress's face. "One of the rules of my arena is that the loser is humiliated by the winner. And with a male as charming as Marcus... I'm almost worried about what my female fighters might do to him."

  The room spins. Humiliated by the winner. The words echo in my mind until I feel sick.

  "No!" I shout. "You can’t do that!"

  "He agreed to the terms," she says, leaning back. "He will face the consequences if he loses."

  Tears well up, but I blink them back. I won't be weak in front of her. "When does it start?" I ask, my voice trembling.

  As if on cue, a booming female voice erupts from a lemming presenter in the center of the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Chicago's hottest event! Tonight, a true gladiator will face three of our most formidable anthros!"

  A figure in a gray cloak emerges from the shadows, walking with total confidence.

  "We present to you the challenger! As dangerous as he is beautiful, the strongest man in the world, the DRAGON WARRIOR!"

  The figure throws the cloak aside with dramatic flair. It's Marcus. He’s wearing nothing but tight black swim trunks and a green dragon mask. The crowd erupts in a deafening wave of cheers and whistles as he stands tall, his muscles glistening under the spotlights.

  [Image]

  As the announcer continues to whip the crowd into a frenzy, I can’t pull my eyes away from Marcus. He radiates confidence, his gaze coolly scanning the arena as if he’s already sized up every threat. The thought of him getting hurt, or suffering that promised "humiliation" is unbearable. I have to do something, anything, to stop this madness.

  But God, he looks so good in those swim trunks... The thought slips in unbidden, and I realize I’m actually drooling a little at the corner of my mouth. I quickly wipe it away, face flushed.

  "And now, please welcome our first challenger!" the lemming shouts. "Hailing from the wilds of the American Southwest, she is known for her ferocity and cunning. She is the queen of chaos, the voracious, the one-of-a-kind... HONEY HAVOC!"

  The crowd erupts into a deafening roar as a figure prowls out of the shadows. Honey Havoc, a compact and terrifyingly muscular anthro honey badger, steps into the light. Her fur is a striking pattern of black and white, and her eyes glow with a wild, predatory intensity. She wears a high-cut, skin-tight swimsuit that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, highlighting every powerful curve and rippling muscle in her frame.

  [Image]

  Marcus stands in the center of the octagon, muscles coiled, his gaze locked onto Honey Havoc. I can see the strain in his posture, the way his fists clench and unclench, but it’s his eyes that truly terrify me. They’re wide, almost glassy, completely transfixed as if he’s staring at a ghost.

  "Marcus," I whisper, my knuckles white as I grip the arms of my chair. This isn't the fearless, arrogant Marcus I know. Something is very, very wrong.

  "FIGHT!" the announcer screams, scrambling out of the way.

  Honey Havoc begins to circle him like a apex predator, her eyes glowing with savage intent. She’s smaller than Marcus, but her frame is a dense knot of powerful muscle, her movements fluid and dangerously precise. She wears a mischievous, sharp-toothed grin, as if she can taste his fear and is savoring every drop.

  "Fresh meat," she taunts, her voice a low, gravelly growl as she flicks her tongue out. "Let’s see if you can handle a few bites, boy."

  Marcus remains frozen. It looks like his own terror has him held captive.

  Honey Havoc lunges. Her claws are extended, her teeth bared in a snarl as she closes the distance. Marcus shudders, but suddenly his body moves, not in a strike, but an instinctive, forward surge. He catches her mid-air, sweeping her off the ground and pulling her into his chest.

  The shock of him lifting her isn't the biggest surprise. It’s what he bellows next.

  "You are so cute and cuddly!" he shouts, squeezing his opponent in a crushing hug.

  The crowd erupts into a mix of confused laughter and applause, blindsided by this sudden display of tenderness. Honey Havoc looks utterly bewildered, her eyes wide with shock. She tries to writhe free, but Marcus holds her fast, his eyes shining with genuine affection.

  Her counter-attack is immediate and brutal.

  "Rrrrrrrr!" With a furious snarl, she sinks her razor-sharp teeth deep into Marcus’s shoulder.

  "SHIIIIIIIIT!" Marcus screams, the pain ripping through him like a jagged blade.

  Panic and reflex take over. With a violent heave, he slams Honey Havoc into the floor.

  THUD!

  Before she can even think about recovering, Marcus brings his foot down. He stamps on her, pinning her to the mat like a common cockroach.

  The arena falls deathly silent, stunned by the sudden turn toward brutality. The anthro lies motionless on the floor, and an uncomfortable chill settles over the room as everyone fears the worst. Marcus’s eyes widen as the haze clears and the weight of what he’s done sinks in. He stumbles back, lifting his foot. He drops to his knees, hands shaking as he reaches for her wrist to check for a pulse.

  The entire room holds its breath.

  "She’s alive!" Marcus shouts, his voice echoing off the concrete.

  A collective sigh of relief sweeps through the stands, and Marcus lets out a shaky, relieved laugh.

  "Now, as per the rules," the announcer calls out, "the winner may humiliate the loser however he wishes!"

  Marcus looks down at Honey Havoc, his brow furrowed in confusion. He shakes his head, trying to refocus. "Can I... sit her on my lap and brush her hair?"

  "U-uh," the lemming stammers, her eyes bugging out. "I mean... yes. That’s allowed."

  Marcus pauses, his gaze shifting between his fallen opponent and the expectant crowd. He seems to be weighing the option. Then, his expression hardens.

  "No," he says, his voice firm and final. "I’m not doing anything to her."

  Surprised murmurs ripple through the crowd.

  "Any particular reason?" the lemming asks, genuinely curious.

  "What kind of scumbag motherfucker humiliates an unconscious person in public?" Marcus asks indignantly. "That sounds like some anime villain shit. No, worse. That's some hentai villain shit."

  A smile spreads across my face, and I feel a sudden, overwhelming surge of pride. Marcus has just proven that beneath that vulgar shirt and the bravado, he has the honor of a true hero.

  "I... don’t really know how to answer that," the presenter admits. "Can we move to the next fight?" Marcus asks, clapping his hands together.

  The lemming looks uncertain, clearly wanting to question the wisdom of continuing with a bleeding shoulder. But strangely, the wound is already closed, the only remnant being a small, fading smear of blood. Shrugging, she returns to her hype-man duties.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for the most powerful force to ever enter the ring! She is a living legend, a powerhouse on a mission to dominate! Make way for the indomitable, the unstoppable... BULLDOZER!"

  The ground beneath my feet begins to vibrate, sending a chill straight up my spine. The arena entrance turns into a wall of shadow before an imposing, massive figure emerges. Bulldozer, a gargantuan anthro rhinoceros, lumbers toward the center of the octagon.

  "No," I murmur, the fear returning tenfold.

  She is colossal. Her rough, slate-gray skin gleams under the spotlights, and her muscles look as though they were hewn from solid granite. Every step she takes makes the floor shudder. Her presence is so suffocating it feels like she’s sucking the oxygen right out of the room. Her small, piercing eyes lock onto Marcus with a terrifying, singular intensity.

  [Image]

  Marcus, still rooted in the center of the arena, looks almost tiny compared to the monstrous, tectonic scale of his opponent. But despite the titanic difference in their sizes, he’s wearing a voracious, hungry grin.

  "Other than the faint scent of Havoc lingering on you, you’re as good as new," Bulldozer mutters, her tongue darting out to lick her lips lasciviously. "I’m going to love getting you dirty in front of everyone."

  "No fucking way, you skinny Lizzo," Marcus growls, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms with casual defiance.

  "FIGHT!"