[Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]

  "Stop moving!" the rhinoceros woman bellows, her massive frame lunging forward as she tries to impale me on that wicked horn.

  I take a single step to the left, pivoting with ease. I let the Anthro barrel past me like a runaway train with its brakes cut.

  POCK!

  The heavy, dull thud of her face meeting the dirt triggers a literal explosion of laughter from the stands. The crowd is loving this shit, I’m just exhausted.

  This wasn't a fight she wanted, and it certainly wasn't one I wanted either, I think, my breath coming in ragged hitches as cold sweat sticks my shirt to my back. Even with my blessings suppressed, it’s a goddamn struggle to keep from accidentally blowing her head off with a single punch.

  [BLESSINGS]

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  God's Blessings: {OFF}

  Elemental Blessings: {OFF}

  Mortals Blessings: {OFF}

  Lovers Blessings: {OFF}

  [BLESSINGS]

  Next time, I’ll just curse myself or chug one of those hydra poisons I’ve been saving, I muse. Anything to make a fight actually exciting.

  "PAY ATTENTION, YOU CUCARACHA COCKROACH!" Bulldozer bellows, hauling herself back to her feet.

  The crowd erupts into a roar as she charges again, her massive frame literal-shaking the arena floor. I slide to the side, the tip of her horn missing me by a hair’s breadth.

  "’Cucaracha’ means cockroach in Spanish, you know," I remark, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "A bit redundant."

  "Fuck that noise!" she grunts, tensing her pillars for legs. "You shit Mexican!"

  Furious, she lunges forward in a desperate grab. I don't even break a sweat.

  "I'm not Mexican," I say, flashing a wicked little smile.

  As she closes the distance, I vault into the air. The armored giant barrels helplessly beneath me, hitting nothing but empty space.

  "I’m Brazilian," I add, landing softly and adopting a tone of mock indignation.

  Bulldozer shakes her head, spinning around to face me with a dazed expression. "Huh?" she mumbles, genuinely lost. Then, her face contorts as she points a massive gray finger at me. "Then you're doing cultural appropriation!"

  ...

  A cocktail of fury and hatred boils in my gut. For a split second, I want to stop playing nice, activate the blessings of the Gods of Chaos and Death, and end this. Instead, I take a slow, deep breath. Public humiliation is a much more satisfying sentence than a quick death.

  "First off, you dropped a racist comment less than a minute ago-"

  She cuts me off with a desperate punch. I drop into a classic Dark Souls somersault, rolling through the strike and leaving her blinking at the spot where I used to be.

  "Second, I respect the culture of the Luchadores," I continue, lecturing her. "They’re badass, and their aesthetic influenced some of my favorite superheroes from the 1960s onward."

  The rhino stares at me, jaw hanging open as if I’m speaking a forgotten tongue.

  "Wolverine’s first costume is basically a luchador outfit, and Spider-Man started out as a wrestler too," I explain didactically, like a professor explaining the basics to a particularly dim student.

  Bulldozer’s face twists into a mask of primal rage. Her eyes narrow into dangerous slits. She raises her tree-trunk arms, biceps and forearms bulging like steel cables under maximum tension. Her knuckles turn white, the very air seems to crackle around her.

  "You are dead meat," she growls, the guttural rumble echoing off the stadium walls.

  I watch with clinical curiosity. Every fiber of her being is coiled for this next blow. Her triceps flex, skin stretching dangerously thin over the muscle, veins pulsing with heat. She takes a massive breath, her chest expanding and back rippling like a mountain range. Then, with a deafening roar that shakes the arena's foundations, she brings it all down on my head.

  "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

  The sheer displacement of air vibrates before her fists. The crowd gasps, the tension thick enough to choke on.

  KAPOWW!

  The impact hits like a thunderclap. The ground beneath us groans and shatters, concrete sinking several centimeters. A thick shroud of dust and debris explodes into the air, swallowing the ring. The roar of the crowd is instantly smothered by the sound of the destruction, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

  As the dust slowly begins to settle, the aftermath is revealed. Bulldozer’s massive arms are still outstretched, her fists buried deep into the crater she’s created.

  Too bad for her, I’m standing exactly three inches in front of her face. Untouched. I hadn't even run, I’d just taken a small step.

  The crowd erupts. It’s a scene ripped straight out of a shonen manga, and they are losing their minds.

  Bulldozer, however, is a mask of pure horror. The rage has evaporated, replaced by a deep, hollow terror. She threw everything she had into that strike, and I dodged it with an ease that bordered on a middle finger. Her massive frame begins to tremble as the reality of her situation sinks in.

  "N-No... it can't be true," she stutters, her voice a fragile whisper.

  The confident, brutal fighter is gone, only a cornered animal remains. I stand there, posture completely relaxed, a small smile playing on my lips.

  "You're strong, Bulldozer," I say, my voice calm and steady. "But I am beyond strength."

  The screams of the fans drown out our voices for the cameras, only my opponent and the announcer can hear the truth. Bulldozer’s breath comes in ragged gasps, her eyes darting around for an exit that doesn't exist.

  She turns to bolt out of the ring, but her nerves are shot. She trips over her own feet and faceplants. The impact makes the floor shudder. She tries to scramble up, but her limbs are uncoordinated, paralyzed by fear.

  I take the opening and sit leisurely on top of her back. Her skin is rough and radiating heat, her muscles twitching under me. She freezes, eyes wide with panic.

  "Please... don't hurt me," she whimpers, barely audible over the noise.

  I stare at the back of her head, impassive. Silence is the only response she gets.

  Suddenly, the arena speakers crackle to life, the announcer's voice slicing through the chaos.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, what a fight! What a display of skill! But it appears our Bulldozer has reached her limit!"

  Bulldozer’s eyes flick toward the sound. She hadn't even realized the countdown had started. She’s too broken to care.

  "And the winner, through an incredible display of agility and strategy, is the Dragon Warrior!"

  The stadium explodes. I stand up, stepping off her prostrate form, and raise my hands to the lights. The roar of the fans is like a drug, fueling the adrenaline. I look down at Bulldozer, sprawled and defeated, but physically whole.

  Her pride is never going to recover from this, I think, stifling a mocking laugh.

  "What a night!" the announcer screams, waving to the stands. "But our challenger doesn't even look tired yet! Let’s have another hand for our winner!"

  I take a deep breath, letting the moment wash over me. This world is a trip, Anthros, tech, and gladiator pits.

  At least I'm having some fun, I think, waving back to the sea of faces.

  As the applause begins to taper off, I reach down and offer Bulldozer a hand. She looks up, stunned by the gesture. She hesitates, then takes it, letting me haul her bulk to her feet. The crowd cheers at the display of sportsmanship.

  "Good fight," I say with an encouraging smile. "Keep the shit-talking to a minimum and work on your technique instead of just brute force. You’ll get better."

  Bulldozer nods, a flicker of genuine respect in her eyes. "You are something special, human," she admits, her voice husky.

  "And we're headed for a short thirty-minute break!" the announcer interrupts. "But stay tuned, because we still have the final fight coming up!"

  A break? I wonder. Perfect. I need to take a piss and find something cold to drink.

  [Point of view: Edith]

  "If you want to see him before the final fight, his dressing room is at the end of the hallway on the left."

  With Madame Hún's words echoing in my mind, I push open the heavy door. I have to see Marcus. I have to make sure he’s actually okay after everything.

  But nothing could have prepared me for the scene waiting inside.

  "M-Ma-Marcus?!" I stammer, my voice failing me.

  Marcus is sprawled in an armchair. He’s taken off his mask, but he’s still in his wrestling trunks, his muscular body glistening with sweat and... oil?

  He’s surrounded by beautiful men, their bodies clad only in silk loincloths of every imaginable color. Their slender, delicate forms are smeared with oil, shimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights. They’re rubbing his shoulders, offering him water, and one is even holding a grape between his fingers, trying to force-feed it to Marcus, who is keeping his mouth clamped shut, scowling furiously.

  The scene is way too... 'exciting' for me. I freeze for a solid second, my brain short-circuiting.

  "Marcus?" I finally manage to squeak out once I regain my composure.

  He looks up, his eyes widening as they meet mine. Relief washes over his face, and he starts to smile immediately.

  "Edith... ARGH!"

  He tries to speak, but one of the servants seizes the opportunity. As soon as his mouth opens, the guy shoves the grape straight down his throat.

  Marcus coughs, hacking the grape back up, and bolts upright. His face is a deep, thunderous red.

  "ENOUGH!" he roars, startling the servants so badly they nearly jump out of their skins. "All you twinkies in silk thongs, get out! NOW!"

  The servants scramble for the exit, some of them actually sobbing like babies, leaving Marcus and me in a sudden, ringing silence. He collapses back into his chair with a heavy, exhausted sigh. I approach him cautiously, I’m still a little shell-shocked by the... 'unusual' display.

  "Marcus..." I whisper. "Are you alright?"

  He looks at me, his green eyes tired but relieved.

  "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just... not used to all this," he says, gesturing vaguely at the ridiculous luxury of the room. "Are all the men in this world like this?"

  I hesitate, grasping for the right words.

  "Most of them at least try to be... it’s pretty popular with the Anthros, I think," I reply, my tone uncertain. "But there are some who are more... like you. Rougher, cruder, and more... direct."

  Marcus nods, rubbing his temples as if a headache is blooming there. "I understand. It's just so damn different from what I'm used to."

  I step closer and place my hand over his, feeling a pang of genuine sympathy. "I can't imagine how hard this is for you. Coming from a world so different from ours, right after you’d finally gotten used to another one."

  He gives me a small, weary smile. "It's been a challenge, for sure. But Galbraza was much harder to adapt to than this."

  I return the smile, a warmth spreading through my chest. "When I have time, I’d love to hear more about this magical place you came from," I say, unable to hide my excitement.

  Marcus looks at me in surprise, but his smile turns cheerful.

  "Sure. If it's somewhere that serves red meat and beer, we can call it a date."

  His words hang in the air. I stare at him, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs.

  "Huh?" I stammer, completely blindsided. "D-da-date?" I feel a hot blush creeping up my neck and into my cheeks.

  Before I can wrap my head around his intentions, the door swings open. An imposing Anthro Gorilla marches in, her gaze locking onto Marcus.

  "Come on, hottie," she announces in a gravelly voice. "The fight starts in ten minutes."

  Marcus stands up, his relaxed expression snapping into one of grim seriousness.

  "I'm coming," he says, his voice firm and laced with confidence.

  The gorilla nods and ducks back out, the door clicking shut behind her. I watch Marcus as he pulls his mask back on, my mind racing a mile a minute.

  "Marcus," I start, my voice barely a whisper. "About what you said..."

  He turns to me, those piercing green eyes meeting mine through the eyeholes of the mask.

  "We'll talk about that later," he says, his tone gentle but immovable. "Right now, I need to tocar o terror."

  [Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]

  I step into the dimly lit hallway leading to the ring. The roar of the crowd echoes through the narrow passage, a symphony of raw anticipation and bloodlust.

  "Reminds me of my early days as a hero back at the coliseum," I mutter to myself.

  Despite the happy memory, a sudden weight settles in my heart as I think of the old friends and loves I left behind in Galbraza.

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  "That world could be a total bitch, but it was worth it when you had seven beautiful wives waiting for you," I murmur, letting out a dry laugh to drive away the lingering sadness and longing.

  The roar of the crowd grows louder with every step. I can feel the vibrations of their applause pulsing through the soles of my boots. Suddenly, the announcer's voice cuts through the noise like a blade.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the main event of the evening!"

  The crowd’s reaction is primal, a beast waiting to be fed.

  "Tonight, we witness the birth of a legend! A man capable of going toe-to-toe with Anthros! But will the strongest man in the world be a match for the greatest champion to ever step into this ring?"

  The audience responds with a deafening, unified scream.

  "You know him! You love him! Please welcome the one and only... the Dragon Warrior!"

  I walk through the curtain, my heart pounding as a fresh surge of energy fills me. The crowd erupts, and their frantic energy becomes my own. I take a moment to soak it all in, then decide to give these bastards a show they’ll never forget.

  I take a few steps back, testing the grip of the floor. With a deep breath, I launch myself forward, blurring into a series of cartwheels and somersaults like a goddamn circus performer, picking up speed with every rotation. When I hit the edge of the ring, I vault into the air, executing a perfect triple somersault.

  I land lightly on my feet, spin around, and throw my arms wide, flexing my muscles for the stands. My mask hides my face, but pride is written in every line of my posture. I’ll admit, I’m acting like a total show-off asshole, but the audience eats this shit up.

  My spotlight lasts until the announcer cuts in to introduce my opponent.

  "And now, ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for the reigning, undefeated champion! With fifty fights, fifty wins, and fifty knockouts, she is the epitome of strength, speed, and skill! Welcome the one and only... the unstoppable... Yami Kage!"

  The crowd goes into a literal frenzy. The cheers reverberate through the arena like a physical storm.

  "Yami Kage?" I mutter in the center of the ring. "That sounds like some edge-lord nickname a fourteen-year-old otaku would pick."

  "Shut it!" the lemming presenter hisses next to me, covering his microphone so the crowd doesn't hear.

  The arena falls into a sudden, heavy silence as the figure of Yami Kage appears. She’s a tigress clad in black ninja gear, walking toward the ring with deliberate, threatening steps. The tension in the air is palpable, the sickening calm before a hurricane hits. Her piercing orange eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that could melt steel. She looks powerful, deadly, and moves with the terrifying grace of a predator that’s never lost a hunt.

  [Image]

  With a terrifying grace, Yami Kage leaps into the ring. Her landing is completely inaudible, smooth as a shadow hitting the floor.

  "So, you are the Dragon Warrior-sama," she says, her voice a low, melodic growl that seems to vibrate through the entire arena. "Let’s see if you actually live up to the hype."

  She’s nothing like the other two I’ve faced. Honey Badger was a mindless engine of violence and blood, while Bulldozer was just a pathetic, sadistic bully. Yami, though... she feels like a true warrior. She reminds me of the legendary enemies I crossed blades with in my previous life.

  A wild idea flashes through my mind, and a wide, jagged smile spreads across my lips.

  "Are you actually going to fight me seriously?" I ask, genuine curiosity lacing my tone.

  Startled by the question, she raises an eyebrow but gives a firm, respectful nod.

  "Regardless of whether you are human or Anthro, you are an honorable warrior who stepped into this arena to give your best. I won't disrespect you. I will fight with everything I have."

  "And that’s exactly why..." I say, my smile widening as I pull one of my last doses of Hydra poison from my inventory. "You’re going to get the honorable fight you deserve."

  Both Yami and the announcer stare in shock at the bottle that just materialized out of thin air. But before they can get a word out to question me, I down the poison in a single gulp.

  [Hydra Poison Detected]

  With my blessings disabled, I am without protection against the toxin, allowing the poison to spread throughout my body without resistance.

  [Status Poisoned]

  The poison courses through my veins like liquid fire, searing every nerve and fiber of my being. My vision blurs into a fractured mess, and the roar of the crowd vanishes, replaced by a low, distant hum in my ears.

  "What did you do?" Yami Kage’s voice cuts through the haze of pain. Her eyes narrow, shifting from confusion to genuine concern. "Are you fucking crazy?"

  I can’t even respond. My jaw is clenched so tight it feels like my teeth might shatter, holding back the scream that’s clawing at my throat.

  With a final, desperate surge of willpower, I force myself to stand. My entire body shakes with the effort, every muscle screaming in protest against the toxic heat.

  [All class bonuses have been disabled.]

  [All stats bonuses have been disabled.]

  [All fate bonuses have been disabled.]

  Smiling, I explain exactly what I’m doing.

  "I’m giving you the fight you deserve," I manage to choke out, my voice a harsh, rasping whisper. "Hope I don't regret it." I raise my fists, forcing my trembling limbs into a fighting stance.

  The lemming referee steps forward, her stern gaze darting between us.

  "Fighters, take your positions!" Her voice is sharp, authoritative, slicing through the tension.

  I stagger forward, my muscles screaming in protest with every agonizing inch. Yami Kage, meanwhile, flows forward with the liquid grace of a predator, her eyes locked onto mine.

  "FIGHT!"

  The word has barely left the ref's mouth before Yami is on me. Her fist whistles through the air, aimed straight for my skull. I barely manage to cross my arms in a block, the force of the wind trailing her strike stinging my face.

  "You're fast," I grunt, a pained smile tugging at my lips. The white-hot agony in my arms actually helps me focus, it gives me something to fight against.

  "And you are a fool," she growls, her irritation palpable. "I saw your other matches. Why the hell would you drink poison to make yourself weak?"

  She pivots her entire body, launching a kick that comes in like a cannonball. I catch it on my forearm and shove it away, the impact making my bones shudder with a sickening ache.

  She doesn't let up. A storm of punches and kicks rains down on me. I block and dodge, every movement a desperate war against the pain pulsing through my body.

  "You are resilient," she says, a flicker of respect coloring her voice.

  "And you’re relentless," I huff, panting for air.

  The only reason I’m still standing is my sheer experience. I’ve lived through enough life-and-death shit to know how to suffer. Her next punch drives straight for my solar plexus, unable to dodge, I tighten my guard and take it head-on. The shockwave rattles my teeth, but I use the momentum to spring backward, creating some distance.

  Surprised by the move, Yami stops to analyze me.

  "Time to fight seriously," I murmur.

  I drop into a wide, stable base, bringing my fists to my sides. Her eyebrows shoot up, noticing the shift to a more orthodox style. I slide my left leg back and raise my hands, right hand forward, palms open.

  "No way," Yami breathes, her eyes widening. "You know Kung Fu?"

  I give her a sharp nod and a smile. The tigress can't help herself, she smiles back and lunges.

  Now, her movements are a blur of lethal precision. But my body is responding instinctively. I block her first punch with my forearm, rooted to the spot. Her second strike follows instantly, but I’m already slipping to the side, letting her fist pass millimeters from my nose.

  She’s a whirlwind, but I’m the mountain. I parry and deflect every move, my new stance absorbing the impact so the pain is barely a whisper compared to before. In a desperate bid to break my guard, Yami roars and spins for a heavy roundhouse.

  I step inside the arc, dodging the kick by half a millimeter. I’m suddenly at her back. I seize the opening and plant a kick squarely in her spine, sending her flying.

  Yami executes a perfect roll to kill the momentum, coming up on her feet and staring at me with piercing, intense eyes. The crowd is absolutely losing it.

  "Where the hell did you learn Wing Chun?" she growls, her voice low and dangerous.

  "I had a good teacher," I reply with a crooked smirk. "Master of a loooooooot of things, Wing Chun included."

  She tilts her head, never breaking eye contact. "He must have been a god to teach a human to fight like that."

  I shrug, a surge of pride warming my chest. "He was... but I’m a pretty dedicated student, too."

  She nods, a spark of genuine respect in her eyes. "Then let’s see how much you actually learned."

  The tone of her voice shifts. She opens her fists, revealing curved white claws that glint like daggers under the lights. The change catches me off guard, and my instincts scream at me to stay sharp. Up until now, she was a martial artist. Now, something primal and ancient is waking up in her.

  "What are you-?"

  My question dies in my throat as Yami pounces. She drops to all fours, moving with the terrifying agility of an apex predator.

  "Shit," I mutter, heart hammering.

  She’s no longer a person, she’s a wild beast. She charges, her movements erratic and unpredictable. With teeth bared, she lets out a guttural growl that vibrates through the floorboards.

  I dive out of the way of her first swipe, her claws shredding the air where my head was. She spins instantly, claws seeking meat. I block with my forearm and hiss as the sharp points furrow into my skin.

  "Fuck!" I snarl, blood beginning to slick my arm.

  She doesn't waste words. She strikes again, aiming for my face. I leap backward, but she anticipates it, spinning mid-air to deliver a brutal double-kick with her hind legs. I twist just enough to save my organs, but the blow catches my shoulder and sends me tumbling.

  I roll to disperse the force and spring up, my body aching, but the scent of my own blood has sharpened my mind to a razor edge. To my surprise, Yami pauses, licking the blood from her paws like a cat playing with a mouse.

  "Wing Chun is useless against someone with knives for nails," I complain, dropping the stance. "Honestly... without a shield or armor, a regular human is just cat food for a tiger."

  The wildness in her eyes flickers, replaced by a feline curiosity. She wants to see what I’ll do next? Fine. Let's see if curiosity really does kill the cat. Time to try something a bit more... national.

  I close my eyes and start to clap. 1, 2, 3; 1, 2, 3. I dictate the rhythm, a basic three-beat pulse. 1, 2, 3; 1, 2, 3.

  Confused, the audience falls into a hushed silence. My claps echo through the entire stadium. I open my eyes, turn to the stands, and bellow at the top of my lungs:

  "LET'S GO, GUYS! CLAP WITH ME!"

  A few people start, then a few more, and within seconds, the entire arena is a thunderous, rhythmic engine of sound. Yami stays back, her honor and curiosity keeping her from attacking while my back is turned.

  I give the crowd a grateful bow. "THANKS! KEEP IT UP AND I PROMISE I’LL WIN!"

  The clapping intensifies. I flash a grin, throw my left leg back, and start to sway. My arms and legs swap in a fluid, rhythmic motion, perfectly timed to the beat. It’s natural. It’s a dance.

  "Why are you dancing?" Yami calls out, looking utterly baffled.

  I laugh. "I’m not dancing. I’m jogando capoeira."

  She doesn't get it. She drops back to all fours and charges like a hungry lioness, leaping at me with everything bared.

  "Nope," I whisper.

  Yami hits the spot where I was standing a split second ago. Using the sway of the ginga, I launch into a cartwheel to the left, my body flowing with the beat. My movement is a continuous, confusing stream of motion that her predator instincts can't quite track.

  "Soooo?" I taunt, my body still swaying to the rhythm.

  Yami growls, her frustration mounting. She lunges again, her claws a blur, but I’m already gone, ducking, weaving, and spinning away. My defense is too foreign, too dynamic. The crowd’s energy is a physical force now, pushing me forward.

  She stops, panting, a new wariness in her eyes. She’s destabilized. She has no idea how to hit a target that moves like water.

  My turn.

  I explode forward in a series of cartwheels and pirouettes, closing the gap instantly. The audience roars. Yami tries to punch me out of the air, but I spin around her strike and plant a heavy kick right into her thigh.

  "Dammit!" she hisses, dropping to one knee.

  She tries to disembowel me with a retaliatory swipe while I’m low, but I somersault backward, staying perfectly in sync with the music of the crowd.

  "And now, for the big finale," I whisper.

  I launch myself upward. In mid-air, I feint a high flying strike. She bites, raising her guard to protect her head, but I tuck and roll, landing right beside her.

  The audience holds its breath. Total silence.

  From the ground, I spring up with every ounce of strength I have left, driving my foot straight into her face.

  CRACK.

  The impact is devastating. A boom echoes through the silent arena as my foot connects with her jaw. The shockwave travels all the way up my spine. Yami Kage is lifted off the ground, thrown backward like a rag doll.

  POF!

  She hits the dirt with a dull thud, a small cloud of dust rising around her. The arena stays silent, every eye fixed on the fallen champion.

  I stand there, gasping for air, my body a map of pain and exhaustion, but the adrenaline is a flood that keeps me upright.

  The silence is broken by the frantic tapping of the lemming referee’s feet. She rushes to the center of the ring and kneels by the tigress, checking for a pulse.

  "Is she...?" My voice is hoarse. I didn't actually want to kill her.

  The referee looks up. "She's alive. But she needs a medic. Now."

  I nod, the weight of the moment finally hitting me. The crowd begins to murmur, a low hum that quickly swells into a crashing wave of noise. The referee stands, grabs my bruised arm, and hoists it high.

  "THE CHAMPION OF THE NIGHT! THE STRONGEST MAN IN THE WORLD! THE DRAGON WARRIOR!"

  The applause is a storm. I raise my fists, a tired, bloody, but determined smile on my face. My muscles and bones are screaming, and my skin is a mess of cuts.

  Enough of that. I close my eyes and finally activate my blessings.

  [Hydra Poison Detected]

  [Hydra Poison Neutralized]

  With the Hydra venom neutralized, I feel my wounds knit together in seconds, the agonizing muscle tremors vanishing as if they were never there.

  I head straight for the dressing room, desperate for a shower and a change of clothes, but the massive Anthro Gorilla from before is already waiting for me. She doesn't ask, she commands me to follow her.

  Bitch didn't even let me change, I think, the frustration bubbling up.

  She leads me through a labyrinth of stone corridors, her heavy footsteps booming against the walls. I follow in silence, my muscles feeling fresh but my skin still caked in dried blood, sweat, and oil. I’m a sight to behold: boots, green trunks, a luchador mask, and absolutely nothing else.

  Finally, we emerge into the garden where this whole mess started. The tea table is set exactly as before, the scent of jasmine and green tea hanging heavy in the air. My system doesn't detect any hidden threats this time, just the two of them.

  Madame Hún is seated, wearing a smile that’s way too wide for a woman who just lost a fortune on a bet. Beside her sits Edith. Her eyes are red and puffy, and pure terror is written across her face.

  "Edith, what happened?" I ask, my voice gravelly with concern.

  She doesn't answer. Her hands shake as she keeps her eyes glued to Madame Hún. The old tigress turns to me, her eyes gleaming with a manic, unsettling joy.

  "Ah, the great Dragon Warrior honors us," she says, her voice polished and sweet, yet carrying an edge that makes my skin crawl. "Your performance was beyond magnificent. A triumphant spectacle. I dare say no empress of the ancient kingdoms has ever had the pleasure of witnessing such a thing."

  She’s laying the praise on thick, but I’m not biting.

  "Why are you so damn happy?" I demand.

  Madame Hún lets out a melodious laugh that feels completely wrong given the tension in the air. "Ah, my dear, any mother would be overjoyed on her daughter’s engagement day."

  The words hang there, cold and heavy. I look at Edith, who looks like she’s about to faint, then back at the tigress.

  "Engagement?" I repeat, the word tasting bitter. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  Madame Hún stands, her presence filling the garden despite her age. "You triumphed in all three fights. As promised, I am granting everything I owed you."

  The gorilla drops three thick folders onto the table. Before I can get a word in, the Madam continues.

  "In here, you’ll find the contact for your gold sales, the identification documents you requested, and the proof that Miss Edith’s debts have been completely erased."

  My eyes widen. I’m genuinely shocked at the speed of it all. How deep does this mafia bitch’s influence actually go? It’s almost intimidating.

  "And of course, my most prized possession," she declares solemnly. "The Flaming Prism. My beloved fire opal... Shì HǔPò."

  "I don't believe it," I murmur.

  "My daughter," she adds. "Though I believe you know her as... Yami Kage."

  ...

  "You know what..." I say, stepping toward the tigress as she calmly sips her tea. "I really don't like being manipulated."

  The threat in my voice is palpable. Madame Hún just raises a curious eyebrow, but her gorilla bodyguard isn't nearly as chill.

  "Listen here, you stupid human," the gorilla growls, slamming a heavy hand onto my shoulder. "I think it’s best you-. ARGH!"

  Before she can finish the threat, I seize her hand and twist her arm into an angle God never intended. The simian howls in pure agony.

  "Let go of her, foolish boy," the old tigress snaps, though she doesn't bother standing up.

  I whirl on her, eyes locking onto her orange gaze. "Why should I obey you? You think I’m afraid of you?"

  The tigress smiles, as if she’s been waiting for me to ask.

  "You have no records, no identity, no family. You have resources that shouldn't exist and a power that defies logic," she says, as if she’s reading a grocery list. "I’d be an idiot to think you’re afraid of me. But..."

  She turns that predatory smile toward Edith. She licks her lips slowly, staring at the rabbit Anthro until I release the gorilla and shove my way between them.

  "The people you care for have jobs, families, legacies... weaknesses I can exploit," she purrs, a guttural laugh vibrating in her throat.

  Something dark and ancient bubbles up inside me, a vile, icy fury that I haven't let out in a long time.

  "If you touch her," I begin, my voice dropping to a deadly, frozen whisper, "I swear I will destroy every single thing you have ever built. And I will make you watch it all burn, without arms, without legs, and without pupils, so you don't miss a goddamn second of it."

  It’s been an eternity since I’ve let this side of me show. To my absolute surprise, the tigress beams at me with pride.

  "Perfect!" she exclaims, standing up and opening her arms. "I have never been so satisfied in my entire life!"

  Before I can react, she pulls me into a hug.

  "The strength of a monster and the heart of a warrior," the old woman murmurs emotionally. "Not only do I promise to do you no harm, but from now on, whatever you need, you come to me. You come to your mother."

  The way she says "son" is disturbingly affectionate. It makes my skin itch.

  "Right..." I mutter, feeling incredibly awkward. "How about we talk more about this... some other day?"

  She lets me go, her eyes still misty. "You’re right. It’s been a long day, and HǔPò needs time to recover from her match as well."

  I don't wait for a second invitation. I scoop Edith up in my arms.

  "Belezademoravaleutchaufui!" I bark in Portuguese, not even realizing I’ve switched languages as I bolt from the room with the bunny in my arms.

  After a few minutes of sprinting, Edith shakes off her stupor and starts kicking.

  "Marcus, let me go!" she protests, hitting me with the most adorable, ineffective punches I’ve seen in three lifetimes. "I can walk!"

  "This is faster," I grunt, refusing to drop her. "I know I’m a sweaty mess, but just hang on."

  She goes quiet, finally relenting and burying her face against my chest. Good girl.

  Sniff. Sniff.

  Wait. Is she smelling me?

  Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiff! The rabbit is inhaling like she’s in a trance. Jesus! I think. She looks like a Wall Street broker face-down in a pile of white powder.

  "Aaaaaaah," she sighs, her entire body going limp in my arms.

  I need to distract her. Fast.

  "So, where are we eating?"

  The question snaps her out of it. She blushes a deep crimson and looks away in total embarrassment.

  "You wanted meat and beer, right?" she asks quietly. "It’s late, so I think only the Hooters around here is still open. They have both."

  I slam on the brakes and set her down. "You guys have Hooters here?"

  She nods, looking surprised by my sudden enthusiasm. A chance to see the different species of this world in tops and shorts? Count me in.

  "Can we go?" I ask, genuinely excited.

  "Of course. It’s two blocks from the laundromat."

  I memorize the directions and quickly swap my clothes using my inventory. I still smell like a locker room, but at least I look presentable. As we emerge from the underground laundry, I march toward the promised land.

  From a distance, I see some skinny human girls out front. They have that delicate, lolita-style anime look. They’re waving at Anthro girls walking by, but they seem to completely ignore the guys.

  "That's weird," I mutter. "Why are they ignoring half the customers?"

  "Most men don't really like this... type of establishment," Edith says, her voice sounding a bit strained.

  As we get close enough to actually read the sign, the realization hits me like a freight train.

  "Son of a-."

  "Welcome to Femboy Hooters!" chirps a happy, incredibly effeminate voice from the host stand. "Table for two?"

  [Image]

  "Shit…" I mumble in frustration.