Taj waited.

He was next and was ready. He had signed up for a bonus fight. Extra money, double the usual amount, if he could immobilize not only a regular Crystaler but also something special. 

“… Something special,” Taj said to himself. 

He knew what it was about from the circulating stories among fighters like him. He was also aware of how problematic the situation was—morally. But he needed the money. He had to pay off the debt. 

Taj could hear that the crowd was excited from behind the wall. They were shouting his name. Unfortunately, they liked him. He understood why. O, Taj knew he was heating up the crowd. 

Certainly not because he was an academic. No. And certainly not because he fought well. Neither.

The most money was paid not for a good and clean fight, but when the fighter excited the crowd enough. 

The crowd was drawn to him because he looked attractive. Taj didn’t like it, but it was what it was. He looked pretty. He was a man, but he looked like a pretty girl… and there was his ponytail.

Many asked him why he wore his hair long and tied in a ponytail. That, if it weren’t for that, he would look less attractive, less feminine too. O, no. No. Taj had tried. For how many years? Since he was twelve? He wasn’t sure of his exact birthday. Cartel estimated it, but even they weren’t sure… had he really been trying for twenty years?

Taj suddenly had a thought and shuddered, deep down. 

“How old am I? What have I achieved? Nothing, no?”

For a moment, sadness took hold of him. He had these thoughts more often recently. But then, as usual, anger appeared, and Taj had to stop himself from clenching his fist. He had someone to be angry with. 

Cartels and the Clar family. Why? Reasons were easy. 

… But his ponytail. Taj tried every combination, and it was only worse. He looked even more like a beautiful woman. Or, like a model on fancy lingerie posters. In the City, both paths would have been even more problematic.

Soon it would be his arena’s fight time. 

Shortly, a few minutes.

Cartel, the one into which Taj was sold. The one that destroyed his Ability path and forced an artificial energy Crystal. Taj was perceived as talented in both areas, science and fighting. 

Science was more important. After the Disruption, few people were left, and fewer were into science. This was why the boss allowed him to study. Taj had always dreamed of working at TU University. But for a cartel boy? That was impossible. Not to mention that his main dream was to cultivate Ability, natural energy, and join the Sect. This was not to be achieved as well.

Thanks to whom? Cartel. But more to the Clar family. The one that invented artificial energy. They produced the best Crystals and sold them cheaply to cartels so they could use talented kids with Ability as their puppets. 

“Thank you, Clar. O, thank you.” Taj said, in his thoughts, bitterly. 

Thinking about it all made him feel angry. 

He looked around, full of sudden rage.

It was his turn. Taj entered the arena. 

The crowd was thick and cheering. He shut himself off from it and looked around again.

The first opponent, Crystaler. 

They always underestimated him. Why? Because of his face? Did a pretty face mean his skills declined by fifty percent? Amazing. Taj aroused his Crystal and prepared himself.

 
Crystaler charged, using his bulk as a weapon. 

Taj waited and let himself be knocked down. It would be painful, but in this way, his opponents usually underestimated him even more. Taj also morphed a thin dagger into his hand. 

He managed to hide it all the time, during the fights. He always pretended afterward that he had brought a dagger with him, not that he was a morpher. 

There weren’t many morphers. 

The arenas—here, everything was allowed, except killing. The fighters healed immediately after the fight, and also during it, if they still had Crystal attached and working… and that was what Taj was aiming for. Crystal.

Before they even touched the ground, Taj hit his opponent’s Crystal, digging it in and cutting along the edge. As if he wanted to perform surgery and, like a surgeon, cut it out of the body. 

Crystaler started screaming.

… Then, someone new ran into the arena. The second opponent, the bonus.

Not someone. Something?

“That is a surprise,” Taj mumbled, trying to get out from under his first opponent, who was crushing him, in time to dodge. 

Dancing. 

Being a dancer helped so much in these fights. Dodges were like the most beautiful dance. 

Taj dodged, and only then did he notice it. What was trying to reach him was not a hand. Or rather, it was a strange one. So, it was the truth—what all were saying recently. Cartels were transforming people into something like this. The Deserts’ cartels, the third, and the fourth ones, were famous for these kinds of things. 

What evil.

Taj felt anger. So much anger. 

As he dodged another attack, his gaze locked onto its eyes. Blank, empty. But when his dagger struck, it flinched. It could feel.

How many fights would it be forced to endure? It was forbidden to kill here. 

This was worse than slavery.

Cartels had been catching people for years; everyone knew. Taj himself had been a victim. But now what? Had they started to change those they caught into something like this? Monsters, creatures—what were these forms? 

For what did cartels do it, to make more money from it? Terrible.

These thoughts quickly passed through his mind. Then an idea struck him. 

Taj tried to grab the clawed hand, managed for a second, and then, as he got closer, he had a chance to shout something. Taj wanted to check if this someone would answer.

What he did had an effect. He saw it in those eyes, as if the fog had dispersed for a moment. Taj heard one word, but it told everything. 

“Please.”

Taj decided. He knew what he needed to do. 

He changed tactics; he had to break the rules and kill; he had to save this transformed human.

Another dodge, then Taj caught the strange, clawed hand. He dodged the other, but he also caught it. He held both and had to avoid the teeth, or rather, fangs. Taj squeezed these hands in one of his own, and with the other, struggling, he morphed a bigger dagger by his finger and stuck it in the eye of this someone. Right into the brain.

... The body slid down on him to the ground. 

Taj looked around and harshly took a breath. 

… They announced that he would get a penalty for breaking the rules, with his earnings reduced by three-quarters. 

He let out air and took another breath. Then Taj bent down and closed the eyes for this someone. After this, he left the arena. As Taj walked to the changing room, more angry thoughts crowded his mind. 

“How much longer would I need to do it to pay off the debt? Life here is despicable. It is all about the money.”

Later, in the locker room, his thoughts drifted back. Earlier that day, only a few hours before. This boy. The one Taj teased a few weeks ago. What did he say today? His name was Riley? Riley.

Money.

Taj somehow hoped it would end earlier. Rowan said he was a regular student. This Riley, he laughed and tried to talk. He looked shy. A few times he tried, he acted politely; Taj ignored it.

Until today. What did this Riley say today? He said he had money. For what? What did he want to buy? 

“Me.” Taj said quietly.

Rowan also noticed it and tried to laugh it off. Taj couldn’t laugh. 

So many men, so many times, asked Taj to take their money. They asked about Taj’s rates per hour, for two hours, or per night. Just touching, no cuddling. How much for tasting him? Bottom, top? Once or twice, with bonuses available if more were bought upfront? These words, Taj didn’t make them up. 

These were real questions when he was walking on the streets, asked by random people. Not once. Not twice. 

Many, too many times. 

Again, like something to buy in a shop. ‘What a pretty face and body. I want it; here is my money. No, no need to pack it for me; I will use it right away.’ It was tiring. It was disgusting. 

The City was truly indecent. 

The moment Taj stopped being a child, the harassment began. Since the first talks of this kind, he himself decided. No feelings. No reactions. His body had been trained—conditioned—to show nothing.

Today, at first, Taj had a thought that he overreacted. Rowan commented on it that Riley said something stupid, and that would be all. Maybe. But Taj started to think it was quite odd and asked around. 

This Riley was not nice and shy. And he had money because, as Taj painfully learned, Riley paid people to get information on him.

Taj sighed. Another one who wanted to buy Taj’s body. But it would be as usual. This Riley should resign after a few more weeks. Not the first and not the last time.

… Lately, Taj had wondered if love was even possible for him. Real love, that wasn’t a transaction. No money was needed. Taj’s love would be for free. Then he thought again about his debt. 

“Our reality is difficult. Of the poor, the reality of the poor,” Taj muttered, stepping into the showers.