Dally would be beaten bloody in an hour, and happy about it. That was what he thought as he stepped out of the tunnel, swamped by a wave of cheers from the crowd. An acrid cloud of smoke hit him from a thousand cigarettes. The crowd swelled, ocean-like, pointing into the spotlight where Dally stood illuminated. The gold thread on his robe glowed. He grinned at them all, even while jogging to keep pace with Boss Yaral. When they reached the cage, Dally shrugged off his robe and stood, with outstretched arms, bathing in the love of the crowd. This was how gods felt, wrapped in smoke and light.
They weren’t here for him, though. Across the ring, a far louder cheer rattled the windows as it cascaded through the stands. The light panned across the cage, dropping Dally into darkness along with the crowd.
The other fighter wasn't scary looking, for a four-year champion. Like Dally, he didn’t have too much of the devil in this form. A sweetly human face was ruined only by grooves, to account for the snake-like stretch of his jaw, and yellow eyes. Those eyes were big, though, like a cow’s, and almost looked innocent. He was as clean-shaven and trim as the thralls on the war bond posters. Dally would have shaved like that, maybe, if someone spared him the blades.
The phonocast screeched the name Seth Greenlees; reigning champion of the western counties for the last five years. By now the crowd was standing. Even the magi in front, their seal earrings glittering as they craned their necks.
Seth was who they came to see. That was okay. Dally was looking at the champ too, trying to hide his awe behind gritted teeth. It was faker than usual, his dumb-mad-fighter expression. There was no way Dally could actually beat this guy, but getting ruined by him was an opportunity in itself; a leap above the small ring he’d come up from. If Dally looked good in the fight, he’d get better training and food, a chance to make something of himself. Maybe Seth would actually say something to him, like ‘that sucked less than I thought’.
He shook himself out of the fantasy - it was time to change. A shiver rippled the skin on Dally’s back, he stretched his neck forward to pop the spines loose. The nearest men in the poor seats were leaning away from him, staring up as bone and muscle crunched above them. These urmage labourer types probably thought a thrall would rip their heads off. That was part of their fun - sitting where he could reach and grab them. Dally fixed his eyes carefully on the cage. Looking at them was asking for trouble. They were scared enough with him standing there breathing steam, shaking the squirrelly feeling out of his limbs.
In the other corner, Seth was also done putting himself back together, already glowing with sweat. It was hot under the lights.
Dally had never seen him except in pictures. Now, he had to stare, because it was like looking at a better, more dangerous version of himself. Same razor-edged tail, a little too long and heavy. Both of them hunched slightly, with clawed hands hanging past their knees. Even with that hunch, Seth had a half-foot on him. His crest spines brushed the wire ceiling of the cage. He looked heavier than Dally too - maybe another fifty pounds of muscle, sliding under shark-slick skin. Thin, silvery scars glowed under the lights, criss-crossed by shadows from the chain-link cage. He had no real deformities, though, which made Dally briefly cross his arms over the mound of scar tissue under his ribs. Baby Seth hadn’t needed fixing, he came out just perfect.
The one thing Dally had on him was teeth. The champ’s were scarlet, but it was a lacquer, and chipped on the points from gnawing. Dally’s sprouted naturally red right from the black pits of his muzzle. They were lucky teeth.
Dally had held his hands out to be taped as he thought, but when he looked down, they were still bare. Yaral’s assistant trainer had a look on his face like Dally was stupid and snorted as he swung out of the corner. When Dally glanced at the other corner, he saw no-one was taping Seth either, hands or feet. With his feet unbound the ends of his scythe-claws arced just above the floor.
Dally stooped to speak to Yaral. His own voice sounded rough to him, too quiet.
“Am I missing something?”
“Dally… you thought you could stay out of blood matches forever?” Yaral clapped a fatherly hand on his back, avoiding the spines. “You just play the game best you can, alright? You’re a good boy. Good fighter. Okay?”
Dally’s breath rushed into his lungs. He couldn’t stop his eyes from blinking too fast. The lights were swelling above the cage, burning brighter and brighter. This was why it was a large crowd — the biggest show was on. They got to see the returning champ gut a second-tier nobody. Yaral was looking at Dally, waiting.
“Sure, boss,” Dally said.
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