Chapter 83 Excellent.

Chapter 83: 83 Excellent.

I straightened in my chair as the heavy sound of boots approached, the two thugs from the corners moving in my direction. "Oh?" I said, glancing back at them. "Wouldn’t recommend that."

"Hrrk!!!" Arman clawed at his throat, desperately dragging air into his lungs as he knocked the glass I’d made for him from the table. It shattered against the floor, liquor spreading across the rug. "Wha—" he forced out between breaths. "What did you do to me?"

"I did warn you about mixing those two. You’d think mobsters would have at least a passing knowledge of chemistry, but apparently not."

Arman slammed both fists against the desk, his voice coming out thinner than before. "You have a death wish?"

"No." I leaned back and crossed my legs. "I have leverage." I pointed toward his insides. "See that? It’ll keep burning you from the inside unless you change into metal. And if you do that, I’ll just compress you into a little block."

"Hrr..." He fought through the pain, trying desperately to keep himself composed, but I knew exactly how much it was hurting.

"So here’s the deal. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let you turn into metal without turning you into tinfoil."

For several seconds, Arman said nothing, seemingly hoping the pain would pass. It was the first time I’d ever seen diamond sweat. Eventually, though, he gave in.

"Fine."

His body shifted, the diamond giving way to metal as a long breath of smoke escaped through his mouth and nostrils.

He slumped in his chair, looking completely drained. "He came to me personally and asked for your head. Said you’d been interfering with his projects."

Ah. There it was.

I tilted my head toward the two stone-skinned thugs now standing behind my chair, both dressed in expensive suits. Then I looked back at Arman as a roar rose from the arena below, the fight apparently reaching its final moments. Somewhere beyond the glass, the referee’s countdown echoed through the speakers.

"I assume you turned him down."

Arman took several long breaths before finally looking at me. One metallic brow lifted with obvious effort. "Do you?"

"I do." My pulse hammered as I felt my powers building, the magnetic field around me responding. The metal fixtures in the room began to hum, along with the minerals in the display cases that carried even the faintest magnetic charge.

"I think you said no because you have an idea of how powerful I am. You didn’t want to find out whether you could actually take me here." I leaned back slightly. "That drink wasn’t my only advantage, by the way. I was just trying not to use this one."

I paused. "So let me ask you something. Do you know how many major support beams are holding up the Death Rumble?"

Arman tilted his head. "Hm?"

"Forty-seven. Then you’ve got wire mesh running through the concrete. An underground cave sitting beneath a ridiculously loud club was always going to have structural problems eventually."

I focused my power on the metal buried in the walls. "But what do you think happens when all of that metal suddenly starts shaking?"

The room began to vibrate.

The girders groaned as I made them hum, the sound running through the walls like a giant instrument being played from the inside. The two thugs stumbled behind me before catching themselves, both looking nervously toward the ceiling.

Arman didn’t move.

"Do you really believe I’d allow you to walk out of here alive after what you’ve just done?"

"You? Obviously not." I shrugged. "But am I worth sacrificing your entire operation over? Because once this place comes down, the BSA might decide it’s time to stop being so generous with the Rumbles."

"You’d kill hundreds of people in the audience."

I shrugged again. "I’m a villain."

"And you’d be buried with them when this place collapses."

"Probably. Wouldn’t be the first time." I leaned forward. "But what about you, Arman? Are you really willing to lose everything just for the chance at a little pocket change?"

Neither of us spoke. The vibration continued growing, the glass cases around the room beginning to rattle and chime.

Then came a sharp crack.

A fissure appeared across part of the ceiling.

Arman’s metallic face suddenly split into a dazzling smile. "Very good, Miles."

He waved his hand, dismissing the two thugs. "Very good indeed. I’m pleased to see you and I have such a thorough understanding of one another."

I smiled back.

Bastard.

If I’d shown even the slightest hesitation, those two goons would’ve crushed my skull like a melon. In the mob, you learned pretty quickly that crazy had to be answered with crazy.

"Let’s finish this quickly so you can get the hell out of my building. I do know the scientist." Arman reached for another cigar and lit it. "An excellent supplier of biological and mechanical enhancements. Quite a few of my fighters use his products to acquire powers."

That wasn’t exactly surprising. There was never a shortage of people willing to pay whatever it took to get powers. And plenty of actual villains who weren’t mad scientists themselves relied on super-arms dealers to upgrade their minions.

"So you do know him."

"I’ve done business with him before," Arman replied. "It’s practically unavoidable in my line of work, you understand. Although..." He paused thoughtfully. "He used to provide some rather impressive cybernetic enhancements as well."

He took another drag.

"Lately, however, the quality has declined considerably. Curious, wouldn’t you say?"

"I wouldn’t know."

Damn it. How much did Arman already know? Patty had entered some of her robots into the Death Rumble years ago, but there was no connection to Rhea. At least, none he should know about.

"But his monsters..." Arman mused. "Those remain top notch. Top notch indeed."

He leaned back. "I have little use for such creatures, naturally. My fighters are intelligent. Monsters have a rather unfortunate habit of ignoring the bell."

"But not always."

I already knew where this was going.

Fuck.

"Delirium’s been using the Nights to showcase his monsters, hasn’t he?"

Arman’s eyes glinted.

"A most interesting theory," he said smoothly. "Perhaps there’s a way for you to discover the answer yourself. Hm?"

Motherfucker.

I knew it.

This was exactly why I’d left the Death Rumble. Arman had been trying to get me into Night fights long before I’d finally walked away.

"Fine." I pushed myself out of the chair. "One fight. But I won’t be going in as Polaris, and I’m not fighting any humans or humanoids. Put me against a robot or something."

"Hardly a fair fight considering your abilities."

"I don’t remember asking for one." I sighed. "But fine. A monster, then. Whatever. You’ll get your damn fight."

Arman laughed as he rose from his chair, once again towering over me at a solid two meters tall. "I will see it arranged. I’m glad we could reach an agreement, Miles."

He extended his hand.

Every instinct I had told me to grab him by those expensive metal buttons and throw him straight through the window, but I ignored them and shook it.

He didn’t squeeze my hand or try any other petty power-play bullshit. It was just a handshake, but one that carried more weight than most contracts ever could.

Unless, of course, the contract happened to be signed in blood.

"Excellent," Arman said. "Come to Pier Seven tomorrow night. I’ll arrange everything. Now get the hell out of my office."

Wonderful.

Perfect.

Nothing like spending an evening in a death match against some mad scientist’s pet monster.

I suppressed a sigh.

Looked like it was going to be one of those days.