Chapter 90 Shit.

Chapter 90: 90 Shit.

I turned my attention back to the towering hell-lord. "Tell me something. Are you familiar with a guy named Delirium?"

"The dealer of arms? Oh, a mortal of grace! He brings such sweet joy to the whole human race!" Belial boomed, a wisp of smoke curling from his lips before his collar delivered a violent crack of electricity. "Such lovely sweet joy to the whole human race! He crafts brilliant weapons to shatter your bones, I just wish he’d use them to empty your thrones!"

"Empty our thrones?" Psyren asked, tilting her head at the massive demon.

"To bring your sweet species a glorious end! / A noble pursuit for a... BZZT... wonderful friend! A wonderful friend!" the demon grunted, rubbing his thick, red neck as the magical reprimand faded. "But fear not, dear monkeys, you’ll see him quite soon, Before the blood spills by the light of the moon!"

"Why do you keep doing that?" I asked, watching the ozone smoke drift from his thick neck. "If you know running your mouth is just going to fry you, why not just shut up?"

A terrifying, jagged smile stretched across the demon’s crimson face. "I welcome the agony, savor the burn, For I know that my summoner soon gets his turn! When this collar falls off and my magic is freed, I’ll rip off his head and I’ll—BZZT—do a good deed! A wonderful deed! For ten times the torture I suffer today, Is the beautiful price that the bastard will—ZAP—pay! That the gentleman pays!"

After that I really didn’t question the zaps anymore. "You think he’s gonna be here?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yes," Belial bellowed, raising a massive, clawed hand to point across the chaotic floor. "He approaches right now with a smile and a cheer, / To lead you to slaughter, my ZAP... wonderful peer!"

I turned to see what could only be one of the arena’s floor announcers weaving through the crowd toward us.

He had the sleazy, high-energy aura of a guy who’d try to sell you a defective monorail or pitch a pyramid scheme at a funeral.

A massive, gap-toothed smile dominated his face, failing to distract from the deep wrinkles framing his eyes and the badly dyed, greying hair slicked back against his scalp.

His oversized, flashy business suit practically screamed ’cheap showman,’ marking him as a veteran of this underground meat-market.

"Hey, hey! There he is, the big man of the hour! You must be the Skull Crusher," the announcer declared, clapping his hands together like we were old friends.

I guess Arman had taken the liberty of naming me himself.

This was exactly why I preferred going freelance; whenever you let some corporate middleman or crime boss pick your hero or villain name, they inevitably fucked it up.

"That’s me," I replied dryly. "Apparently."

"Apparently! Ha ha! I love this guy, what a card! Of course it’s you, and it’s just fantastic to have you here," the announcer practically chirped, leaning in conspiratorially. "I gotta tell ya, it hasn’t been easy finding suckers—er, I mean, willing volunteers—to go toe-to-toe with Delirium’s custom creations."

My eyebrows shot up. "Wait. I’m fighting Delirium’s creature?"

"You didn’t know? Aw shucks, that’s a damn shame, a real shame! I thought for sure someone woulda briefed you. How incredibly unfortunate," the announcer sighed, flashing a greasy smile that clearly suggested the only unfortunate thing would be if I died too quickly to entertain the VIPs. "Oh well, so it goes! I’m sure an impressive super like yourself can handle whatever comes out of that gate. Right?"

I glanced past him into a nearby ring, where a couple of exhausted men in rubber boots were still busy hosing chunks of gore and splintered bone from the canvas.

"Yeah. Sure," I said, shifting my gaze back to the smarmy pitchman. "But, just for argument’s sake, what would happen if I decided to back out of the fight right now?"

"Well, the beasts can always use more food," he replied without missing a single beat, his smile never wavering.

Charming. "Alright," I sighed. "Lead the way."

"That’s the spirit! Right this way, champ!"

We followed the gap-toothed pitchman deeper into the ship’s cavernous hold, navigating the throng of bloodthirsty spectators until we reached one of the primary combat pits.

It was a massive, sunken arena enclosed by a heavy dome of reinforced steel grating, the air around it thick with the nauseating stench of, well, everything.

An access gate was built into our side of the cage, leading to a set of iron rungs that dropped directly down to the blood-stained floor, while directly across the pit stood a heavy blast door rattling violently on its hinges from whatever was snarling behind it.

A sizable crowd had already gathered around the perimeter, their interest perking up the moment they saw me approaching.

I scanned the mob intently, hoping to catch a glimpse of Delirium, but had no luck—which didn’t mean much given how many edgy idiots were walking around in hooded cloaks.

Seriously, hoods? It was probably the most conspicuous thing you could wear in a modern crowd, the kind of amateur disguise favored by people who learned the art of infiltration from bad fantasy novels.

"Here we are!" the announcer declared, dramatically swinging open the cage’s iron gate. "Have a real good match in there. And once more, we at the Nights would like to formally thank you for volunteering yourself for our event. We sure hope you have a great time!"

"Yeah, whatever," I muttered, turning back to Glacia and Psyren before I made the drop. "Keep your eyes peeled. See if you can spot Delirium lingering around here," I murmured to them.

"We will, sir," Glacia promised, her icy gaze already sweeping the surrounding faces.

"Fuck ’em up, boss!" Psyren cheered, throwing up a fist.

I gave the pair a brief, reassuring wave before turning back to the open gate.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the gates, grabbed the iron rungs, and descended into the pit.

Hmm.

They were strange, localized abrasions scarring the arena floor, looking as though something highly acidic had half-melted the solid rock.

I reached back and pulled out the heavy sledgehammer I’d brought along, hefting the weapon to test its balance.

I’d much prefer not to use my actual magnetic powers down here if I could avoid it.

There was absolutely no sense in publicly broadcasting my true identity, nor did I want to give anyone further data on exactly how strong I was.

And above all else, I had zero intention of giving Arman the spectacular show he wanted. Because fuck that guy.

I rolled the sledgehammer lazily in my grip, feeling the comforting heft of the metal as I faced the dented blast door on the opposite side of the arena.

Through the narrow ventilation gaps in the steel, a pair of beady, jaundiced yellow eyes glared back at me.

I subtly cast my senses forward, trying to get a read on whatever I was dealing with, but I didn’t feel a single trace of cybernetic metal or augmentations inside the creature.

There was a fair amount of iron pumping through its bloodstream, but that wasn’t going to do me much good in a straight brawl.

"Welcome once more, ladies and gentlemen, to another night of glorious combat and dark delights!" the announcer’s voice boomed, the massive overhead speakers slamming his amplified words down into the pit. "We have yet another champion from the Death Rumble come to show us his brutal moves. He took on and beat the mighty Gorrilax, and now he’s here to see if he can do even more damage. Give it up for the Skull Crusher!"

A wave of polite, scattered applause drifted down from the spectators gathered around the dome, though it was glaringly obvious the smart money wasn’t backing my survival tonight.

Still, I raised a hand and gave them a lazy, sarcastic wave.

"And his opponent! A brand new, terrifying creation crafted specifically for our discerning crowd," the announcer continued, his voice dropping an octave and vibrating with theatrical intensity. "The Night Ring is exceptionally proud to present for you... the Throgg!"

The heavy metal bars of the opposing gate rose with a deafening, mechanical clatter.

Instantly, the hulking resident of the cage lunged out from the darkness, skidding violently into the harsh glare of the floodlights, and fucking hell, it was one ugly son of a bitch.