“Of course, they fucking lied to you!” Padromo raged, throwing whatever items he could grab lying around on his desk. He’d already shattered two porcelain cups and the sheets of documents he’d hurled away pooled next to his feet. His breathing was rapid, overlapping some of his words.


    “Sir, we couldn’t take the risk. They had a hostage with them,” one of the soldiers explained.


    “A hostage? Do you know what happened to her?” Padromo stood up. “Her body parts were found scattered all over 4^th Avenue!”


    The news of the break-in had hit them early in the morning and the governor had woken up to a very unpleasant day, hurrying to his administration facility. He imagined the outcome of the same situation if it had happened there, and his anger heightened. It showed incompetence and it was a direct insult to his governing capabilities—his own son’s attack against him.


    “They threatened to blow the entire place up, if only we knew…” the soldier continued.


    “If only you knew! A child would’ve called their bluff! Did you really think they had the time to plant all of those explosives before you made it there?” Padromo paced around the room. His tone was getting louder with each step he took. “How many casualties?” he asked.


    “Not too many, sir. They’ve only been to the first and last floor,” the soldier paused. “Oh, and the middle section. Everyone in there has been killed except one guy.”


    “Have you figured out why?” Padromo asked.


    “Well, we have actually, sir.”


    “Then spit it out! We’re wasting precious time here!” The governor yelled out, pacing faster.


    “They told him to deliver a message. That’s why they spared his life.”


    “What’s the fucking message and who are “they”?” His patience was running thin.


    “They call themselves “The Resistance”, but the worker said it was a guy named Troy who told him to deliver the message. According to his words, this Troy guy is here to stay for good. Whatever that means…” the soldier finished.


    Padromo’s blood ran cold at the mention of his son’s name. Was it possible that he’d made it out of Nexum-0 that fast? Had he dared to infiltrate one of his father’s facilities right upon arrival? The governor had stopped walking around and almost stuttered in his rushed attempt to reply.


    “H-have they seen his face? Something to identify him by?”


    “No, sir. There were only three of them and they all wore helmets. I’ve gotten reports back from our voice analyzers and nothing matches. I’m afraid we don’t know who they are yet.”


    “Have there been any other attacks?” Padromo asked.


    “No, sir. We’ve increased the security measures in all the major facilities and ordered more air patrols to roam around the city, as you requested.” The poor worker’s eyes were darting all over the room. They had all felt the governor’s fury before.


    “A second attack must never happen!” Padromo said. “I want eyes on every little fucking corner of the city! I don’t care how many men or shifts it takes! You will all work overtime if you goddamn have to!” He stomped.


    “Yes, sir. We’re on it!” The soldiers bowed their heads.


    Padromo dismissed them with a wave of his hand and stood flabbergasted in the middle of the office. His son had made it out of that hellhole after all. Two years had passed by since he’d banished his son from the planet, ordering his transfer to the Medusa. The governor couldn’t wrap his mind around it. How had Troy survived one of the most unjust and violent prisons in the galaxy? He always knew that the boy had skills and inherited his sharp wit, but still, he was never supposed to leave the place alive. Not only that, but the little revolutionary had also managed to form his own group, keen to destroy the governor. Damn fools! Padromo thought.


    He had expected something of similar nature to occur during his leadership. Padromo wasn’t na?ve. What hurt him most was that the betrayal came from his own blood, his own bones and flesh he had ensured a life to. He knew it was a weakness. As much as he was callous and calculated, he failed to terminate the emotions that took over him at the notion of his son coming for him. Defying his father’s leadership and resolve. A disgrace.


    He tried to remember their last conversation before his departure. He recalled the day he had found out that Troy was conspiring to take over his father’s position. The boy had gathered all the officials who were against Padromo and got in bed with them behind his back. How stupid I must’ve looked back then! Coiling around with those weasels, my own fucking son! He thought.


    Their relationship had always been rocky, even when Troy was a kid. His absence due to his duties and the long periods of him not being home, had greatly affected their relationship. And when Troy had reached the age where he was capable of taking care of himself, he lashed out at his father at any given opportunity. Their arguments would grow into dreadful fights, and more often than not they would find themselves resenting each other. The whole Julius family had been concerned about the consequences of such conflict among them, and their advice to Padromo had been to separate himself from his son. Let him mature, then reason with the boy. What a grave mistake that had been, Padromo knew.


    A bitter taste had formed in Padromo’s mouth and the dialogue with his son opened its way into his mind like pieces of a puzzle settling in place. Bits of conversation and yelled out lines revealed themselves, lighting pathways to older memories that Padromo had fought to erase.


    “Why’d you summon me? You’re going to bore me with one of those pointless lectures about what it takes to be a leader again, aren’t you?” Troy asked, arms crossed on his chest.


    “Pointless? Have you any idea what it takes to rule over an entire galaxy, you brat?” Padromo replied, his forehead vein was pulsating.


    “Yes, fearmongering and squeezing the foreign funds seems to be working out quite well for you. I’m impressed.”


    “You dare to insult me in my own headquarters? And to think you were supposed to inherit my place!” The governor raged, tinkering with the valve in his throat while trying to regain his composure.


    “Supposed to?” Troy laughed. “Your time is coming to an end, Father. You’ve turned into an old fool, and the only one who hasn’t noticed seems to be you!”


    “Oh, is that so? You know what I’ve actually noticed? How you’ve betrayed me! You think I wouldn’t find out that you’re scheming against me?”


    “Huh, you aren’t so stupid after all… and you’ve found out. So what? You think you can stop me with all these leeches around you? They are feigning for an opportunity to strike you down, and I’ll be the one to deliver the last blow.”  Troy found the moment to be sickly sweet.


    “How brave you have gotten, son.”  Padromo shook his head. “Too bad you won’t be here to finalize your plan.”


    “What?” Troy asked, suddenly aware of his father’s soldiers surrounding him.


    “You’re going away, son. One of your co-conspirators has ratted you out. Isn’t that ironic?” The governor laughed. He was amused by the whole ordeal and the tiniest note of pride for his son bubbled inside him. Troy at least had the guts to stand in front of him like a man.


    “What? You think these pitiful excuses for soldiers will be able to stop me?”  Troy hurried to draw his weapon but the electric currents of the soldiers’ tasers had already attached themselves to his back, forming a web of agonizing shockwaves. He fell to his knees, muscles struggled against the binding of electricity. His eyes found Padromo, flitting across the room.


    “You… not… over!” Troy gritted out.


    “Take this traitor away! We’ll transfer him tomorrow…” Padromo commanded, tearing his indifferent gaze off his son.


    As the memory of his last encounter with Troy faded away, Padromo stood on his terrace, going over the possible locations in which his son might be hiding. The distasteful past and present actions of his heir pulled him back into a spiral of negative emotions, and he reminisced about how he had plucked Troy’s supporters out of his government like petals of a rotting flower. One by one. He’d preserved the precious soil of his rulership, but the root of the decay threatened to strike once more, two years later. The boy still thinks me a fool! he thought.


    Troy had a knack for attracting people to his side and making them follow his ideas, the governor had to admit. He possessed a trait many great leaders before him had, and his timing for causing intrastate hurricanes was second to none. Troy had managed to rattle the organization of the governor’s men and had done it the night before the dawn of the biggest event in Kybernan Magnus'' history— the Tournament.


    Padromo still had some time left before the fights began, so he went back inside and made a few phone calls. He’d arranged transport for himself and his daughter, and they were to be picked up separately. Given the unexpected circumstances, it was safer for them not to be crammed into small spaces together, although the governor knew that Troy would never hurt his little sister. One of the rarer, fond memories in Padromo’s life threatened to spill over his consciousness at the uninvited thoughts of them together, but he got distracted by another phone call. They had come to pick him up.


    The origins of the Arena were unknown even to the oldest families in the galaxy. Many scholars and historians from all over the world had tried to trace the launch of that enormous and beautifully constructed building, but, alas, none had succeeded. As most researchers did when they couldn’t come to a conclusion, the main explanation for the structure’s existence was credited to a mysterious, ancient civilization’s efforts. Most of the natives weren’t concerned with the question as the Arena had been there ever since they’d known themselves. When it was first discovered by the people of Kybernan, the planet had yet to taste the power of the High State. The structure had been a fact, long before Padromo’s great-grandfather had even thought about ruling. An almost natural amalgamation of the planet.


    The building was designed in such a way that if one looked at it from any chosen angle, the strange material from which it was built made it appear flat, no corners. And it did until you got close, close enough to distinguish the concrete ring around it. The Arena had its own disc, resembling some planets’ own ring systems. And that wasn’t the most intriguing part! The building itself floated in the air as if it had its own gravitational field. Such a thing was impossible to create even with the funds and resources that the High State possessed. Some had even joked that it was a little planet inside their own planet. The easiest way to describe the essence of the Arena was to imagine it as two pyramids glued together, with their peaks pointing north and south, respectively.


    The interior was hollow and had remained that way for many years until the appearance of the High State. The two governors before Padromo III had shown no interest in the Arena, and it was set aside for future consideration, remaining unexplored for years to come. Only and only Padromo had seen the potential in owning such a huge structure and had ordered a deeper investigation to be made. After learning that the Arena was empty inside, he’d gathered his counsellors, and they had come up with the idea of turning it into a modern coliseum of sorts. It fitted Tyrium’s aesthetic perfectly, and the numerous architects, engineers and builders the governor had brought over had gotten straight to work, finishing up the project four years and six months earlier than calculated. Padromo saw it for the golden mine that it was, and arriving at the Arena, he hoped that he would live to reap the benefits.


    On the inside, the Arena itself was divided into three parts. Starting from the upper part, which was the place where the sponsors, the high-ranking officials and of course the governor gathered. It wasn’t large by any means, but it had everything one could ask for in such setting. There was a small conference room, a 24-hour bar where the rich mostly could be found, and a main hall from which one could watch the fights without having to go down to the Arena. Padromo could not afford this convenience, given he was still the head of the High State and appearances had to be kept.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Padromo entered the bar after he’d been dropped off and made his way through the conference room. He greeted a few familiar faces and new sponsors and found himself in the observation hall. It was empty. His well-measured steps echoed off the panelled walls and he stopped in front of the wide opening overlooking the Arena. The audience had begun to gather.


    The arena held up to 90,000 people, not including the upper and lower sections of the facility. The stands had all been reserved since the tournament was announced and were now filling up. The cacophony of conversations and movement had started reaching Padromo’s ears. The fighting mat was built in the middle, no bigger than two boxing rings. Shield emitters could be seen on each side, humming to indicate that they were functioning. Above the mat, four high-resolution screens were mounted, so that the spectators who were the farthest from the fight could better follow what was happening. There were also tall, metal doors on each side from which the fighters and the referee were expected to come out. The mat was meant for them only, and even the guards were not allowed to go down. They were ordered to patrol around the first stands, and Padromo could distinguish the EAGLE squad spread out among the civilians.


    “Quite the audience we’ve got there.” A familiar voice broke the silence. Allani had arrived a little later than her father, and she was certain she would find him in the hall.


    Padromo spoke without turning around. “Yes, I can almost feel their excitement.”


    “How about you? Are you excited?” She asked, now standing beside her father. They shared the same posture, straight as an arrow.


    “I’m impatient… can’t wait to see the caliber of fighters the recruitment team has picked up. Their performance will be representing my efforts.” Padromo replied.


    “Where’s our section on the stands?” Allani asked, her gaze wandering around. She had seen it upon her arrival but the long pauses between their conversations had always made her feel overwhelmed, so she had blurted out the first thing that came to mind.


    Padromo, as if having sensed her unease, pointed to the gold-plated seats across from them. Two heavily armed guards stood nearby, and some of the sponsors had taken their seats. Even Dasim had joined them. His globular figure was unmistakable even among thousands of people.


    “Isn’t Dasim’s son supposed to be fighting today?” Allani asked. “What’s his name…?”


    “Butch, yes. The first fight of the tournament. It’s supposed to be a historic moment, and we have that buffoon stepping in…” Padromo shook his head. He would’ve changed the brackets if he could— they were automated, an anti-betting and rigging measure.


    “He can’t be that bad!” Allani chuckled, eyes beaming with childlike glee. The same eyes that could read the governor like an open book. “Who’s his opponent?” she asked.


    “He calls himself “The Orphan”. He’s the only fighter from Yuna among them all. Has an almost perfect record.”


    “Sounds promising,” Allani said. She wore a lemon green dress, combined with black stilettos and a thick bracelet on her left hand. The soft wind that crept through the opening slightly ruffled her short, blonde hair.


    “Yes, let’s hope our opening fight is going to be one for the ages,” he replied.


    “I’ve heard what Troy has done.” Allani blurted out. She knew it wasn’t the right time for such a discussion, though she still exuded confidence that she could fix things between them.


    “I don’t want to hear that traitor’s name again!” Padromo barked. His face had adopted a mask of anger.


    Allani had never heard him talk to her in that tone. She pushed past the shock and swallowed a lump in her throat. “But I—”


    She was interrupted by one of her father’s employees. His head poked out of the entrance of the hall. “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, but the fights are almost about to begin. Your seats are ready.”


    Padromo turned to leave, and he felt the hand of his daughter pulling him back.


    “Dad, can’t we talk about this, please? He’s my—”


    “Enough! My point stands! He’s threatened my citizens’ livelihood, and that includes you! End of discussion!” Padromo finished, and they hurried to the Arena.


    Sav was sitting alone on one of the concrete benches at the bottom part of the Arena. Unlike the upper two parts of the floating structure, there were no windows in this section, and all the light was artificial. The neon lights that had been installed by the High State workers stood awkward and unnatural against the ancient, mosaic walls of the section. It was almost brighter than the outside.


    All the contestants were crammed into one place, and there wasn’t a single person having a conversation. Most of the fighters seemed to be relaxed, but Sav could read right through their facades. Everyone had their tics, whether it be cracking their knuckles or constantly looking around like some lunatics. Sav wasn’t sure if he was nervous or not. The others were certainly studying him as well, but he felt no need to hide his emotions. He let them flow through his consciousness, like fish in the sea.


    His transfer from the apartment to the Arena was relatively quick, and he, like the others, was amazed by the sheer size of the structure. Sav had to admit that using such a building to hold events and raise funds was very crafty of the High State. He’d expected nothing less. The situation with the brackets was not explained to him in great detail, and in all fairness, he didn’t care to listen. His mind kept going back to the conversation he had overheard between the pilots on STORM. Would he have to kill someone today? He wasn’t burning with desire to commit such an act, but he knew he had to survive at all costs. Sav was ready.


    He had no information about his opponent except his name — Butch-7. Sav wondered if he was among them in the small space, but he shook his head. It was illogical, and it didn’t matter. They were going to be called up to the Arena any moment now. He had somehow predicted that he would be a participant in the first duel. Amidst the ruckus and the shuffling of the fighters he tried to visualize his first fight ever. He remembered perfectly then how the fight had unfolded, but the feelings he had experienced were fading in his mind. It irritated him.


    “Sav Orbona?” An EAGLE officer interrupted his train of thought. He was clad in that now unmistakable gear with the letterings.


    “That’s me,” Sav replied, staring up.


    “It’s time to fight. Follow me.”


    As he walked through the brightly lit tunnel, Sav could hear the loud roar of the audience. His hands were wrapped in bandages, which were the only protection allowed by the High State. During his preparation, Sav had realized that the tournament wouldn’t be sporting, but rather barbaric. There hadn''t been any check-ups either, which was self-explanatory for the nature of the tournament. Sav was at peace with it. He took a deep breath and stopped behind the soldier. The noise from the crowd had become louder and he was forced to shout for Sav to hear him.


    “Stand at the marked spot!” The officer ordered. His finger was pointing to two white footprints painted sloppily on the floor.


    Sav stepped forward and stared at the small door that led to the Arena. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body, and he smiled in excitement. He had missed the pre-fight thrill. He had closed his eyes, savoring the shouts of the crowd.


    “You must wait until your name is announced! There will then be a short pause and the door will open! Stay on the markings!” The soldier stepped closer to Sav, looking him in the eyes. “Is everything clear?”


    “Loud and clear.” Sav nodded.


    The trooper wished him luck then left.


    After having competed in more than fifty high-level fights, Sav found it bizarre that he was still getting psyched before the fight. It was out of his control— human nature. His love for competing also played a role in how he perceived the whole thing. He was ready.


    “Ladies and gentlemen! The High State would like to welcome you to our long-awaited tournament! You are about to witness the fiercest battles in the history of the galaxy! We hope that the spectacle we’ve prepared will be a great success and contribute immensely to our dear planet! Enjoy!” The announcement had begun and Sav caught only the last sentence. He clenched his fists.


    “Without further ado, let us bring out our fighters on the Arena! Introducing first, fighting out of Kybernan Magnus, with a record of 24 wins and 3 losses, please welcome, Butch “Butch-7” Dasim!”


    The door on the other side of the Arena opened, and Butch walked out onto the smooth mat with heavy steps. The crowd erupted, and most were standing on their feet, cheering the stout, young man on.


    “Isn’t he awesome?” Dasim leaned towards Padromo and shouted.


    They had all gathered in the golden stand and Allani was sitting right next to her father. Her mind was stuck at her failed attempt to discuss her brother’s doings with their father. It sucked out the enjoyment of the event, and she hadn’t even noticed Butch’s walkout until Padromo replied to Dasim.


    “We shall see, my friend!”


    Butch had stopped in the middle of the mat and raised his hands in the air, roaring at the top of his lungs. The audience responded befittingly. A holographic wall separated the fighting mat, and only the small Ref-Bot assigned by the State could pass through it. The bot stood still, programmed to give instructions only when both fighters were present.


    The audience settled down a bit, and Sav began bouncing on his feet, chasing a rhythm. The announcer continued.


    “And his opponent, our only contestant fighting out of Yuna, holding a record of 51 wins and only 1 loss, please welcome, Sav “The Orphan” Orbona!”


    The door in front of Sav revealed the Arena, and the excitement of the crowd rushed through him. He had felt the resurrection of their anticipation when the announcer had mentioned his fighting record. He jogged out of the tunnel with a smirk on his face and waved to the crowd once, standing against his opponent. Sav studied the ogre, immediately recognizing the side effects of the steroids. He glanced at his wrist, then back at Butch.


    “Easy work!” Butch shouted, locking eyes with Sav.


    The Ref-Bot’s sensors detected both the fighters being present on the mat, and it rotated once before: “Attention! Any violation of the ruleset will be penalized! Each contender has the right to surrender and to reject a surrender! You have been warned!”


    The bot retreated into the tunnel it had come out of, and it closed shut. The announcer’s voice reappeared. “Fighters, get ready!” Holographic shields rose around them, just like the one that separated them from each other. Sav got into stance. “3… 2… 1!”


    Sav sprawled just in time to defend the takedown attempt of Butch, trying to wrap his arms around the brute’s neck. He could feel how strong he was, and he struggled to hold him back, dragging his feet backwards. Honed muscles and experience clashed against brute force. Sav managed to circle to his right and received a shot to the stomach before disengaging, resuming his previous position.


    “Let’s see you stuff this one!” Butch growled, then went for a second takedown. Lunging forward, he grabbed air and found himself on the ground. Butch hurried up to his feet, and his eyes, supported with cheeks of fat, locked on the young fighter. For a man of his size, he possessed incredible speed.


    Sav had jumped over him, and he stood poised for another attack. Given the drastic difference in weight, it would prove almost impossible for Sav to take Butch down, so he’d decided to tire him out instead. Use his advantage against him. They began circling each other, feinting, trying to bait the other to overcommit to a shot. Sav faked a takedown of his own and sprang up with a sharp uppercut, finding the blocky chin of Butch. The ogre had leaned forward, and his head snapped back, suffering a left leg kick and another uppercut. The crowd erupted, and Sav had already gotten out of range. Again, they circled each other. Butch’s nose was red, and he sniffed.


    Padromo glanced at Dasim. He could see the man fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.


    “Almost took you down there…” Sav joked. He wanted to wind him up to exhaust him faster. He feinted high and kicked the knee of the ogre, retreating swiftly. Butch stumbled backward before rushing in with wide hooks and overhands. Sav rolled and evaded them, creating angles with his feet. He countered with a nasty left hook to the liver, and Butch grumbled. A hook to his face followed. He felt the fluidity of his movement build up with each hit he landed.


    Sav knew that he had to constantly feint and move around. He couldn’t afford to receive many of those punches. He tried a front kick to the belly but couldn’t retreat in time. Butch grabbed him by the foot and lifted him in the air, slamming him on the ground. He''d exhaled sharply through his nose right before landing. Sav’s ears rang, and he scowled, shifting away to avoid a vicious elbow to the head. He rolled and managed to kick Butch’s ribs before standing up. The young fighter was dizzy, and he couldn’t hear the crowd’s chants as clearly. Butch mouthed something, but Sav couldn’t tell what it was. He shook his head.


    “Yes! There you go, son!” Dasim shouted from the stands and stood up on his feet. Only then did he look at the governor. “Told you he’s strong, Padromo!” The governor smiled in return.


    The fighters stared at each other—guards up. Sav noticed that Butch put a lot of weight on his lead leg, and he went for a low kick—snap! Another one followed, and the ogre lost his balance, stumbling forward with his hands low. The perfect opening for an overhand right and a left hook behind it. Sav rolled out to the left after the combination. Butch spat blood and cussed. Desperation took over his face.


    By that moment, Allani had recognized the calculated striker. Her instincts hadn’t betrayed her after all; the man was dangerous. She hadn’t expected to see him in her father’s tournament. The young woman tried to recall their conversation in The Goblet, but the ear-splitting chants of the audience drowned her thoughts out.


    Back on the fighting mat, Sav focused on his opponent’s movement. He knew he had cracked him good and braced himself for another one of Butch’s attempts to knock him to the ground. The ogre was hurt and Sav was sure it was going to be the next thing he would try. Sav thought about the step-back knee he had drilled so many times in training, but decided he’d counter with something different.


    He jabbed the gross belly of Butch and fell back, luring him closer to one of the invisible walls. Sav struck him right on the nose and jumped up just in time to avoid yet another takedown. Butch failed to judge the distance in time, and standing up in a mechanically learned way, he smashed his head right into the wall, falling to the ground.


    Sav wasted no time. He flipped the fat man over and got on top of him, locking Butch’s lower body with his legs. The young fighter began overwhelming him with fierce punches and elbows to the head and body. Butch managed to block the first barrage, but the strikes wouldn’t stop pouring down on him, soon rendering him helpless. He felt his teeth and jaw breaking, even some ribs. Sav wasn’t stopping.


    “Butch! Get up! Get up, goddamnit!” Dasim cried out. The attendees had gone wild. The presence of blood had made them turn into animals, watching a predator toy with its prey.


    Padromo had doubted the fighting skills of the tycoon’s son from the beginning. He had warned Dasim that the tournament would be filled with more than capable fighters. Then, Dasim had assured him that Butch would match with those guys without an issue. Padromo, of course, hadn’t believed him, but he wasn’t going to let such funding slip. He scoffed. Butch’s life was now in someone else’s hands.


    Sav had stopped beating the fatty and stood over him. He had expected the Ref-Bot to step up, but no one appeared. The holographic walls disappeared, and the crowd quieted down almost completely. Sav looked at Butch. The ogre was breathing heavily, and his eyes were already swollen, face disfigured. Sav felt no remorse. He knew he would’ve suffered the same fate if he hadn’t gotten the upper position.


    The sudden, erratic chant from the stands pulled him back into reality. Sav listened: “Reject!... Reject!... Reject!... Reject!”


    Butch managed to look up, gurgled. “I… surrender!” He spat out blood, fits of coughing preventing him from speaking further.


    Sav scanned the arena and its ecstatic crowd. His eyes found the governor, who had risen to his feet in the golden stand. His darkened gaze returned to Butch. “Tough luck, Butchie.”


    Standing next to Padromo, Dasim watched in hurt-gripping terror as his son got his head stomped out.