As I stepped into the alley, a massive cage fighting arena loomed before me. Rusted metal bars gleamed under the moonlight like a decaying prison. My eyes locked onto the bars. This cage didn’t just trap the fighters—it chained the beasts within. But I needed no chains. The scent of blood, sweat, and stale cigarette smoke clung to the air.
The crowd.
Bodies pressed together, breaths thick with sweat and alcohol ghosting over my skin. People swarmed in, shoulder to shoulder. If someone dropped a needle, it would be lost in the sea of bodies. The whispers of gamblers, the grunts of fighters, the drunken shouts—they all merged into a single, suffocating hum.
I scanned the room.
Let’s see… Who still remembers me?
“You looking for a fighter?”
My voice cut through the chaos. Heads turned. In the corner, a man with more missing teeth than whole ones let out a rasping laugh.
“Ohh, fresh meat?” His laughter reeked of alcohol and tobacco, making my stomach churn.
The tall man beside him—the one who seemed to be running the fights—gave me a slow once-over. His gaze wasn’t that of a man looking at another person. He was assessing a product. Weighing its worth.
“Not just anyone can fight here,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “First… we need to see if your bones are as strong as ours.”
A few men chuckled darkly. One stepped closer, snuffing out his cigarette right in front of my face. The burning ember nearly grazed my skin, leaving behind the ghost of heat. Dirty nails skimmed toward my waist. My body tensed.
“How about some fun first?” he murmured, fingers inching closer.
Cold.
I felt nothing but cold. But my expression didn’t waver.
“Count your fingers before you touch me. You’ll need them.”
The man flinched—just slightly—but then grinned, winking. “I like ‘em feisty.”
That was the last thing he said before I grabbed his arm and twisted it back in one smooth motion.
A sharp crack.
A pained groan.
The others shot to their feet, but the fight organizer raised a hand, stopping them.
“Good. At least you know how to break something.” He nodded toward the cage. “But let’s see if you can stay standing.”
His gaze shifted to the ring. “Get in. If you can still fight afterward, we’ll talk.”
I only smirked.
“I can fight. The real question is… how many of you will make it out alive?”
As I stepped into the cage, laughter and betting voices trailed behind me.
But they didn’t understand one thing.
Tonight, it would be their blood on the floor.
Whispers echoed around me as I prepared to enter the ring.
“She won’t last a second.”
“A woman? Shouldn’t she be at home doing chores?”
“She looks strong.”
Oh? A few were actually on my side? Surprising. But would they bet on me? That was another question.
That depended on my opponent.
And my opponent…
Was The Butcher.
At first, I didn’t care when I heard his name. But then—
“The Butcher’s fights? He tears people apart.”
“Last week, he ripped a guy’s shoulder out of its socket.”
“She’s done for. Even if she survives, she won’t be the same.”
“How long do you think she’ll last?”
That’s when I knew.
This man was a killer.
The moment our eyes met, even my heart skipped for a fraction of a second.
He wasn’t an ordinary fighter.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Shoulders broad enough to swallow my entire frame.
Pale scars stretched across thick arms, relics of old wounds.
A cheekbone that had healed wrong, a jagged knife scar splitting his face, faint marks at the corners of his lips.
Knuckles hardened to stone.
The Butcher slowly tightened the wraps around his hands.
His gaze had already begun peeling the skin off my bones.
So I gave him a message of my own.
I winked.
And I grinned.
Everyone who fought The Butcher ended up the same—dragged across the floor or left gasping, unconscious.
He ripped his opponents apart.
But I wouldn’t fall.
Tonight, he would be the one bleeding out.
He took a step forward. His body was a wall of muscle, his fists heavier than sledgehammers. Old fractures, healed wounds… How many lives had he taken?
I didn’t count.
I didn’t need to count.
Because today, I was fighting this monster.
He tilted his head, popping his neck, those beady eyes scanning me. Then came the smirk.
“If you think I’m gonna go easy on you, you’re dead wrong,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “Didn’t think a little girl would walk into this ring. You sure you can put on a show?”
Can I put on a show?
My jaw tightened. My hands curled into fists.
“We’ll see.”
The announcer’s voice boomed.
“GENTLEMEN! IN THIS CORNER—THE BUTCHER! AND IN THE OTHER… THE LITTLE GIRL!”
Cheers. Shouts. Laughter. Then, the sickening whispers:
“Can’t say the same about her chest.”
“Did she hit puberty a little early?”
A blade twisted in my gut.
Rage flooded through me. My fists clenched tighter.
And then—
THE GONG STRUCK.
THE BUTCHER LUNGED.
SHIT.
How could someone that big move that fast? But he did.
The first punch came. I ducked.
CLANG! The cage rattled. If that had hit, my skull would’ve been powder.
Second punch!
I couldn’t dodge in time. It scraped my shoulder. Pain exploded down my back.
I staggered. Trading blows? Impossible. If I tried to match his strength, he’d break me apart piece by piece.
I had to be smart.
But—he was already there.
Like he’d teleported.
He grabbed my shoulder.
And lifted me into the air.
“Fuck off!”
I swung my fist with everything I had—straight into his jaw.
His head snapped to the side.
But then…
He smiled.
And slammed me into the ground.
BOOM.
Every ounce of air in my lungs vanished. I couldn’t breathe. Ribs—did he break them? My hands trembled.
The Butcher took a step forward.
The cage shuddered.
Another step.
“Let’s finish this.”
His foot came down. Straight for my head.
At the last second—I rolled!
His boot slammed into the metal. CRASH!
If I’d been there?
I’d be a goddamn puddle.
I forced myself up. My legs were shaking.
I couldn’t beat him with strength.
But there was a way.
I narrowed my eyes.
He came at me again, fist swinging. But this time—I watched.
His speed. His openings.
And—
I raised my knee.
Right into his groin.
The crowd gasped.
The Butcher’s eyes went wide. His teeth clenched. For the first time—he stumbled.
NOW.
A kick to the head!
A strike to the leg!
A punch to the gut!
But—
He wouldn’t fall.
His knees buckled. But he didn’t drop. He straightened again.
And on his face…
A grin.
“So… you can hurt me.”
He grabbed my wrist.
And smashed his fist into my chin.
MY VISION WENT BLACK.
I tasted it. Blood.
My knees wobbled. But—I wouldn’t fall.
Not that easy.
The Butcher thought I was done.
He leaned in.
Studied my face.
This was it.
He was testing me.
The way his eyes looked down at me—the slight ease in his muscles—
That’s why I was going to win.
I raised my hand.
And jabbed my fingers into his eye sockets.
The Butcher SCREAMED.
My nails dug into flesh.
I ripped back like I was hooking meat.
Blood! It streamed down his face.
A kick!
Another!
A punch! A punch! A punch!
FALL, DAMN IT.
The Butcher swayed.
He looked at me.
I—LEAPT.
The final strike.
I swung my foot up.
And brought it CRASHING down on his chin.
CRACK!
HIS JAW SNAPPED COMPLETELY OUT OF PLACE.
Blood erupted.
The Butcher collapsed.
But I didn’t believe it.
One second.
Two.
Would he get up?
No.
It was over.
I dropped to my knees.
Sweat. Blood. My lungs burning.
Silence.
And then—
THE CROWD WENT FERAL.
Shouts. Screams. The gamblers went wild.
But I only knew one thing:
I won.
I closed my eyes.
I smiled.
I told you—I wasn’t going to lose this time.
The announcer’s voice boomed:
“OUR WINNER… NYX!”
Oh? Gave me a new nickname, huh? Is this how people got their codenames?
Maybe… NYX was truly born today.
“THE NUMBER OF PEOPLE WHO BET ON THEM… ONE!
A BIG BET, KID. YOU HERE, MYSTERY MAN?”
As I scanned the crowd, I spotted him—
A man in a brown fedora, slipping away.
No one dressed like that.
Not here. Not even in the underground.
Something’s off about him.
And my instincts never fail me—he must be the one who bet on me.
Aralyn pushed through the roaring crowd. The man walked quickly, but not like he was panicking—he moved with purpose.
For a moment, he vanished. Damn it. The crowd was too thick. But then—there. At the corner.
He was speeding up.
The streets darkened. Fog crept in, gas lamps flickering weakly, casting broken shards of light on the cobblestones.
Aralyn picked up her pace. She caught him in an alleyway.
Grabbed him by the shoulder—SLAMMED him against the wall.
One arm blocked his escape.
The other?
A dagger, drawn, pressed cold against his throat.
The steel bit into his skin. He must’ve felt it.
But the man… only smiled.
“Impressive,” he said, unfazed. “Though, I expected better.”
Aralyn’s eyes narrowed. She pressed the dagger slightly deeper. A thin drop of blood trailed down his skin.
“Who are you watching me for?” Her voice was a blade just as sharp.
The man tilted his head slightly. “I observe,” he said smoothly. “Not just you… your potential.”
Something twisted in Aralyn’s gut. But she didn’t let it show. She only tightened her grip.
“For who?”
His eyes locked onto hers.
Was it wisdom in them? Or just an infuriating amount of confidence?
And then… he smiled.
Slowly, he leaned in. Close enough that his lips nearly brushed against the dagger.
And whispered—
“For my boss.”
Aralyn’s jaw tightened. “Who?”
The man chuckled. The small cut on his neck bled freely now, but he didn’t seem to care.
“You’re not ready to know.”
And then, in one swift move—he seized her wrist.
Flipped the grip.
In a blink, the tables turned. She was the one slammed against the wall now.
But he didn’t strike. He simply looked at her. Studied her.
Then turned his back.
And walked away, as if he hadn’t just been seconds from death.
Aralyn clenched her teeth.
She trusted her own strength.
But this man?
She hadn’t even considered he could overpower her.
And the worst part?
He had never panicked.
Aralyn exhaled.
She had enough to deal with today. She wasn’t sure she could take any more.
When they emerged into the Upper World, onto Thornwych’s cold, fog-choked streets, the blood on their clothes was still fresh.
Was it theirs? Or the Butcher’s?
At this point, it didn’t even matter.
Here, in the Upper World, the stares were sharper… and filled with more fear.
But the moment they slipped into the alleyways, everything returned to normal.
There, blood, violence, and death were just part of the scenery.
But if a cop saw them?
They were done for.
Crossing into the Underworld was strictly forbidden.
Not that anyone obeyed.
Fog shattered the gaslight’s glow, stretching the shadows long and menacing. Thornwych’s gothic buildings loomed in the silence, standing like gravestones.
At last, they reached their apartment.
The old spiral staircase groaned beneath each step, wood creaking like it was protesting.
When the door opened—
Loneliness settled over them.
The inside was old. Quiet. The air was thick with mold.
A couch. A table. A sink. That was all.
They had no intention of using the sink—their stomach couldn’t handle it.
Cleaning supplies were too expensive. The black-market dealers might have some, but even considering that took more energy than they had right now.
They only knew one thing:
Tomorrow, they would be better than this.
Cold water hit their bloodstained skin, sending a tremor through their body. The rusty scent made their stomach churn, but they ignored it.
And then… they collapsed onto the couch.
The stiff cushions pressed against their bones.
They didn’t care.
In the darkness, they stared blankly at the ceiling. Their eyes slowly shut.
Today, they had survived.
But tomorrow?
In Thornwych, even sunrise was a luxury.