Statues of Spartan helms flanked the entrance, each dedicated to Ares the Bloodyhanded, The Warbringer, The Patron of Battle. Behind the tributes, mosaics covered the walls and flowed onto the ceiling, assembling a gruesome battle from a thousand pieces of coloured clay. Soldiers holding various banners of the Graexian peoples assembled to the left as a horde of demonic Empyreans overwhelmed a handful of heroic High Spartans to the right.
Using one of the shiny Spartan helms as a mirror, Lex tucked in a few loose strands of her Empyre red hair. Through the left archway, an army of thugs cheered, howled and winced around an arena. Two warriors, dressed in armour befitting the heroes of legend, fought with shining swords on a large, raised platform. Lex averted her eyes to the right as blood sprayed through the air.
Through the right doorway, a sombre crowd of cyberblades sat around a hearty wooden bar on cushioned stools, awaiting their next job, as a clean-shaven bartender filled their cups. The man had hair as white as televised teeth, bright pink eyes, a child's smile and a mother's fondness for his gleaming glass mugs.
"Excuse me," Lex said, approaching the bartender, and ignoring the sudden lull in conversation as the cyberblades-for-hire stared at her. "Have you seen a guy with bleached hair around? He has broad shoulders and has brought a battle droid for the droid fight."
The server swiped the air, his left eye glowing to project holographic text.
Paying customers only.
"Then I'd like a drink," Lex snapped and hesitantly took a seat at the bar. A man further along flicked a knife up and down, his cybereyes zooming out of his head at her. Another pulled his face off like a mask, his steel teeth chattering beneath. "And information."
The server poured her a purple drink and slid the glass across the polished wood and into her waiting hands. Out of the corner of her eye, Lex could see a hulking man stride towards her, but he was stopped by a Hraku's gesture. The white-shelled humanoid might have been an alien from the surface, but his slight touch made the cyberblade back away.
The bartender swiped the air and the cybernetic in his eye projected a new message.
Anything else?
"The blond guy, Mike, have you seen him? He's pretty hard to miss," Lex said, her leg shaking beneath the bench.
He came through about ten minutes ago. He'll be waiting next to the arena.
Lex sipped her drink, not wanting to just leave it there untouched.
"Juice?" she said, freshly squeezed by the taste of it, cool and refreshing. Grape, a flavour she hadn't tasted since her parents' passing. "Thank you."
The boy nodded and continued to clean his cups with care, his eyes surveying the tension and slitting back to Lex. He sighed, and leaned in close, the text beaming too small for the men beside Lex to see.
You're making the regulars uncomfortable. They think you an Upstairs spy. They won't hurt you here, probably, but you still need to leave.
"Thanks, eh, how much do I owe you?"
He held up three fingers, one donning a blank family ring. Lex supposed he had come from one of the other Empyrean nations further east of her homeland. One with a different genetics program, churning out Eros-pink-eyed albinos instead of Empyre red.
Lex slid three credits across, gliding her palm against the wood and savouring its touch. Then, she left the bar and entered a crowd chanting for death.
The Red Night was in full swing—deathmetal pounded from a hundred speakers, dancers swayed in cages above, wall-mounted holograms doubled the battle below and a crowd formed a wall ahead. The pair with gleaming swords had been replaced with fresh fighters.
One gladiator wore the face of Perseus, the Still King's ancestor and namesake. A bounty of brown curls tumbling from his head, bronze scale-armour protecting his front, a shield as bright as the sun at his side and a matching short sword in his hand. Perseus's opponent was naked save for a rusted centurion helm, and her crimson hair was twisted into snake-like braids. Lex wondered how talented the Empyrean had to be to face an armoured opponent thrice her size.
A squad of White Lions roared loudest from the crowd, screaming like banshees. A sombre gang of Eros Union workers stood at the back, watching, waiting. Neon-red armed Ares zealots meandered through the audience, bowls overflowing with credits as the faithful made their offerings.
Past the gore, the booths were filled with whores and their patrons, soaking in the carnage.
At the furthest corner towered a familiar green suit supporting a head of bleach blond hair with crimson roots.
Mike.
Lex drifted with the crowd, one way and the other, trying to reach him but making slow progress. All around her the patrons were hissing at the Empyrean girl in the arena, cursing her fortune, betting how long she'd last before the Fates cut her life short. Lex grinned, picturing how their faces would collapse if they watched the Empyrean win.