"Ladiiieeesss and gentlemeeennn, welcome to the main event of tonights show. Without further ado, let's meet the fighters. Introducing the challenger from the rough and ragged depths of Sector Twelve, the one and only, the unstoppable Thrasheerrr!"
The crowd bellowed, it was a mix of wild cheers and jeers that rattled the rusted walls of the arena. Jarek ignored all the clamour, his focus locked on the task at hand, his movements precise and deliberate. Wrap, pull, tighten. Then repeat.
Tek appeared beside him like a stray cat that smelled trouble, his grin sharp enough to cut glass. "Its a big crowd tonight, huh Jarek?," he asked, practically trembling with excitement. "Don't screw it up. These people came out to see blood, not ballet recital."
"Don't you worry Tek, I'll handle it," Jarek muttered without looking up.
Tek raised an eyebrow. "Thrasher's a tank, you know. He's not just gonna let you dance around him all night." Tek shared his opinion.
Jarek flexed his fingers, testing the tape. "He's strong, sure. But he's slow. He'll come in hot, swing wide. I'll make him work for it. I'll wear him down then I'll finish it."
Tek barked out a laugh, clapping Jarek on the shoulder. "You and your plans. He said. Just don't forget, the crowd wants a show. Give them something to talk about, yeah?"
"They'll get what they came for," Jarek said, finally glancing up. His voice was calm, his eyes sharp under the dim lights.
Satisfied, Tek backed off, leaving Jarek to finish his preparations. He rolled his shoulders, easing the built up tension in them. The shard was tucked in a hidden pocket inside his jacket, as it pressed faintly against his ribs. It hummed softly, a low, persistent rhythm, he was all too familiar with.
Use it.
The thought slipped into his mind uninvited, like a whisper carried through the wind. Jarek clenched his fists, shaking his head to banish the idea. Not here. He did not need it, not for this. He thought to himself.
"And now, his opponent," the announcer boomed, dragging out the words for effect. "The undefeated, undisputed and unprecedented 'king of the Pit ,Jarrreeek Vayyynnneee'!"
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Jarek stepped into the ring. Harsh overhead lights buzzed and flickered, enough to blind you if you stared too long at them, they illuminated the makeshift arena, a grimy circle of worn-down mats surrounded by bodies pressed so close you could feel their heat. Across from Jarek, Thrasher loomed like a mountain of muscle and scars, his bulk almost cartoonish.
Jarek met his gaze, unflinching, and raising his fists as the bell rang.
Thrasher charged at Jarek like a freight train, swinging wide with a haymaker that if it met it's target, it could've ended the fight right then and there. Jarek circumvented the punch, the wind from the strong punch ruffling his hair. The crowd screamed as Jarek jumped out of punches reach, his movements fluid and measured.
"Come on, Jarek!" one of the spectators shouted. "Quit dodging and hit him already!"
Jarek smirked, sidestepping another wild swing before darting in with a quick jab to Thrasher's ribs. Thrasher grunted, swinging again, this time clipping Jarek's shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling. The pain flared in his shoulder but he recovered, rolling to avoid the follow-up punch.
"You're faster than you look," Thrasher rumbled, his voice gravelly and raw.
"And smarter than you'll ever be," Jarek shot back, circling Thrasher trying to rile him up.
The fight was nothing but brutal. Thrasher fought like a wrecking ball, all brute force and no finesse, he was trying to end the fight in an instant, while Jarek relied on speed his and precision dodging most of the punches then countering. Each strike sent shocks up his arms, his knuckles stung from every blow he landed. The crowd fed off the raw energy, their shouts growing louder with each passing second.
Then it happened again.
The shard buzzed against his ribs, a subtle but insistent vibration. It was as if it was calling out to him, tempting him to lean into its power. He tried to ignore it, but the warmth it let out spread through him, sharpening his focus, steadying his fists.
Use it.
The thought was louder now, harder to ignore.
Thrasher swung again, and this time, his punch landed. The blow landed square on Jarek's ribs, like a sledgehammer, the pain that dropped him to one knee gasping for air. The spectators roared, bloodthirsty and savage.
"You're a tough one Vayne," Thrasher growled, towering over him like a predator savoring it's kill. "But not tough enough."
Jarek's vision blurred at the edges, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt. He gritted his teeth, his hand brushing against the shard through his jacket. Its warmth flared, and the pain dulled, replaced by a rush of energy that made his head swim.
He surged to his feet, faster than he should've been able to. Thrasher hesitated, surprised, and that was all the opening Jarek needed. He ducked under a wide swing and drove his elbow into Thrasher's jaw with enough force to make the bigger man stagger.
Jarek didn't stop. He followed with a knee to the gut. Then a hook to the temple. Thrasher hit the ground like a felled tree, the impact shaking the ring.
The crowd erupted, their cheers a deafening roar. Jarek stood over his opponent, his chest heaving, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He raised a fist, and the noise doubled.
"Winner, Jarek Vayne!" the announcer declared, though his voice was almost drowned out by the chaos.
Jarek turned and left the ring, his steps deliberate. The shard's hum faded back to a whisper, its presence still there but quieter now. Tek met him at the edge of the staging area, grinning like a kid who'd just won big at cards. He was ecstatic as he had made a killing while gambling.
"Now that was a fight!" he said, slapping Jarek on the back. "Keep this up and you'll have the whole Shatterzone chanting your name one day."
Jarek didn't respond right away, his mind elsewhere. Tek frowned, leaning closer. "You okay? You seem a bit... off."
Jarek shook his head, walking past Tek. "I'm good."
But he wasn't. Because deep down, he knew what had happened. He'd used the shard. Just a little. Just enough.
And it had worked.
But the question that gnawed at him now was simple and terrifying.
What would it ask for in return?Walking back to his apartment, Jarek couldn't shake the tension in his mind. Every sound felt louder, sharper, like the Shatterzone was holding its breath. Rhea's words looped in his mind, dragging behind him like chains. The shard in his pocket radiated a soft warmth, its rhythmic pulse syncing eerily with his heartbeat, as if it was trying to remind him, I'm still here.
Rain slicked the cracked pavement, reflecting neon lights in numerous puddles, but the glow felt dimmer than usual tonight, it appeared more reluctant. Jarek continued to walk as he turned a corner, his boots splashing in shallow puddles, suddenly he stopped. He felt like something was off.
Normally, the city hummed, the sound of machines could be heard humming from all over the Shatterzone, voices echoing from abandoned buildings, the faint crackle of power lines strung too close together. But now? There was nothing, no sound at all. Just a heavy and eerie silence that was creepy to say the least.
He squinted down the street, his apartment a blurry silhouette at the far end. A flicker of movement pulled his gaze, a figure stepping out of the shadows near the entrance. Tall, lean, and cloaked in a coat that seemed to absorb the faint light, the man stood like a statue. His face was sharp, too sharp, almost like it had been carved instead of born.
"Jarek Vayne," the stranger called, his voice smooth as glass but colder than ice. "You've been making a lot of moves haven't you?" he asked.
Jarek stopped walking. His hand sliding into his jacket, his fingers curled around the hilt of the knife he always kept there. "What the hell are you talking about?" he replied, his tone even, though his mind was already calculating possible exits.
The man's lips formed into a smirk, a real smug one, the kind you wanted to wipe off with a brick to the face. "Let's just say I represent certain... interests. And those interests want to know why you're carrying something that doesn't belong to you."
Jarek kept his grip firm, not moving. "You're gonna have to be more specific than that," he said. "I've got a lot of things that don't belong to me you know." He answered.
The smirk stayed, but the man took a step closer, slow and deliberate. "The shard, Vayne. Hand it over, and maybe, just maybe, I let you walk away from here."
"Yeah, that's not gonna happen," Jarek shot back, adjusting his stance. "Try again and stop me". Jarek shot back.
The man sighed, like he was disappointed in a dog that wouldn't sit. "Always the hard way," he muttered. Then, with a sudden flick of his hand, a pulse of energy shot toward Jarek, bright and fast, like lightning made solid.
Jarek dove, the blast scorching the spot he'd just vacated. The smell of burnt concrete hit him as he rolled to his feet, knife flashing in the dim light. He lunged toward the man, aiming for the man's throat, but his opponent was quicker than anyone he had ever fought. The stranger sidestepped like it was nothing and drove an elbow into Jarek's ribs, sending him stumbling and gasping for air.
"Waaaaay out of your league," the man trailed, his tone dripping with pity and contempt. "Hand over the shard Jarek. You're only delaying the inevitable. And wasting my time" he continued.
Jarek spat out blood, he straightened himself, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You talk too much," he growled.
And then it happened. The shard pulsed against his chest, warmth flooding his veins like fire and adrenaline combined. It was electric, no, more than that. It was alive. Jarek didn't even think, he just reached into his pocket, pulling it free.
The shard buzzed in his palm, its light once again carving runic shadows onto the walls, and for the first time since they met, the stranger hesitated. That smug confidence on his face was nowhere to be seen, only replaced by what appeared to be apprehension.
"You have no idea what you're doing," the man hissed, his voice just a pitch higher than a whisper now, edged with something darker. "That power isn't yours to wield." He said.
"Maybe not," Jarek said, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. "But it's mine anyway."
The shard burned bright, and an invisible wave exploded from Jarek's hand. It hit the man like a freight train, slamming him into a wall with enough force to crack the bricks. He slid to the ground in a heap, groaning but not out.
Jarek staggered, lightheaded from the surge. His legs felt unsteady, but the shard's warmth kept him grounded. It was still glowing, though dimmer now, as if it had spent most of its charge in that single strike.
The man pushed himself upright, his coat torn and his perfect face marred by a line of blood at the corner of his mouth. His cool composure was nowhere to be found under the pressure, he glared intensely at Jarek, his glare was a combination of anger and fear.
"This isn't over," he snarled, the venom in his words almost tangible. "You've made enemies you can't afford, Vayne. You have no idea the magnitude of power what you're holding is capable of. You're going to destroy the Shatterzone without realizing it." he spat out an ominous warning.
Jarek didn't answer. He just slipped the shard back into his pocket and walked away, his steps quick and steady. Behind him, the man retreated into the shadows of the alleyway, but his presence lingered, Jarek felt he was still being watched .
By the time Jarek reached his apartment, the adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him exhausted and aching all over. He locked the door behind him, leaning on it as his head was flooded with memories everything that had just happened. The warning especially was gnawing at him.
From the couch, Lira stirred, her voice groggy. "Jarek? You okay? What's going on?"
"Nothing," he said, his voice a lot more confident than he felt. "Go back to sleep."
She frowned but didn't push, rolling over and pulling the threadbare blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Jarek crossed to the table, pulled the shard from his pocket, and set it down. It sat there, glowing faintly, its pulse slower now, almost soothing, if you didn't know better. He stared at it for a long time, his expression unreadable.
"You're gonna get me killed one day," he muttered, the words barely audible in the quiet.
The shard, of course, did not answer. It just kept glowing, steadily and silently, like it had all the time in the world.