This is a world ruled by survival of the fittest—just like any other.
The city of Drenda was a towering contradiction—an architectural marvel of metal and glass scraping the skies, yet below, its underbelly festered in shadows and rust. The slums, sprawling like a parasite at the city's base, were a labyrinth of narrow alleys, makeshift homes, and desperation. It was a world where survival dictated the rules, and the strong preyed on the weak. In this world, the ability to summon and tame beasts was the fastest and surest way to secure one's standing.
True summoners were rare, their abilities coveted and respected. Most relied on summoning scrolls or government-powered portals to contract beasts from their dimensions. But there existed a handful who were different—natural summoners, capable of forging contracts without external aid. These gifted individuals, when born into privilege, were trained and honored. When born into the slums, they were conscripted or discarded.
Zarn belonged to neither. Orphaned and sickly, he had no interest in the grand schemes of power. He had only one goal: survive.
---
Zarn lay curled on his tattered mattress, his body feverish and drenched in sweat. His small, frail frame barely shifted beneath the thin sheets, each breath shallow. Across the dimly lit room, nestled beside the broken-down heater, Mico watched him with glowing blue eyes. The blue-flamed lion, despite his budding majestic coat and powerful frame, was smaller than his kind—an oddity, just like Zarn.
"You look terrible," Mico rumbled, his voice a low vibration in the still air. Their bond allowed them to communicate without words, thoughts slipping effortlessly between them.
Zarn gave a weak chuckle. "I always look terrible."
Mico huffed, stretching out his paws. "You're worse today."
"Yeah, well… that's life." Zarn sighed, tilting his head to look at the patched ceiling. "Couple more hours. Just gotta get through the day."
Mico flicked his tail, the flames dancing but never burning the floor. "You need to move more. Maybe tomorrow."
Zarn hummed noncommittally, already slipping back into fevered dreams.
---
The next morning, Zarn woke up feeling… normal. The weight that usually pressed against his chest was gone. No dizziness, no aching bones. He sat up cautiously, half-expecting a wave of nausea to slap him back down, but nothing came.
It was a good day.
Mico, ever watchful, lifted his head from his paws. "You're not dying today?"
Zarn grinned, stretching his arms. "Nope. Guess you're stuck with me."
Mico snorted. "Unfortunate."
Zarn swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, relishing the simple act of balance. "Let's go out. There's supposed to be a big fight at the local hub. Champion versus challenger. Might be fun to watch."
Mico yawned, baring sharp teeth. "You just want an excuse to move around."
"Maybe." Zarn grabbed his jacket and slung it over his shoulders. "C'mon, let's see what the big deal is."
---
The slums were alive with activity as Zarn and Mico made their way to the hub. Vendors lined the cramped streets, shouting out the day's best deals—stale bread, synthetic meat, bootleg tech parts scavenged from the city's discarded waste. The air was thick with the scent of oil, sweat, and desperation.
"Oi, Zarn!" A hunched old man behind a food stall waved him over. "Feelin' better today, kid? You looked like a corpse last time."
Zarn smirked, stopping by the stall. "Still a corpse, just walking this time."
The old man cackled, tossing him a small wrapped dumpling. "On the house. Keeps the dead from rotting too soon."
Zarn caught it with a nod of thanks, taking a bite as he moved on. He lingered in the marketplace, wandering between different stalls, watching street performers, and listening to traders argue over rigged scales. For the first time in a while, he felt like he was simply living.
A group of kids ran past him, kicking a makeshift ball. They stumbled to a halt when they saw Mico, eyes wide with fascination and a hint of fear.
"Is that… really your beast?" one of them asked, barely above a whisper.
"Nah, he's my landlord," Zarn deadpanned. "I just pay him in belly rubs."
Mico rumbled in amusement, and the kids burst into laughter before running off. With a chuckle, Zarn continued on, taking in the rare luxury of simply… walking.
---
The Local Hub.
The local hub was nothing more than a repurposed warehouse, the walls tagged with neon graffiti and the floor worn down by years of scuffles. The slum dwellers gathered here to watch, bet, and dream. For many, beast fights were a way out—a single victory could mean enough money to escape the streets, while a loss could mean ruin.
At the center of the ring, two tamers stood opposite each other. On one side, the reigning champion, a scarred veteran in a long coat, his stance relaxed but ready. His beast, the Lake Serpentine, coiled beside him—an eel-like snake with glistening, scale-plated skin. Its water attribute attacks made it a menace in the arena, capable of overwhelming opponents with sheer elemental force.
On the other side, the challenger, younger and brash, bounced on the balls of his feet, his grin unwavering despite the looming challenge before him. His beast, the Raque, prowled beside him—a sleek, brown panther, muscles rippling beneath its short fur. Tufts of fur adorned its claws, which gleamed under the dim arena lights. Unlike the Serpentine, the Raque had no elemental prowess; it was a creature of sheer speed and savage strength, its claws sharp enough to carve through steel, its movements a blur when in full motion.
The match began with a sudden burst of action. The Raque lunged, its form a dark streak across the battlefield, aiming to close the distance before the Serpentine could react. The Lake Serpentine, massive and coiled, did not flinch. Instead, with a quick command from its master, it flicked its tail, releasing a precise jet of pressurized water. The Raque twisted mid-air, narrowly dodging the attack, its claws scraping against the arena floor as it landed, eyes locked onto its prey.
Zarn watched on with mild interest, already aware of who would win. Mico had spoiled it for him, just like every other time. The Lake Serpentine was leagues ahead of the Raque, its true power masked beneath a carefully controlled performance. The champion was not just fighting—he was putting on a show, allowing the challenger to land glancing blows and feigning moments of struggle to keep the crowd engaged. It was all an illusion to keep bets rolling and challengers from being too intimidated to step into the ring. Mico, stronger than both beasts, had sensed the deception instantly, and now Zarn saw it too. No matter how intense the match seemed, the outcome had never been in doubt.
For a few moments, the challenger pressed forward with rapid, unpredictable assaults, using the Raque's agility to stay within striking range. It darted in and out, delivering swift slashes that forced the Serpentine to shift and reposition. The crowd roared as one particularly daring leap brought the Raque onto the Serpentine's back, its claws raking against the thick scales. The beast hissed in displeasure, its long body coiling defensively.
But the champion remained unfazed. With a subtle gesture, he gave the signal. The Serpentine suddenly twisted, whipping its tail in a crushing arc. The Raque barely had time to react before the powerful blow connected, sending it hurtling across the ring, crashing against the barrier with a sickening thud. The audience gasped, the momentum of the fight shifting in an instant.
Seizing the opening, the Serpentine surged forward, its massive form undulating like a wave. Water gathered around its body, forming spiraling tendrils before shooting toward the downed Raque. The panther struggled to rise, but the attack struck true. A torrent of water slammed into it, pinning it to the ground with relentless force. The Raque let out a guttural growl, its limbs trembling as it tried to resist, but the Serpentine tightened its grip. One final motion—a crushing slam of its body—signaled the end.
The match was over. The crowd erupted, some in triumph, others in frustration. The challenger collapsed to his knees as his beast lay defeated, panting heavily but alive. The champion stepped forward, offering a hand to his opponent with a smirk. He had never been in real danger. The fight was, after all, a spectacle, a calculated display to ensure future bets kept flowing.
The crowd groaned and cheered in equal measure as the match was called. Bets were settled, drinks were exchanged, and the cycle continued.
Zarn watched in silence, then sighed. "Figured."
Mico stood beside him, tail flicking. "Let's leave. This was a waste of time."
Zarn shrugged. "Hey, It was something to do."
---
The two slipped out of the hub, fading into the slum's winding alleys. Zarn walked aimlessly, enjoying the rare feeling of energy in his limbs. The night was settling in, casting long shadows across the buildings. He decided to venture into other parts of the slump, places he had not frequented before. He hadn't gone far in before an odd sensation prickled at the back of his neck.
Someone was following him.
He kept his pace steady, pretending not to notice. Turning down a side alley, he caught a glimpse of movement behind him. More figures ahead. He frowned and adjusted course, weaving through the winding paths of the slums, but every turn seemed to bring more shadowed figures into view. They weren't amateurs; they were herding him.
Zarn's jaw tightened. He picked up his pace, slipping through the tightest gaps between buildings, hoping to shake them off. Mico prowled beside him, silent and tense. But the net was closing. Every escape route led to another corner, another shadow, another waiting threat.
Finally, he turned a corner and stopped short. A dead end.
A dozen figures emerged from the darkness behind him, their smirks illuminated by flickering streetlights. Zarn sighed, glancing at Mico, who merely rumbled in amusement.
"Well," Zarn muttered. "So much for a good day."