Applause erupts for the fighters.
“What’s her name?” Rafael asks, leaning in close.
Kane’s thumb traces over his knuckles. “She doesn’t have a name. Not until she wins her first Primus League match,” heexplains.
Rafael nods, gaze fixed on the fighter. She sprints toward the first course, a race through the razor-wired walls. He winces when she barely avoids a nasty scrape on her leg. “Are they—what if they get hurt?”
“Part of the game. What they signed up for. But if she’s already made it through the Tiro and Murmillo levels, she should be ready.”
He watches Rafael’s face, trying to gauge if this is too much. Maybe his tone was too harsh. But as the challenger clears the first section, Rafael cheers, soft but sincere. The trace of worry still lingers in his eyes, but not enough to dim his excitement.
A few steps later, she loses her footing, tumbling into a pit with a burst of flames. Rafael’s hand tightens on his. VitaCorp medics rush through the doors onto the arena floor while the gauntlet machines freeze.
“Is she—”
“She’ll be okay,” Kane cuts in. “Burns, maybe some broken bones. Nothing that’ll keep her out for long.” Rafael nods. His hand stays in Kane’s as the rest of the round unfolds.
Three competitors advance to the next stage. Only then does Kane release Rafael to cheer with the crowd.
The obstacle course vanishes while the trio retrieves their weapons. Weaponized drones descend from above, an arsenal lighting up their chassis. The challengers react instantly, some with swift strikes, others with raw power. Kane’s focus narrows to one woman gaining ground while the other two falter. Her morningstar connects with the final drone in a burst of sparks. The machine drops, smoke billowing from the frame.
Deafening cries explode from the crowd. She bows with a grin.
“Wow!” Rafael gapes. “Did she just become the next champion?”
Kane grins. “Not yet. Still has to take down Flamma.”
Lights dim in the arena. Their seats rumble, vibrating once more. A giant hologram of a man wielding a sparking axe rises from the pit, towering over the arena. Gasps echo around them.
Kane’s chest tightens, remembering Commodus’s entrance.
The hologram vanishes in a flash of light. A boom echoes, and the arena doors blast open.
“Flamma the thirteenth!” The announcer’s voice nearly drowns in the roar.
Flamma marches into the arena, an almost perfect mirror of the hologram. His theme song blares through the speakers as lights race along his sleek white augments that make Kane’s own chrome feel like scrap.
He stops center stage, where the challenger awaits. She squares her stance, morningstar raised high, and charges toward him with a shout. Flamma dashes to meet her, swinging his pulsing axe high in the air. Their weapons collide with a crackle, the impact flashing bright enough to light the upper rows.
Rafael’s breath hitches beside him, lips parted.
Their fight unfolds in a blur. Strike, parry, dodge. Exactly as Kane remembers, minus his favorite.
The challenger’s faster than expected. She drives Flamma back step by step. For a heartbeat, Kane thinks she might actually pull it off. Are they about to watch a newchampion rise?
Then Flamma pivots, feinting left. She swings to counter, but he’s already inside her guard. The axe comes down in a brutal arc. Her morningstar spins away, clattering across the arena floor.
A roar goes off from the stands. Rafael scrambles to his feet to join them. “Whoa! That was incredible!”
Kane watches him with a smirk. “Pretty intense, huh?” He tugs Rafael closer and drops his voice low. “Makes me almost wish I’d taken the gladiator path—seeing you this fired up like this.”
Rafael’s head snaps up, eyes wide. A blush spreads across his cheeks.
The arena goes dark. Their simulation is over.
He slips off his headset, waiting for Rafael to do the same. The moment Kane’s free, he leans in until their faces are inches apart. “You’d be there cheering for me, wouldn’t you?” Kane murmurs.
“Yes.” Rafael’s breath gusts over his lips. “Every match.”