Fighter #1 stood trembling, hands shaking as he touched his now-empty sockets.
The remaining fighters looked at one another in panic, and a single thought echoed in all their minds:
"I have to be the one who survives."
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On the seats, where the audience watched the brutality unfold from the stands, both Gabriel and Ethan were enjoying the show to the fullest.
Especially Ethan, who cheered and shouted his bet at the top of his lungs:
"HA! Come on, Number Three! I believe in you!"
Ethan turned to Gabriel, noticing that his friend wasn't showing the same thrill he usually did during these bloodbaths.
"Hey, why don't you look like you're enjoying the show as usual?"
Gabriel glanced at him with only his eyes, cold and detached.
"Something's different this time."
Ethan, shrugging lazily:
"Relax, boss. You say that every damn time."
Gabriel exhaled sharply through his nose and looked around.
Men in tailored suits were screaming like savages every time the fight grew more violent.
He turned to his right… and saw Victor standing at a distance, glaring in rage.
From the shadows, only part of his masked face could be seen — the black mask with that single, empty white eye painted across it.
Gabriel smirked faintly, placed both hands on the seat, and stood up.
Then, without a word, he turned to leave.
Ethan, still laughing and cheering, turned around just in time to see Gabriel walking away.
"HEY, BOSS!"
Gabriel turned halfway toward him.
"Where are you going? The best part's just starting!"
Gabriel didn't stop walking.
"Relax. I'm just going to the bathroom. I'll be back before the fun starts."
Ethan groaned and sat back down.
"Fine, but don't miss the good stuff."
Gabriel nodded faintly and continued climbing up through the rows of spectators.
Meanwhile, Victor slipped out from his corner and began to follow — a silent shadow seeking revenge.
Inside the cage, the four fighters battled with everything they had —desperate for a chance at freedom.
Fighter Number One was completely lost in his mind.
He couldn't think straight, couldn't see, couldn't even fight properly.
The other three had naturally targeted him first.
Fighter Number Four lunged from the side — and then… SMACK!
Number One fell face-first to the ground from the crushing blow.
He lifted his head slowly, unable to see light or darkness without his eyes.
A faint groan escaped his throat, growing louder, rawer.
The three others froze in place as he struggled to rise — but his body refused to obey.
He spoke through broken breaths, voice trembling against the floor:
"Why… hh—hhk… ha—hah… why are we doing this?"
He forced himself to his knees, whispering weakly:
"Why do we do this to each other?"
Fighter Number Two approached him from behind.
"I'm sorry, my friend. But we do this… to survive."
Number One lowered his head to the ground.
"Please… make it quick. I'm afraid of the pain."
The three surrounded him.
Number Two stood right behind, placing one hand under his chin and the other on the back of his skull. Then… CRACK!
Number One collapsed, lifeless.
Fighter Four turned his eyes away, muttering softly:
"What have we become?"
But Fighter Three saw things differently.
He seized his chance — one of the guards, on cue from the Spider Lady, handed him a spear-like metal rod.
He approached slowly from behind Number Four, who was still frozen in shock as Number Two dragged the corpse aside.
Fighter Three tapped his shoulder lightly.
Number Four turned around, only to meet— THUNK!
A direct blow. Fighter Three laughed maniacally as his opponent fell, clutching his bleeding head.
"Ghk—! What the hell—!"
Before he could even comprehend what happened, Fighter Three stood over him, grin twisted beyond humanity.
He tilted his head, eyes wide, and said with a hysterical smile:
"We do it to survive… isn't that right?"
"You son of—" SHLKT!
Number Four's rage flared for a second — then vanished as the spear pierced through his skull, straight through his eye and out the other side.
His arms fell limp beside him.
Fighter Three planted his foot on the corpse's chest and yanked the weapon out with a sickening CHLKT!
Number Two turned, staring in horror — watching how easily Number Three had killed, how he smiled through it all.
"YOU MONSTER!!"
Fighter Two shouted, trembling with fury.
But Fighter Three just grinned, circling him lazily.
"Oh, come on! You'd have done the same. Haven't you heard the rules?"
Number Two snarled:
"Not like this! Don't you understand the meaning of honor, you bastard!?"
Fighter Three stopped, resting the metal rod on his shoulder before bursting into laughter.
"Pffft—HAHAHA! Oh my god! Did you hear that, people!? Mr. Pink-and-Fluffy here's talking about honor in a death match!"
Laughter erupted from the crowd, echoing through the arena.
Even the Spider Lady, from her high seat, chuckled as she popped one of Fighter One's eyeballs into her mouth and said to her guard:
"Ha, I think I'm starting to like that one."
Fighter Two stood there, trembling as the laughter poured down on him like arrows.
He looked at his hands, then at the corpse in the corner.
A spotlight fell on him, illuminating every flicker of rage in his face.
His breathing quickened with every laugh, every word from Fighter Three, until finally—
"Honor means nothing here, Number Two."
Number Two's eyes widened, fury bursting through him like fire.
Fighter Three grinned and raised his weapon, voice sharp and taunting:
"Come on then. Show me how you'll win."
GRRAAAHHH!
Number Two roared and charged with all his might. The crowd went wild.
Fighter Three spun his weapon, bracing himself.
He swung for the neck — but Number Two ducked low, grabbed him by the waist, and lifted him clean off the ground, slamming him into the cage wall.
Fighter Three raised the spear to stab — but Number Two drove him straight into the metal mesh, knocking the air out of him.
The weapon dropped. Fighter Three gasped, trying to breathe.
Number Two stepped back, watching him crawl toward the fallen rod.
Then— CRACK!
"AAAAAAHHH!!"
Number Two stomped down hard, breaking Fighter Three's arm.
"Why are you doing this!? Weren't you just preaching about honor!?"
Fighter Two said nothing. His eyes were cold — no pity, no mercy.
He picked up the rod, glanced at the fourth fighter's corpse, then turned back toward the trembling man before him.
He approached slowly.
Fighter Three scooted backward, voice shaking:
"W-wait, wait, wait—Haheh—buddy! Please! We can work together! We can—"
Number Two ignored him completely, closing in step by step.
Now standing over him, he tightened his grip on the weapon.
"Please, my friend… we can team up! Against them! I'll do anything!"
Number Two raised the rod, his voice cold as steel.
"This is a death match, remember? There's no room for negotiation."
Fighter Three's grin twitched into something dark.
"Oh, I know."
BANG!
The crowd froze.
Ethan even dropped his phone in shock.
Then he burst out laughing:
"YEAH! I didn't bet on the loser this time!"
The audience erupted, clapping and shouting in pure chaos.
In the ring, Fighter Two stood motionless — ready to strike, but blood poured from his chest.
THUD!
He fell lifeless to the floor.
Fighter Three stood above him, gun in hand — one of the guards had slipped it to him earlier.
His left arm hung limp, broken beyond use.
He tossed the gun aside and spat on the corpse.
The cage walls began to rise slowly.
From her throne, the Spider Lady smiled with pride, grabbed her microphone, and roared:
"LADIES AAAAND GENTLEMEEEN… WEEEE HAAAVE A WIIINNNERRR!!!"
"YEEAAAH!!"
The crowd lost its mind.
Ethan started calculating his winnings.
"Okay, 5 to 1 odds… ten grand bet… that's—"
He gasped, eyes wide, then whispered excitedly,
"Fifty thousand dollars from ten! I can't believe it! HAHAAA!"
He jumped up, yelling as he ran off:
"Excuse me, everyone, I'm rich! HAHA!"
Meanwhile, the Spider Lady descended gracefully from her seat, walking toward Fighter Three with that eerie, charming smile.
The man was too terrified to meet her gaze.
She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and spoke sweetly,
"Go on. You're free… up to the door. You've earned it."
She gestured toward the exit.
He didn't think twice.
Barely holding himself together, he limped toward the gate, his left arm throbbing in agony.
As soon as his foot crossed the threshold—
BANG!
Laughter echoed from behind.
The Spider Lady spoke playfully to the audience:
"I said he's free up to the door… not beyond it~"
Her guard stepped out of the shadows, gun still smoking.
With a nod from her, the rest of the guards began collecting the bodies, dragging them off through the side corridors.
Meanwhile, Gabriel finally reached the bathroom on the far side of the grand estate.
He closed the door behind him, checked his watch, and waited.
Two minutes later, the door opened again—
"Time to take what you owe me, bastard."
Gabriel smiled, slipping his right hand into his pocket.
"I'd like to see you try."
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