The sound of the crowd was different now. Before, they'd been screaming for Marcus's death—entertainment, spectacle, the natural conclusion to a mismatch. Now they were screaming something else. Confusion. Excitement. Hunger for what came next.
Marcus flexed his new hands, watching the claws extend and retract. Each one was three inches long, curved like scythes, sharp enough that he could feel them cutting the air. His entire body thrummed with power, with energy that felt like it would tear him apart if he didn't use it. Every sense was amplified—he could smell the fear-sweat on Sledge, could hear the big man's heart hammering in his chest, could see the minute adjustments in his stance as he tried to figure out what the hell he was looking at.
The man in the suit had retreated to the edge of the cage, still smiling that cold smile. He made a gesture, and the bell rang again.
Round two.
Sledge moved first, but he was cautious now, circling instead of charging. His cybernetic enhancements whirred and clicked as he shifted his weight, combat optics glowing brighter as they scanned Marcus's new form, trying to find weaknesses, trying to assess the threat.
Marcus didn't give him time to think.
He exploded forward with speed that shouldn't have been possible for something his size. One moment he was standing still, the next he was inside Sledge's guard, claws raking across the big man's chest. The subdermal armor that had turned aside Marcus's punches before split like paper. Four deep gouges opened across Sledge's torso, blood spraying in arterial spurts.
Sledge roared and swung his cybernetic fist in a haymaker that would have taken Marcus's head off. Would have, if Marcus was still human. Instead, Marcus caught the fist in one scaled hand and held it. Sledge's eyes went wide. The servos in his arm screamed as they tried to push forward, tried to complete the punch, but Marcus's grip was immovable.
Marcus squeezed.
Metal shrieked. The cybernetic plating buckled, then crumpled. Sparks flew as internal components shattered. Sledge screamed, a sound of pure agony as the feedback from his neural interface sent pain signals directly into his brain. Marcus kept squeezing, kept crushing, until the entire forearm section of the cybernetic limb was a twisted ruin of metal and sparking wires.
Then he ripped it off.
The arm came away at the shoulder mount with a wet tearing sound and a spray of blood and hydraulic fluid. Sledge staggered back, clutching at the sparking stump, his face gone white with shock. The crowd's roar reached a fever pitch.
Marcus tossed the ruined arm aside. It hit the cage wall with a clang and fell to the blood-stained floor.
"You were saying something," Marcus said, and his voice was different too—deeper, with a reptilian hiss underlying the words. "About giving them a show?"
Sledge tried to run.
It was pathetic, really. The big man turned and stumbled toward the cage wall, his remaining cybernetic leg pumping, trying to get distance, trying to get away from the monster that had been his victim just minutes before. But there was nowhere to go. The cage was locked. The crowd pressed against the mesh, screaming, some in excitement, some in horror, all of them unable to look away.
Marcus was on him in three strides.
He grabbed Sledge by the back of the neck and slammed him face-first into the cage wall. Once. Twice. Three times. The mesh dented with each impact. Sledge's face came away bloody, his nose shattered, teeth missing. Marcus spun him around and drove a clawed fist into his gut, just below the subdermal plating. The scales on Marcus's knuckles were harder than bone, and his claws punched through muscle and into the soft organs beneath.
Sledge made a wet gurgling sound. Blood poured from his mouth.
Marcus pulled his hand back, claws dripping red, and Sledge collapsed to his knees. The big man swayed there for a moment, trying to hold his guts in with his one remaining hand, his eyes glazed and unfocused.
"Please," Sledge whispered. "Please, I—"
Marcus's jaws closed around Sledge's throat.
The bite was instinctive, primal, something hardwired into whatever he'd become. His teeth—dozens of them, each one razor-sharp—sank into flesh and found the carotid artery. Blood flooded Marcus's mouth, hot and copper-sweet, and some distant part of his mind that was still human recoiled in horror. But the rest of him, the new part, the monster part, felt only satisfaction.
He bit down harder and twisted, the way a crocodile would with prey, and Sledge's throat came apart in a spray of red.
The big man's body spasmed once, twice, then went still.
Marcus released him and stepped back. Sledge's corpse hit the floor with a wet thump, blood pooling around it, spreading across the stained concrete.
The Pit went silent.
For a long moment, nobody moved. Nobody spoke. They just stared at Marcus, at the monster standing in the center of the ring, covered in blood that wasn't his own, breathing hard, yellow eyes glowing in the spotlight.
Then someone started clapping.
It was the man in the suit. He stood at the edge of the cage, applauding slowly, that cold smile never leaving his face. "Magnificent," he said, his voice cutting through the silence. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the future of the Pit. I give you the Apex."
The crowd erupted. The silence shattered into a wall of sound—cheering, screaming, chanting. Some were chanting Sledge's name, mourning their lost champion. But more, far more, were chanting something new.
"APEX! APEX! APEX!"
Marcus stood there, chest heaving, trying to process what had just happened. What he'd just done. He looked down at his hands—his claws—and saw them shaking. Not from fear. From adrenaline. From the rush of power, of dominance, of victory.
He'd killed a man. Torn him apart with his bare hands. With his teeth.
And it had felt good.
The realization should have horrified him. Should have made him sick. But standing there in the ring, covered in blood, listening to thousands of people scream his new name, Marcus felt only one thing.
He wanted more.
The man in the suit entered the ring, stepping carefully around Sledge's body. Up close, Marcus could see he was older than he'd first appeared, maybe fifty, with silver at his temples and lines around his eyes. But those eyes were sharp, calculating, the eyes of someone who saw people as assets, as investments, as tools.
"My name is Kade," the man said, extending a hand. "I run the Syndicate. We own the Pit, and about a dozen other operations in the city. And as of tonight, we own you."
Marcus stared at the offered hand. "I didn't agree to that."
"You did when you took the injection. The Reaper Serum—that's what we call it—costs more than you could earn in ten lifetimes. You think we give that away for free?" Kade's smile widened. "You owe us, Marcus. Your debt just got a lot bigger. But the good news is, you can pay it off. One fight at a time."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then we activate the kill switch." Kade tapped his temple. "The serum has a failsafe. Nanites in your bloodstream, keyed to a signal only we can send. You try to run, you try to fight us, and those nanites turn your blood to acid. You'll dissolve from the inside out in about thirty seconds. Extremely painful, I'm told."
Marcus felt rage building in his chest, hot and primal. His claws extended involuntarily. "You're saying I'm a slave."
"I'm saying you're an investment. And we protect our investments." Kade gestured to the crowd, to the betting boards where numbers were still scrolling, astronomical sums changing hands. "You just made us a fortune, Marcus. Keep winning, and you'll make us more. Do that, and maybe, eventually, you earn your freedom. Maybe you even get rich in the process. But first, you fight."
"How many fights?"
"As many as it takes." Kade turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Marcus? Don't get too comfortable with tonight's victory. Sledge was good, but he was just the beginning. We have fighters who make him look like a child. Fighters who've been enhanced for years, who've survived dozens of matches, who've killed more people than you've met. The Syndicate's goal is simple—we have a champion, and we're going to make sure he stays champion. That means everyone else, including you, is just an obstacle to overcome."
"Who's the champion?"
Kade smiled. "You'll meet him soon enough. If you survive that long." He walked to the cage door, and the handlers opened it for him. "Get him cleaned up," he called back. "And prep the next fight. I want to see what else he can do."
The handlers moved in, cautious, keeping their distance. One of them—the woman who'd brought Marcus to the ring—approached slowly, hands visible, non-threatening.
"Come on," she said quietly. "Let's get you out of here."
Marcus looked down at Sledge's body one more time. The big man's eyes were still open, staring at nothing, his expression frozen in a mask of terror and pain. Just minutes ago, Sledge had been the one standing over Marcus, ready to deliver the killing blow. Now he was meat on the floor, just another casualty of the Pit.
Marcus followed the handler out of the ring. The crowd parted for him, some reaching out to touch his scales, others pulling back in fear. He could hear them placing bets, already speculating about his next fight, about how long he'd last, about whether he could actually challenge the champion.
They led him through a maze of corridors, deeper into the complex beneath the meatpacking plant. The walls down here were concrete and steel, stained with old blood and other things Marcus didn't want to identify. They passed other fighters—some human, some enhanced, some things that barely qualified as either. All of them stopped to stare at Marcus as he walked by.
Finally, they reached a cell. It was small, maybe ten by ten, with a cot, a toilet, and nothing else. The handler gestured for him to enter.
"This is yours now," she said. "You'll stay here between fights. Food twice a day, water whenever you want it. Medical if you need it, though with what you've become, you probably won't."
Marcus stepped inside. The cell was barely big enough for his new body. "How long until the next fight?"
"Depends on how fast you heal. Could be days, could be weeks." She paused. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. About all of this. Nobody deserves what they did to you."
"But you work for them."
"We all work for someone." She started to close the door, then stopped. "The champion they mentioned? His name is Goliath. He's been undefeated for three years. Killed forty-seven fighters in that time. The Syndicate's invested everything in keeping him on top. They're not going to let you anywhere near him until they're sure you can't win."
"What does that mean?"
"It means they're going to throw everything they have at you. Every monster, every killer, every enhanced freak they can find. They're going to try to break you, to kill you, before you ever get a shot at their golden boy." She met his eyes. "So get stronger, Marcus. Get a lot stronger. Because what you did tonight? That was nothing compared to what's coming."
The door slammed shut. Locks engaged with heavy metallic clicks.
Marcus was alone.
He sat on the cot—it groaned under his weight—and looked at his hands again. The blood was drying on his scales, turning dark and crusty. Sledge's blood. A man he'd killed. A man he'd torn apart and felt good about it.
What had he become?
The question echoed in his mind, but he already knew the answer. He'd become exactly what Kade had called him. Apex. A predator. A monster designed for one purpose—to fight, to kill, to dominate.
And despite everything, despite the horror of what he'd done, despite the cage and the debt and the kill switch in his blood, Marcus felt something stirring in his chest.
Anticipation.
They wanted to throw monsters at him? Good. He'd tear them all apart. He'd climb over their corpses until he reached the top, until he faced this Goliath, until he proved that he was the strongest.
No matter what it cost.
No matter what he had to become.
Marcus lay back on the cot and closed his eyes. His last thought before sleep took him was of the crowd, chanting his new name, screaming for blood.
He'd give them what they wanted.
He'd give them everything.