Deep breaths were the only thing that ever really settled me before a fight, no matter how effortless I expected it to be.
The inside of the arena was every bit as depressingly gaudy as I remembered.
I waited outside the ring’s metal cage, a simple mask held in one hand to conceal my identity. I always carried one around for situations exactly like this.
Even if I’d brought my usual costume, I wouldn’t have worn it.
Polaris didn’t participate in cage matches, and I had no interest in having my actual face broadcast across the world.
Admittedly, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what I really looked like, but the more obstacles you put between yourself and the truth, the harder it became for people to connect the pieces.
A pair of glasses, a slouched posture, and suddenly you could pass for an entirely different person. Plausible deniability really was a beautiful thing.
Arman waited beside me, towering over my smaller frame, the brilliant stage lights passing through his body and scattering across his crystalline form. "Best of luck," the diamond man said.
"Sure," I said, accepting the mask reluctantly and tying it over my face. I looked like Zorro wearing this damn thing, but it was better than showing my face.
Arman gave me another dazzling grin before turning away and walking off, several massive men with stone-like skin following him as part of his crew.
They escorted him through a side entrance, undoubtedly taking him toward his private seats where he could watch everything unfold like some Roman emperor. Typical.
I turned my attention back toward the arena. The announcer stood at its center, his hair slicked neatly backward and his suit far too pristine for a place like this. A collar of magnifying speakers wrapped around his neck and jaw, amplifying his voice until it thundered over the audience.
There weren’t that many people here. This wasn’t exactly a headline bout. Still, the seats were packed enough that the beating I was about to deliver would be a very public affair.
"Sir," Glacia said from behind me. "If you wish, we could quite easily depart here. None could stand in our way. I would ensure it."
I was pretty sure I was becoming accustomed to her particular brand of insanity, so I ignored that. "Appreciated," I said, cracking the joints in my hands and shaking my arms loose. "But I’ll be fine."
"But sir, with all due respect, you don’t have your armour," she observed. "And there are no weapons inside the arena."
Hearing that was admittedly a little insulting. I hadn’t exactly been Rambo in my previous life, but I’d learned enough to handle myself.
I eventually chuckled. "I’ll make do," I said. "Besides, do you really think I got this far if I relied on armour alone? Here’s another tip,"
I explained as Manotaur emerged on the far side of the ring. The audience erupted into cheers as the bullman lifted both arms, encouraging even more noise as though he were bathing in their adoration.
"The more weapons and tricks you have, the better. Remember when I told you about how if a streeter comes at you, you put them down no matter what?"
"Yes, sir," Glacia said, nodding.
"Well, if they think all you’ve got going is ice powers, they won’t be prepared for you to shove a knife in their guts."
"Very true, sir," Glacia said, scribbling that down in her notebook.
"I can’t believe you’re really fighting for me," Psyren giggled, clapping her hands excitedly, her eyes once again glowing with hearts. "Are you going to carve my name in his skin when you beat him, boss? Make them all know what’ll happen if they mess with your girl?"
"Such foolishness," Glacia scoffed, raising her eyes from her notebook to look at Psyren. "Sir does not need to carve your name in his foe."
"Right," I said.
"It would be far more effective if he strung up his opponent’s corpse on a telephone poll and kept the head as a trophy," Glacia finished with disturbingly sincere confidence.
"Uh," I said.
Psyren gasped, both hands flying to her mouth. "Really?" she said, and ye gods, the hearts shining in her eyes were bright enough to compete with the stage lights. "You’d do that for me, boss?"
"Well... we’ll see," I said awkwardly as the announcer’s voice rang out.
"And his opponent! A new face to the ring looking to make a name for himself, because he doesn’t have one yet! The Masked Mauler!"
Really? Masked Mauler? This was exactly why you didn’t let other people come up with your villain name. Still, whatever. There were no bad parts, just bad actors.
I climbed into the ring, giving the crowd a wave because I knew that was what they wanted.
A handful of boos greeted me, but for a heel, those were just as valuable as cheers, perhaps even more so. And they’d soon have plenty more reasons to boo.
I walked toward the center of the ring beneath the blistering glare of the stage lights. Drones dipped through the air around us while cameras whirred beneath the hovering discus pads.
Manotaur approached from the opposite side, his grin almost stretching all the way to his horns as the announcer moved closer.
"Now shake hands, boys. I want a good, clean fight here. You got it?" the announcer said.
"Sure thing," Manotaur said, squaring up against me.
"Yeah, sure," I said, eying the bull-headed brute.
We clasped hands, and I fought back a wince as Manotaur crushed my fingers in his grip. Fucker.
If I’d had any lingering doubts about putting him in his place, that handshake settled them. Being a villain was one thing. Being petty was another.
He eventually released my hand, and I shook it out as we backed away. The announcer hurried from the ring before turning around to face us from the outside.
"And let’s Rrrrrrrrumble!" he roared.
There was plenty of metal surrounding us, but none that I could use.
The pillars vibrated as they generated a force field, turning the chain-link cage into little more than decoration. But I had no intention of tearing those links free, even though I easily could.
That would reveal the game far too soon, and I wasn’t about to expose my powers on a stage like this.
Manotaur, meanwhile, looked completely confident. He strutted in front of me with his arms spread wide. "Take a look," he said, grinning widely. "No more cheap tricks from you. I ain’t got no metal on me now!"
He wasn’t lying. He’d actually shown some surprising foresight by removing the boots he’d arrived in and going barefoot. He’d also discarded his rings, necklaces, and even his belt buckle.
And perhaps that would have been enough if we’d been living in ancient Greece, where he probably would’ve had an entire mythological saga written about his bullying ass.
Unfortunately for him, this was the modern age, and most people carried some amount of metal inside their bodies. Not nearly as much as people did back in the sixties when lead still polluted gasoline, but more than enough for what I needed.
"You sure did," I said as I concentrated on him, reaching out with my powers and searching for the faint vibration. There. I felt a grin spread across my face. "Good job."
His smug expression slipped slightly, replaced by a dark glare. "You mocking me?"
"No no no," I said, tightening my control around what I’d discovered. "I’m sure you took all the precautions you thought of. I’m very impressed."
Manotaur sneered, his lip curling as his fists tightened beside him. He tossed his head like an angry bull preparing to charge. "You think you’re a big man? I’m bigger than you!"
"Well, you know what they say about big things," I said.
"You talking about my dick?"
"What?" I said. "No, I meant the harder they fall. Do you not have a big dick?" I asked.
"I’ll fucking kill you!" he bellowed, charging at me with his horns lowered.