A few more fights went by, one after another, and Aron did what he’d been doing from the start, quietly leaning toward Sheri, giving his thoughts on who he believed would win each match. His predictions weren’t perfect, but they were good. About two out of every three times, he called it right. The occasional mistake only made things look more natural.
Sheri followed his guidance, placing bets of one million on each bout. It wasn’t as extreme as the five million she’d put down on Na, but it was still a big step up compared to what she’d been doing earlier in the night. The increase was intentional. If she stayed too conservative, it would look strange later when she suddenly started wagering huge amounts. The Black Hounds were used to reading people; she couldn’t afford to stand out.
She needed her betting pattern to look like a wealthy gambler slowly warming up.
Aron had already warned her. If she jumped from tiny bets to massive ones all at once during Na’s later fights, the organizers might see it as suspicious and rig the outcome. They could make sure the person she backed would lose just so the venue could claw back some of the money.
So she let the stakes rise steadily, like any other rich guest getting more caught up in the night.
From what Aron could tell, Na would probably only go through three more fights at most before the event wrapped up. That gave them some breathing room, and thanks to the smaller matches, they could build their bankroll and make their big moves later.
While Sheri handled the betting, Aron remained on constant alert. His eyes drifted across the room in between fights, tracking faces, positions, and exits. He was gathering information not only on the fighters, but also the guests, guards, and staff. The layout of the room. The distance from their seats to the nearest door. The number of people between them and any possible escape route.
This shouldn’t come to that, he thought. We’re not doing anything out of line compared to the others. But if we win too much, they might decide to handle it after the show, somewhere others can’t see. Corner us and force us to hand the money back.
The screens flickered, drawing everyone’s attention as the next match was announced.
Two fighters appeared on the holographic displays.
The first was a mountain of a man. Huge, round, and bulky, with thick arms and a wide torso. A lot of it looked like fat rather than muscle, but his sheer size was intimidating on its own. It gave the impression that hitting him would feel like punching into a wall, painful, and not very effective.
The display showed his name as Slob .
No one in the room believed that was his real name, but it fit the image almost too well.
His opponent walked into the ring from the other side. A man wearing a black leather jacket, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed as he stepped into the light.
Evon.
Nothing about him screamed "monster" or "killer." If someone saw him walking down the street in daytime, they would probably assume he was just a regular guy heading to a bar or a gig. No bulging muscles. No scars all over his face. No crazy expression.
Na, however, didn’t take his eyes off him.
Evon, he thought. From the Gilt Rats. And one of their fighters as well.
This fight should be easy for him. But most people here are going to think the exact opposite.
The match looked one-sided on the surface, but in the wrong direction. To the average spectator, Evon appeared at a huge disadvantage. That misunderstanding made this the perfect opportunity.
Na turned slightly at his seat and lifted his hand, subtly raising two fingers in the direction of Sheri and Aron. It was a tiny movement, but he knew Aron would be watching.
Aron spotted the signal almost immediately.
"Bet on the second fighter," Aron said quietly.
Sheri glanced at the screen where both men were displayed again. "Really? The second one? I mean... you haven’t let me down so far, so..."
Na wouldn’t risk something like that in the middle of an event just to take a random guess. Aron understood that. If Na was signaling now, he was confident.
"Do it," Aron said. "Five million. Same as Na’s fight."
Gripping the edge of the table for a second to steady herself, Sheri placed the wager. Five million on Evon to win.
Down in the ring, the host’s voice echoed, announcing the start of the match.
Slob moved first.
Despite his size, he lunged forward with surprising speed, his bulk crashing across the ring like a boulder rolling downhill. The technique he used was strange, he wasn’t just punching or kicking. He literally tried to use his huge belly as a weapon, attempting to body-slam Evon with his full weight.
Evon slipped out of the way with almost lazy ease, stepping aside as Slob’s shadow passed over him. The big man hurtled past and slammed into the side of the cage.
Metal shrieked under the impact.
The entire structure bent inward, making a deep curve, and the audience gasped. For a moment, it looked like the cage might actually break.
Slob groaned, pushing himself off the bars. When he straightened up, his chest was heaving, and he stared directly at Evon.
Up in the stands, Sheri watched with wide eyes. "He almost broke the cage," she whispered. "That’s insane..."
Evon, unbothered, reached up and adjusted his leather jacket as if the only thing that mattered was keeping it neat.
"If you care that much about that jacket," Slob shouted, rage rising in his voice, "you’re going to be eaten by me!"
He charged again.
Evon understood why he was here and what he was supposed to do. A part of him would have preferred to win using his own skill alone, relying entirely on technique and experience. That was how fighters earned respect.
But this wasn’t just about pride.
The Gilt Rats wanted a field test.
They had sent him to this event specifically to use and push their latest piece of Syndicate technology, their exoskeleton . That was the true purpose of tonight. The jacket he wore wasn’t just a fashion choice; it was hiding the suit.
The exoskeleton itself would have looked strange, mechanical, and suspicious if worn openly. People would have asked questions. Rumors would spread.
So instead, Evon wore the leather jacket, disguising the structure beneath it. To the audience, it just looked like part of his style.
Slob’s huge fist came flying toward his face.
Evon raised a single hand and caught it.
The punch stopped dead.
Not an inch of movement.
Slob’s eyes widened.
That’s impossible. How is this small guy doing this?!
He tried again with his other arm, swinging a second heavy punch. Evon intercepted that one too, lifting his other hand and blocking it as easily as catching a ball.
From behind the mask of calm, Evon’s thoughts were less impressed.
This is way too much of a cheat, he admitted to himself.
He released Slob’s fists and hopped back lightly to create distance. The moment he did, the bigger man roared and doubled down.
Slob hurled himself into another charge, this time throwing his whole body into it. When he got close enough, he actually leaped, trying to crush Evon beneath his belly and full weight.
Evon dashed straight toward him.
At the last second, he thrust out his palm.
His hand pressed into Slob’s front, and the massive man came to an immediate halt as if he’d run into a concrete pillar. All that momentum, stopped by one arm.
Clearly, that wasn’t something he could let the audience dwell on.
He pushed off the ground and let his body rise. In one smooth motion, he jumped and drove a powerful uppercut into Slob’s chin.
The punch traveled through the exoskeleton, amplifying what his normal human strength could do. Evon felt the impact resonate through his arm, heard the dull crack inside Slob’s jaw. The man’s head snapped back, and the rest of his enormous body followed.
Slob toppled backward, tumbling down like a felled tree and slamming into the floor of the cage. He didn’t get back up.
There was no question who the winner was.
Sheri stared, stunned. "You were right... again. Wow. I never would’ve expected that result."
Aron’s gaze stayed locked on Evon, his eyes narrowing as he watched the way the man carried himself, the way he had stopped those hits.
"Me either," Aron replied quietly. "There’s something off about him."