The host’s heart was hammering in his chest, though he kept his posture stiff and upright, determined not to show the fear crawling under his skin. How had everything gone so wrong, so fast? He had run dozens of events under the Black Hounds without a single major incident. He prided himself on precision, control, and maintaining a balance between brutality and business. Yet tonight had spiraled into chaos, unexpected fighters, unexpected powers, unexpected defiance.
And now, standing in front of him, was a man who had just dismantled two Black Hound enforcers as if they were toddlers swinging foam toys.
Aron.
The host glanced between Aron and Sheri, mistakenly assuming the young woman was the mastermind behind this confrontation. After all, Aron stood protectively by her side like a personal soldier. Surely, she must have ordered him to threaten the host.
"You fool," the host spat, trying to keep his voice steady, though a tremor slipped through. "You truly must be one of the most foolish people to ever walk into this venue."
His gaze shifted to Sheri, calculating, judgmental, spiteful.
"Young woman, do you have any idea who you’re trying to intimidate right now? Once the Black Hounds find out what you’re attempting, they will make a public example of you. They’ll ruin your company, your reputation, everything you own. They’ll make sure no one ever attempts something so idiotic again."
Aron had already sensed danger. Even before the host finished speaking, he caught a glimpse of movement, one of the staff members, disguised as a waiter, creeping behind Sheri with malicious intent.
Aron reacted instantly.
He spun back, a baton flicking into his hand as if summoned from thin air. He brought it down like a judge’s gavel, striking the waiter’s hand from above. The tray of drinks flew into the air, the glasses spinning weightlessly.
Aron snatched the falling tray and slammed it directly into the man’s face with a sharp metallic crack. Without losing momentum, he hurled the tray at another charging attacker. It smashed into the man’s temple, sending him sliding across the polished floor.
Sheri gasped, startled by the sudden violence, but her fear quickly shifted to awe as Aron continued to move with frightening efficiency.
Two more Batons slid into his hands, sleek, compact, and clearly well-practiced weapons. The Black Hounds hadn’t bothered confiscating them because they believed their raw strength made them untouchable. That arrogance was now costing them dearly.
Four men rushed in with knives, but Aron moved like a shadow. He struck each wrist with pinpoint precision, shattering their grip. Knives clattered across the ground.
A fifth man lunged at Sheri, and Aron didn’t hesitate. He whipped a baton straight into the man’s forehead, stunning him. As he collapsed, Aron stepped in, kicked the fallen baton back into his hand, and swung it upward, hammering the man directly in the throat. The attacker dropped instantly, choking.
Sheri’s heart pounded, but it wasn’t fear anymore, it was realization.
He’s... unstoppable.
’If he were in the ring,’ Sheri thought, swallowing hard, ’he would’ve won this entire competition without breaking a sweat. I see now... Max didn’t assign Aron to me because I needed supervision. He assigned Aron to me because he genuinely wanted me protected. Completely protected.’
The bodies on the ground proved it: six more Black Hound members subdued in under a minute. The host’s bravado flickered like a candle in the wind. This man standing before him, this guard, was not someone ordinary. The host had seen skilled fighters in the underground scene for years, but this level of efficiency was rare, terrifying even.
And the irony was bitter.
The real problem-maker, the person who had triggered all this chaos, Evon, was still in the ring fighting, unbothered and unrestrained.
When Aron approached, the host tried to lift his hands defensively, but Aron was faster. With a sharp movement, he seized the host by the back of the head and slammed his face into the table in front of him. The sound was loud, wood splintering, glass rattling, and a high-pitched gasp rising from the nearest spectators.
"I warned you," Aron growled, gripping the host’s hair tightly. "I told you not to try anything. I said you’d make your life very difficult. I didn’t realize you wanted to do things the hard way."
He slammed the host’s head down again for emphasis.
"Now," Aron continued, his voice low and cold, "this is your final chance. Why are you preventing anyone from leaving this place?"
The host bit his lip, torn between the Black Hounds’ expectations and the immediate danger of having his skull cracked open. But Aron’s hold tightened, and the pain forced a confession from him.
"It’s not me!" the host gasped. "It’s not my decision! It’s all because of Evon, Evon from the ring! He’s from the Gilt Rats, the syndicate gang above us, the ones who fund us! I have no choice but to follow his orders!"
Aron narrowed his eyes. "Then tell me," he hissed, pulling the host even closer. "What does he want? What is he planning?"
The host trembled, finally breaking.
"He... he plans to take control of the entire venue," the host whispered. "He wants full command. After the fight, he’s going to, "
Aron’s eyes widened.
The explanation hit him like a physical blow. Whatever Evon had in mind wasn’t a petty demand or a simple power grab. It was far worse.
Much worse.
Because Evon wasn’t planning to intimidate the Black Hounds.
He was planning to replace them. And the fight in the ring, the brutal display of overwhelming strength, was only the beginning.
Aron’s jaw tightened as the implications sank in. This wasn’t just dangerous. It was catastrophic, and there only way out, might be to fight.
****
*****
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