He drifted over beside a few dozen spectators, their throats loud from screaming, and their passion more alive than anything.
Veck stood out immediately, silent, and radiating a strange calm.
I thought they were joking... seems like these people are capable of ripping arms off.
The barrier encasing the shirtless human fighters shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights, clear as tempered water, an unbroken lens into violence.
This wasn't a regular transparent material. It moved with a technological fortitude, bending back the shockwaves of true, monstrous power. An intrusive intuition whispered through him... without this engineered bulwark, the building, the crowd, perhaps the entire block, would have been reduced to ash and ruin if they so chose to battle outside.
Man... this is some high-tech stuff. I'm not even going to mention the gear these people are wearing...
Scanning the room, Veck turned to a white man nearby, long hair draped to his lower back, paired with a scraggly goatee that gave off the easygoing air of a burned-out philosopher. The man's body was laced with cybernetic clothes like half the crowd. While, the fighters who were magically dueling had nothing but fighting tights on. It was as if... their skin was their armor.
"Hey," Veck asked, voice calm, "I'm new here. What exactly are they fighting for?"
The man scoffed, half-laughing, half-pitying. "Pft, what... been living under a rock? It's Galafight season, man. Every start of summer, they pick out of these superhuman bastards for who'll go on to VenZen. Biggest event in the galaxy. That black guy is called Athem... one of the strongest in this district. Fun to watch, but knowing he could kill us all in seconds… that just doesn't sit right with me. This armor I wear is just to protect myself against people without gifts."
The man continued, a wistful envy falling into his tone. "It's just not fair. If only I'd been born with a genetic blessing, a gift... then I could actually defend myself against him if I had to. Flyin across the skies, I wonder what it feels like."
Deflecting this guys misery, I responded. "I mean, I'm sure this place has precautions against something like a mass homicide," Veck offered, trying to sound knowledgeable about something he had zero clue about.
The man's gaze swept over Veck, lingering on his plain white clothes, as if he speaking of something entirely different. "Nah, not really. You don't look like the fighter type, so I don't blame you for not getting it... but a powerful gift? That's the unwritten requirement to join VzSoar. Doesn't matter how much battle IQ you have... It means nothing in the face of someone like Athem."
Veck let out the faintest smirk. "Yeah, well… doesn't matter to me. I'll be killing myself after this fight."
The man just stared, his grin faltering into unsettled silence before walking away to a different area.
Inside, Veck's mind buzzed.
I'm glad he went away. It's not that he's wrong... It's just, he needs to find some sort of calling in life...
I'm still suicidal. Not sure why, and honestly, my mind can't wrap itself around what's going on right now. Flying humans, bubble realms, buildings that should be rubble.
His thought cut off as a gigantically muscled man drifted to the side and brushed Vecks shoulder.
Quickly, they began facing off at each other when the man demanded an apology. "Apologize. You bumped into me," came a cold, grating voice.
Didn't you... bump into me though?
Veck exhaled through his nose, his patience thin. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but we're two grown men here… how about we act like it?" His voice held a measured confidence, just barely masking annoyance.
I tried turning back around.
The shredded bald man grabbed Veck by the shoulder, muscles knotting under tattooed skin, and yanked Veck back to where he'd been standing. "Didn't ask. Apologize."
Shock went off in Veck's eyes, but his hand instinctively slapped the man's grip away, though it felt like hitting a slab of marble. The man was barely affected, still locked onto Veck, eyes intense and unblinking.
I looked up and down at him. I'm six foot one. A few inches taller, sure… but my skinny frame makes this boon irrelevant. He'd kill me in hand to hand combat. Wouldn't even be a contest.
Veck drew in a slow breath. "Before I throw away my pride," he said evenly, "you do know bumping into someone in a packed venue is normal? This place is more crowded than Octoberfest."
He's not budging… and I'm not either.
What, does this guy think I'm scared of him? Maybe I would've been before this… suicidal conundrum occurred.
I hate shallow people, people obsessed with some sort of imagined respect. And it usually comes from middle aged losers. I'm one to apologize when I'm clearly in the wrong, sure… but I'm not a timorous person.
His thoughts trailed, waiting for the man's next move. Intense eye contact was made, and it wasn't broken.
Since no one was talking… Veck decided to say…
Screw it, who cares. I'm dying today anyways.
Veck adopted a pernicious grin, the kind he's only shown a few people. "You know, since this is getting us nowhere…" His face relaxed back to neutral. "How much gear do you take? Because the second you stop, all that artificial muscle you worship so devoutly is going to melt right off."
While Veck had made his living behind a controller, he still carried himself with practiced posture, shoulders squared and back straight. If it weren't for the fact he weighed barely 130 pounds, he might've almost looked imposing. Almost.
The bald brute bristled, rage twitching in the lines of his temple. He raised both thick palms, ready to shove. "Alright… you asked for this."
Veck's thoughts slowed into a detached drift. How slow… do you not know I'm practically a monk when it comes to dodging?
But then again… Screw it. Let him hit me. Getting pounded into the floor wasn't exactly on my list of ideal deaths, but right now… I can't be bothered to care.
Just before contact, someone dashed through the crowd at immense speeds, perfectly dodging everyone…
A sudden, cutting presence was heading towards us.
A short man with no beard, barely five foot four, jumped ninety inches in the air, dashing off oxygen and to the side, basically double jumping using some jet black boots. He came from the upward middle side after his second leap, dropping in front of the brute's outstretched hands, their atoms barely touching his torso. Orange hair covered this man's head in a messy banged mop, partially hidden under oversized crimson goggles. His jacket was heavy, futuristic, thick orange-and-black leather layered over his muscular frame, paired with jet-black pants that resembled liquid obsidian.
Veck sensed it that second. A wave of intrusive malice so dense it felt physical. His spine tensed, instinct curling into something near dread for not his life, but this giant mans existence.
The bald man recoiled instantly. Fear, now rushing in replacement of his lame arrogance.
Then, almost as if nothing happened, the orange-haired newcomer's voice softened, calm but edged with scorn. "Randy, what did I tell you? Those muscle enhancers are turning you into an oaf. Take a walk and cool off."
The brute rolled his eyes like a sulking teenager and stomped off, shoulders still twitching with leftover adrenaline.
Veck stood there, barely bothered by the tension, locking eyes with the orange-haired stranger who turned his way. The man was lean, not frail, but wound compacted like a coiled spring, muscles strung with quiet force even through his long sleeve jacket, proven by that sudden, inhuman jump.
He has to have magic… or something darker simmering under the surface.
"Nice to meet you," the man said, his demeanor turned kind now. He extended a black-gloved hand, which Veck shook reflexively. "I'm Veck. Thanks for that… but you really shouldn't have."
Hands returning to his pockets, he tilted his head up to meet Veck's eyes. "Don't mention it."
… I think he missed the message.
"Name's Lack. I own this place," he said, almost offhand, as though it wasn't worth bragging about. "Been watching you since you walked in… perks of superhearing."
Veck hesitated, studying him. Lack smiled faintly, the threat gone but the intensity still burning behind his eyes.
"I see… Well, thanks. I'm just gonna watch this showdown and head out."
"Wanna watch the fight together?" Lack offered. "I'll give you the full rundown."
I let out a short laugh, fading right back into my usual gloom. "Sure, why not. I do have a few questions."
We both turned toward the front ledge, where the view of the octagon was clear and immediate.
"I'm still not used to seeing flying humanoids fight like this. And they're skilled, too, I can see bits of jiu-jitsu mixed in."
Pointing at the barrier, Lack added with a hint of pride, "Well, jiu-jitsu was once written off as obsolete when magical gifts were first discovered. One clean slam to a vital spot, and it's instant death. But what you're seeing isn't even their real speed. The barrier slows down time for spectators so we can actually process the fight. I heard it's something like time perception on top of physical agility. It triggers when danger's near."
"Yeah… obviously," I muttered, feigning confidence. "I knew that."
Lack after lowering his hand went quiet for a second before speaking again, his tone softer. "So… suicide, huh? I've thought about it myself. Never really tried, though. Guess I'm too much of a coward."
"You heard then… Look, man, I don't want to be your therapy patient." Ignoring what I said, he just kept his gaze on the fight, entertained but wearing the same emptiness behind his eyes that I did. At first, but especially now, it caught me off guard.
He seemed to have it all. Power, presence… even respect from monsters twice his size.
I guess everyone carries some sort of havok within their sentient hearts.