Raven and Cod stepped into the cage.
The crowd erupted—loud, chaotic, and hungry for blood. Most of the cheers were for Cod, a local. But a few scattered voices shouted for the new guy. For Raven.
Raven stood tall—broad chest dusted with a bit of hair, abs defined like carved stone. He ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back as his eyes swept over the roaring crowd.
Unbothered.
He looked like he belonged in that chaos.
Then Raven looked at the man standing across from him, those black obsidian eyes calm and unreadable.
His opponent was shorter, but built like a tank—muscles thick, arms coiled with power. His face was a patchwork of old bruises and fresh scars, the kind only earned through too many fights. He wore nothing but long white shorts, his hands tightly taped. He stared at Raven, eyes hard, trying to intimidate him.
Raven didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Just stared back, still and cold, like the storm before the first drop of rain.
There were no referees here.
Only one rule: if you killed your opponent, they'd cut half your victory money.
The announcer's voice boomed through the arena, cutting through the noise like a blade.
The crowd hushed—buzzing with excitement but suddenly still.
A pause.
Then the voice echoed again, slow and dramatic.
"Standing in the red corner, wearing black trousers… a rookie in his first match… RAVEN!"
A ripple of murmurs ran through the audience.
"And his opponent—standing in the blue corner, with twenty-four victories and seventeen losses to his name… COD!"
The crowd erupted again—this time louder.
"Will Cod's ironclad defense hold against the rookie?"
"Or will Raven surprise us all… or bite the dust like many before?"
Cheers rained down from all sides. Stomps. Whistles. Chants.
The cage felt alive.
A heavy pause.
"The match starts in 3… 2… 1…"
A buzzer blared.
"FIGHT!"
As the match started, Cod began closing the distance—slow, calculated, both men locked in their stances.
Walker's left leg was slightly forward, arms raised. His left hand floated ahead of his right—balanced, poised.
They moved sideways, gauging each other's rhythm.
Cod crept in further, eyes locked on the rookie. His game plan was clear—corner Walker, limit his space, dull his agility, and neutralize the height advantage.
But—
BAM! A low kick slammed into Cod's knee.
He didn't flinch.
Pressed ahead again.
BAM! Another kick—same spot. Cod took it. Expected it. Gritted through the pain. Walker shifted back, still loose, still in motion.
Now, Cod was at the center of the cage.
WHAM! Walker fired a sharp front kick to Cod's stomach.
Cod blocked it with his forearms but staggered a step. Walker used that split-second to dart back, circling—hunting for cracks in Cod's guard.
Cod re-centered fast. No gaps. No mercy.
BAM! Another low kick to the knee.
Cod changed gears. No more slow push. He rushed in— a little fast, aggressive.
Walker backpedaled, eyes alert.
Cod closed the gap again.
Now, Walker's back was nearly against the cage.
He knew what was coming. A grappling attack. Pin. Pressure. Beatdown.
Walker subtly slid his left leg back, angling to escape—
But Cod charged, arms out, going for the clinch.
Walker was ready. He threw up his left hand—a feint, a flash to blind Cod's sightline—
BAM!
Right hook.
Clean to the jaw.
Cod's head whipped. The clinch fell apart.
Walker stepped to the side—and pounced.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
A brutal flurry crashed into Cod. He dropped to his knees, dazed, cornered by the cage.
Blood on Walker's knuckles.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
Cod collapsed. Unmoving.
The crowd exploded.
Announcer shouted over the roar.
"And that's it! The rookie Raven just dropped the veteran like thunder! Cod is down! He's out! What a debut—what a statement! This cage just got a new name to fear!"
The arena exploded in a frenzy.
Fans jumped to their feet, some screaming Raven's name, others just howling in shock.
Chants of "Raven! Raven!" started rising from random corners, gaining momentum.
Fists pumped in the air, drinks spilled, and even the announcer struggled to be heard over the roar.
"Well, that's Cod's job—Cash On Delivery," Myth said with a smug grin.
Ashley rolled her eyes. "That's such a lame joke."
Myth shrugged. "Lame or not, we should be looking at around 2,200 sols now." He paused, glancing toward the cage. "Walker's good—I mean, really good. Set up the whole thing like he was playing chess. Didn't even need to use his Seeker abilities. Took minimum risk and still wrecked Cod."
He looked at Ashley, then back toward the cage where Walker was being escorted out. "I'm impressed."
Ashley's eyes didn't leave the cage.
"What did you expect? He's a Rook." She leaned forward slightly. "One of the basic requirements to become one is being extremely skilled plus pulling off some extraordinary task in combat. " She scoffed. "The guy in front of him was chump change."
"That's true" He replied.
"Do you have an idea about the story grade Walker has?" Myth asked.
"Yeah… he has story grade 2, and he's a 6 percent Rook," Ashley said. Then she added softly, "Don't let him know you're aware of that."
How does anyone know their percent power access? Myth wondered. Sira doesn't seem to have that information appear in her head. Though, Sira's abilities are weird. Her story grade is really something else.
Myth paused and thought for a bit.
The nature of extraordinary tasks and the actions that a person takes decides the ability that a person might get. That everyone knows. But could it also be that the person's nature influences the ability they get...?
If so, then Sira's ambitionless behavior—which screams that she doesn't want to improve—might have influenced, or been a factor in, the ability she got. It might also be the reason the information she received in her head doesn't include any percent access—which correlates to improvement.
"Don't worry," Myth said, a small smile creeping in. "I'm a good liar. I just don't get this percent stuff fully. Like, yeah, it's the amount of power you can access—but does that show up in your head along with the story grade?"
Ashley gave him a side glance and replied in a low voice, "Yes. Obviously. There's a bunch they tell us about percent power access."
She counted off quietly on her fingers.
"First: the percent shows how much of your Seeker Pathway's power you can use.
Second: each Pathway has a different max cap—at least for humans. For Rook, it's 50%.
Third: the percentages don't scale equally. Like, 4% King isn't the same as 4% Rook. In fact, if story grades are equal, then 1% Queen could potentially take out a 5% Rook, 10% King, 10% Pawn, 7% Bishop, or 7% Knight.
So, to simplify—
1% Queen ≈ 5% Rook ≈ 10% King ≈ 10% Pawn ≈ 7% Knight ≈ 7% Bishop.
Fourth: to even attempt your second extraordinary task as a Rook, you must first be at 5%. There's no upper limit—you could try at 30% or 40%—but the stronger you are, the harder it is to find a task that qualifies.
Like… a normal human killing a bear? Extraordinary.
But a guy with bear-like powers killing a bear? Not even close. So, the stronger you get, the more impressive your next feat has to be."
Ashley looked toward the cage.
"Right now, Walker is a 6% Rook. He's just completed the prerequisite, so he's in the perfect stage to attempt his next extraordinary task. Honestly, he might've just completed it by escaping the Undercity."
Myth stayed silent, processing it all.
"So… how does someone increase their percent?" he finally asked.
"It's like a sport," Ashley replied. "The more you train and improve, the higher your percent—you're just getting better at playing your Pathway. And just like athletes earn medals for major feats, Seekers get a story grade for extraordinary deeds."
'So does that mean Sira might never have a chance to grow her percent and attempt her second extraordinary task?'
There was a silence. Then Ashley continued.
"Story grades are correlated to how good your extraordinary task was.
The story grade you achieve in the second can only be higher than before.
Like, for Walker to complete his next extraordinary task, his performance must be better than before. Only then will he get a story grade above 3. And as you know, it's difficult to achieve a higher story grade. So the difficulty just keeps increasing."
'That means for Sira to achieve an extraordinary task, she must perform extremely well. Prerequisites aside, her extraordinary performance must also be exceptional. Now… is it due to her nature that seeks no improvement that she has no percent growth? Or is it somehow tied to her story grade?'
Myth thought for a while, then decided to shift his focus back to the task at hand.
Myth leaned close to Ashley and asked in a low voice.
"Did you get all the names?"
"Yes," she said. "I've memorized them."
She paused, glancing back at the cage.
"When do we leave?"
"Now," Myth replied.
"I want food, a bed, and rest."
Ashley raised an eyebrow.
"Won't people start connecting Raven to us? That could cause problems."
Myth shrugged.
"Walker's going to live with us for our safety. Anyone who's paying attention will figure it out eventually."
Myth paused.
"Besides... if they come—it's better."