The clink of drinks and the resonance of cheers turns the Screaming Sword into its initial namesake. When the tavern was first opened, its clientele were [Gdiators]. Big and strong fighters who can drink as hard as they can fight. Sometimes both. Eventually, [Gdiators] moved to other, better taverns when the [Governor] of Gdius made it illegal to charge tournament contestants for food and drink. The Screaming Sword lost its namesake, its clients, and eventually was sold off to multiple owners until Ragnar bought it.

  Now though, the tavern has grown quite alive on account of the number of people coming to meet a fan favorite, Boriss. Who is surprisingly adept at dealing with his admirers. He smiles, ughs, says something nice, and ends the conversation politely.

  Eventually, night came and the fans dwindled down to the tavern's regurs. This gives Ragnar a nice reprieve to focus on listening to their conversation.

  “The fourth match is happening in the central big Colosseum, right? What exactly are the rules?” Quasi asks the contracted [Gdiator] Micheal. The man is slightly tipsy from drinking, but still fully cognizant unlike Agris and Baldric.

  “Yes,” the man nods to the cat. “All the winners from the other Colosseums will enter the central colosseum,” Micheal expins pinly. “Which my guess is at the very least two-hundred fighters. The fights will be one versus one and you’ll have multiple fights in a row until a good fourth of the fighters are left. On the fifth day, the tournament continues until only two are left. The sixth day is the final fight for the champion. Lastly, the seventh day is the rewards ceremony where the prize is offered to the winner by the [Governor].”

  “Some kind of runed armor, right?”

  Micheal shrugs. “Usually more than that, but that’s generally the minimum. The prizes for advanced expert css tournaments tend to be far better.”

  “I see. I heard you have to live at the colosseum until you either win or lose. Is that true?”

  “It is.” Micheal stretches his left arm. “Once the finalists enter the stadium, they can't leave. Gdius will supply food, water, bedding, and all other manner of comforts in the meantime. Well, so long as they win their fourth match.”

  “Can Boriss bring anything with him?”

  “He can, though it will be immediately pced in storage and he will be provided with clothing.”

  “Last question. Is the tower opening blocked off?”

  Micheal frowns at the question. “Kinda? You’re not secretly part of the Tower ecclesiasticus, are you?”

  “I’m not, though I’ve dealt with them. I’ve just got a schorly interest in the towers. I’m curious if it being blocked off for so long has changed anything about it.”

  At Quasi’s words, Micheal snorts and shakes his head. “You’re an odd one. Then again, I’m talking to a cat, so maybe I'm just as odd too.”

  Micheal takes a swig of his drink, chugging the rest of the contents. “It’s not exactly blocked. The area close around the tower is used as a holding pen for beasts. So, I guess you can argue it’s blocked by teeth and cws.” He chuckles.

  Ragnar frowns at the conversation. An obsession with the tower? He’s heard rumors of people being able to enter the tower, but he’d accepted those as rumors. Maybe there is something to them.

  While he contemptes such a thing, Ragnar notices that one of the [Gdiators] had left his tavern.

  _______________________________________________________________

  Though a little woozy from the alcohol, Gino rushes into the Undercrust, passes Dana’s restaurant, and continues descending to the bottom. Even at such a te time, the Undercrust is full of activity- more so than usual. Bets are being pced in the upcoming tournaments with many favorites getting a lot of money put into them. Passing by a board, a list of the twenty most popur names are written on it- most of which he doesn’t recognize. But he does recognize two. Boriss and Baldric. Boriss currently stands at 138,000 trist to win the tournament compared to Baldrics 32,000. But, both do not compare to the top [Gdiators] who have over half a million. The reason why is because they’ve become advanced csses while Boriss and Baldric are still basic like himself.

  Eventually, Gino arrives at a well-maintained betting house. The pce is roomy, warm, and still somehow threatening. Which, considering this is a Gambino residence, makes a great deal of sense.

  “Gino!” A man calls his name when Gino arrives. He rushes to him with a clearly practiced fake grin. “Congratutions on your victory, young man.”

  “T-thank you Mr Gambino.”

  “Just call me Fuse. Mr Gambino just makes me sound old.”

  Fuse Gambino is a rather fmboyant man that reminds Gino of the Fmnigos. Except Fuse wears a suit and is arguably more wealthy and dangerous than the minor gangs. As far as Gino can tell, the gangs avoid the Gambino’s like the pgue.

  “Fuse, what’s my current bance?”

  “Your winnings are thirteen thousand trist. Did you want to withdraw or continue the investment?”

  Winning the third day of the tournament has given Gino a nice payout. He reaches to the side of his pants, grabs a pouch, and then hands it to Fuse. “Invest all of it with another two thousand trist.”

  Fuse accepts it. “Same bet as before?”

  Gino nods. “Yes.”

  “You sure? There will be three fights for tomorrow's tournament. You can bet on winning a certain number instead of all three.”

  “All of them.” Gino says. “I’m confident.”

  Fuse shrugs. “If you say so. I’ll have the bets pced. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Gino shakes his head and then yawns. “That’s all. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

  “Then I’ll be waiting.” Fuse smiles and waves Gino goodbye.”

  Gino waves goodbye before ascending the Undercrust to his home. The moment his head hits the hammock, sleep immediately takes him.

  _______________________________________________________________

  Then wakes him with a weight on his chest and a slight headache. Blinking rapidly, he immediately groans at the sight of a grinning cat.

  “Wakey wakey. It’s time for you to fight big burly men in front of a rge crowd.”

  “Ughhhh.” He sits up. “Yea, yea. I know.”

  “If you know, then put your clothes on and let's go. I have a busy day too.”

  “Doing what?” Gino asks. He gets out of his hammock and starts dressing.

  “I have to enter the tower, probably murder shit, and then return to make sure Boriss wins.”

  “Enter the tower?” Gino asks.

  “Yup. Now let's eat and get to the stadium early. Boriss will b e waiting.”

  Though confused, Gino doesn't ask Quasi to expin himself anymore. Because every time he had, the cat would give him some crazy story about being a champion and being part of a game. Gino may be young, but he knows when he’s being lied to.

  Eating quickly, the two rush out of Dana’s restaurant and make their way to the most crowded area in all of Gdius. Dubbed Colossus, the central complex alone is nearly a hundred acres, with the internal arena being only half of that. It is the rgest battleground in the world, with Falntine’s and Okami’s being a somewhat close second.

  The two quickly meet up with Boriss, who looks absolutely giddy.

  “Boriss, what’s with the smile.” Quasi asks the big man.

  “Von more level,” He says. “Then I am advanced css.”

  “Oh shit, already?”

  “Da,” He flexes his muscles. “But Comrade Cillian says it bad if I level.”

  “Cause he’ll profit less if you do.” Quasi expins. “Ignore him. You leveling benefits everyone more than bigger profits. Now, are you ready to go in?”

  “Da.”

  “Good. Tuck me in a pocket.” Quasi transforms into a tiny bird. But instead of flying into the stadium, Quasi flies into a pocket within Boriss’s coat.

  Gino frowns, but doesn’t raise a question. The two men enter the stadium, where they are directed to the back to undress and remove their clothing. As they do, a cat stealthily leaves the area, beginning its exploration of Colossus' vast underground network.

  __________________________________________________

  “Now, if I was a pen for beast, where would I-” Quasi stops talking as the smell of poop, blood, urine, and all manner of other smells enter his nostril.

  “Yea, probably that way.”

  Colossus is built around the central tower, but the actual arena is directly to the side of it. A giant metal rod in the middle of the arena would wind up blocking the view for many in the audience, after all. Regardless, the most important part of Colossus is the indestructible metal flooring that can withstand the violence of rge beasts and expert cssers.

  For Quasi, the arena isn’t his destination. It is the pens connected to it, and those pens are unfortunately quite far away. Traversing Colossus is an annoyingly harrowing process because of the sheer number of people housed inside. Near constantly, the hallways have at least one person traveling through, forcing Quasi to either wait for them to pass or run past them. So far, very few give Quasi more than a passing frown and are happy to ignore his presence. Others, not so much- not that they can keep up with the running speed of a cat.

  Eventually, Quasi arrives at the pens filled with numerous beasts behind solid metal bars. Quasi’s presence gains many a beast's interest. Most notably are the numerous wolves that lick their lips at the sight of a possible meal.

  To Quasi’s surprise, both the Lions and the Chimera show something akin to reverence. So much so, that the Chimera growls warningly at the wolves, shutting them all up. Then the Chimera lowers its head in what would seem like obvious fealty.

  “Finally, someone understands feline superiority.” Quasi comments. He walks deeper into the pens until the cages grow rger and rger, eventually turning into rge armored underground pastures. It is here where the rgest beasts are housed like Basilisks, Royal Griffins, A Hydra, a giant wolf, and one more.

  The pen closest to the tower is where Quasi’s destination is at. It is also where two aged retired [Gdiators] are currently looking into with forlorn expressions.

  “You know, I remember when Hellion ate Basilisks for breakfast. They’d have him fight one and then make the crowd watch as he devoured his kill. What a way to go.”

  “Getting old will do that for you. Nearly a hundred years at the top and now you’re poisoned and dying. What a way to go.”

  “Should we end his suffering? I mean, the [Healer] said the poisons destroyed all his major organs and that recovery is impossible.”

  “We’d get in trouble. They'll end his suffering when the butcher arrives tomorrow to skin him.”

  The [Gdiator] steps away from the pen with a sigh. “You’re right. I hope I don’t suffer like that when I die.”

  The other [Gdiator] comforts the man with a tap on the back with a forced smile. “Don’t worry, they won’t leave you to suffer. Nobody wants your wrinkly old skin.”

  “Prick,” the man chuckles.

  Their conversation over, the two leave the area, allowing Quasi to sneak into the pen.

  What he finds is a truly sorry sight of Hellion. The Royal Wyvern isn’t even tied down- what with the injuries being so bad. Behind the wyvern is the entrance to the tower- perfectly open for Quasi to enter.

  Not that he rushes to it. Instead, he walks up to Hellion.

  Hellion's eyes open. The wyvern tries to move its head, but only manages an inch.

  “I honestly thought you died. I’m Kinda impressed you survived- though I imagine you’d rather have died instead.”

  Hellion blinks, even seems to force out a weak growl. It tries to move again, but still only an inch.

  “Yea, still trying to fight till the end I see. You’ve got my respect, so I’ll offer you a deal. I’ll fight in your memory. In exchange, you offer your soul to me. Yeah?”

  Hellion blinks and growls. Either from pain or from approval, Quasi is not sure. But, he’d already decided to allow the beast to rest.

  With a flex of his mana, Quasi transforms into a Fenrimorph. He raises a gauntleted hand. Seeing this, Hellion doesn’t look surprised. Instead, the Royal Wyvern closes its eyes.

  A thump is heard and a favorite of the colosseum releases its final breath.