The air in Rat City's lower districts always carried a different kind of weight. It was thicker here, damp with the scent of old metal, burnt oil, and the ever-present rot of stagnant water that pooled beneath the city's uneven walkways.
Castin kept his pace even, his steps deliberate as he followed Matias through the winding streets.
They moved without speaking.
The deeper they went, the more everything changed.
The main tunnels of Rat City still had some semblance of order, stalls set up for trade, pathways carefully reinforced, homes nestled into the crevices of old structures. But here, the deeper, older tunnels were a different beast entirely.
Buildings leaned together as if whispering secrets, their surfaces slick with moisture and time. No guards, no enforcers. No one to call if things went bad.
They were in Gunrunner territory now.
Castin took it all in, his gaze sweeping over the faded gang markings carved into stone walls, the occasional watchful glint of eyes from darkened alleyways.
The Rusted Fang wasn't far.
It sat at the end of a cramped passage, just past a bridgeway where the wood beneath his boots creaked with age. There were no signs, no real markings, just the faint red glow seeping from within.
Matias stopped just short of the entrance.
For the first time since they'd left the palace, he turned, his dark eyes locking onto Castin's.
"Let me do the talking." His voice was low, sharp.
Castin lifted a brow. "Not much of a talker, Matias."
Matias didn't blink. "Exactly."
A beat of silence.
Then, without another word, he pushed open the door.
The tavern smelled like old wood, rust, and alcohol left too long in the air.
It was the kind of place that had existed for longer than anyone could remember, passed down through different owners, each one slightly worse than the last.
The lighting was dim and uneven, the glow of mismatched lanterns casting jagged shadows against the warped walls. A faint static-filled hum droned from an old speaker somewhere in the corner, struggling to play something that might have once been music.
And the people?
They were the kind that knew how to mind their own business, until they didn't.
Gunrunners, smugglers, mercenaries looking for easy work. No one here was innocent, and no one cared to pretend otherwise.
Matias moved first, weaving through the crowd with purpose, ignoring the lingering stares that followed them. They were outsiders here.
For now.
Castin kept a steady pace beside him, adjusting his stance as he walked, not too stiff, not too casual. He needed to look like someone who belonged in a place like this.
He was used to playing roles.
That didn't mean he liked it.
They found their target at the far end of the room.
A rat sat alone at a corner table, his paws wrapped around a half-empty mug. His fur was dark, lean frame wiry, eyes sharper than he let on.
He wasn't drunk.
He was watching.
Matias didn't hesitate. He dropped into the seat across from him, motioning subtly for Castin to do the same.
The rat barely looked up, swirling the contents of his drink.
"Didn't think you'd come back," he muttered.
Matias held his gaze. "Didn't think I'd need to."
The rat's whiskers twitched in amusement, a slow smirk creeping across his face. He finally lifted his mug, tilting it slightly toward Castin.
"This your stray?"
Matias didn't blink. "Something like that."
The rat let out a slow hum, his amber eyes flicking over Castin with a deliberate, lazy once-over.
"Well then," he mused, tapping a claw idly against the rim of his mug. "Guess we'll see if he's got teeth."
Apparently The Rusted Fang had its secrets.
It was more than just a place to drink, more than just a hub for Gunrunners and smugglers looking for work. Beneath the warped floorboards, behind the back rooms where deals were made, the real business happened.
And tonight, Castin was about to be a part of it.
Rixis led them through a narrow hallway at the back of the tavern, the air turning thicker, hotter, the distant murmur of voices growing louder with each step.
Matias moved beside Castin, his posture unchanged, calm, collected, but his hand still hovering close to his belt.
Rixis, on the other hand, was enjoying himself.
"You lot really don't waste time, huh?" he mused, his tail flicking lazily behind him as he pushed open a rusted metal door. "Figured Matias would be back eventually, but bringing a smooth-skin with him? Bold."
Castin ignored the jab. "Is that gonna be a problem?"
Rixis stopped in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder with a sharp-toothed grin.
"That depends," he said. "On whether or not you're any good at bleeding."
The door swung open, and heat crashed into them.
The crowd was packed tight, bodies pressed together along the upper walkways that overlooked a crude fighting pit dug into the stone floor. The glow of lanterns and crude electric lights cast jagged shadows against the damp walls, illuminating the makeshift cage at the center.
The floor was stained dark.
Castin knew immediately what it was.
Rixis strode forward like he owned the place, passing a few grimy, eager-faced gamblers who were already deep in conversation over the night's bets.
Matias barely spared them a glance.
Castin did.
Most were rats, but there were humans too, rough-looking men and women, the kind who had long since abandoned the surface.
And at the far end of the pit, Roe sat in a high-backed metal chair, his coat hanging open, a lit cigarette smoldering between his fingers. He wasn't watching the current fight, his attention already fixed on Rixis and his new guests.
"Sorry I was late," Roe called over the noise, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. "Was seein' to some business."
Matias stiffened just slightly, but Rixis just chuckled, leading them closer to the edge of the pit.
"That's alright, boss. You're just in time."
Rixis turned back to Matias, then to Castin, clapping his paws together.
"I've been thinking about how to welcome our new recruit, and wouldn't you know it? I came up with the perfect idea."
His whiskers twitched as he jerked his chin toward the pit.
"I want to enter your smooth-skin into a fight. See if he's worth his weight."
Castin tensed. "Not interested."
Rixis snorted. "Not a request."
Matias finally spoke. "He doesn't need to prove himself to you."
"Oh, I think he does."
Rixis tapped his claws against the metal railing, his smirk widening.
"This ain't about a Gunrunner welcoming party. This is about trust. And trust, my friends, is built on spectacle."
He gestured dramatically toward the pit, where a tall, broad-shouldered human was shaking the blood off his knuckles after finishing off his opponent.
"Lucky for you, we got an open slot tonight."
The crowd roared, excitement pulsing through the walls as Rixis motioned toward the pit's current victor.
"Meet Clay," Rixis said with a grin. "He's been itching for a challenge."
Clay turned his head, looking Castin over with the kind of lazy disinterest that only came from overconfidence.
"Looks weak," Clay muttered.
"Yeah?" Rixis grinned, shoving Castin toward the steps that led down into the pit.
"Then this should be real quick."
The First Fight
The stone was slick beneath Castin's boots. He could still feel the residual warmth of the last man's blood drying in patches along the dirt floor.
Clay was already rolling his shoulders, loosening up, flashing a grin full of broken teeth as he sized up his opponent.
"Make this easy on yourself, mate," he drawled. "Go down fast, and I won't break your legs."
Castin exhaled slowly, rolling his wrists, testing the tension in his muscles.
He wasn't nervous.
He was waiting.
The announcer's voice boomed overhead.
"Alright, alright, let's get this show started! Fighters, ready?"
Castin lowered his stance.
Clay cracked his knuckles.
"BEGIN!"
Clay rushed forward immediately.
He was fast, but Castin was faster.
The moment Clay's fist came swinging for his ribs, Castin's body moved on instinct, not dodging, but shifting, letting the attack skim past him by mere inches.
The world felt sharper.
Faster.
He wasn't just reacting, his body already knew what to do.
Enhanced reflexes.
Clay hesitated for half a second too long, surprised that his hit hadn't landed.
That was all Castin needed.
He pivoted on his back foot and drove his fist into Clay's stomach, the impact cracking through the pit like a gunshot.
Clay choked, stumbling back a step, his grin vanishing as he looked up, startled.
Castin exhaled.
Yeah. That felt different.
He could feel the strength behind his own punch, the way his body moved cleaner, sharper than before.
But before he could process it, something flashed in Clay's grip.
A knife.
The crowd erupted, laughing, jeering.
Rixis' voice crackled through the PA system, filled with wicked amusement.
"Oh, by the way, smooth-skins, this is a fight to the death."
Laughter boomed over the speakers and microphone cut off.
The fight changed.
Clay's stance shifted, his grip tightening on the blade.
Castin's heart slowed.
Not with fear.
But with certainty.
He didn't need to hold back anymore.
For the first time since arriving in Rat City, he was going to find out just what his body could do.
Castin watched as the knife gleamed under the pit's dim lights, reflecting the blood already staining the dirt floor.
Clay's grip on the switchblade tightened, his stance shifting, his movements no longer sluggish and overconfident but controlled, lethal.
Castin felt his body tensing in response, the air in the pit changing.
The cheers of the crowd blurred into the background.
This wasn't a fight anymore.
This was an execution.
Clay lunged.
Castin moved faster.
The moment the blade came for him, Castin's body reacted, shifting, twisting. He sidestepped the attack by mere inches, his instincts sharper than they should have been.
Clay was fast, but Castin's reflexes were faster.
The knife came again, a sharp, practiced arc aimed at his ribs.
He caught Clay's wrist.
A flicker of surprise flashed across the man's face, but Castin wasn't done.
Before Clay could react, Castin turned his grip inward, stepping into the attack rather than away from it, his elbow crashing into Clay's forearm with unrelenting force.
The knife clattered to the ground.
The crowd roared, some cheering, others booing.
Castin barely noticed.
Clay staggered back, clutching his wrist, but Castin didn't let him recover.
He lunged forward, grabbing Clay's arm and twisting it in a brutal hold, bending the joint the wrong way.
A sickening crack echoed through the pit.
Clay screamed.
Castin shoved him back, stepping away. His chest heaved, his pulse pounding.
It was over.
He turned toward the crowd, lifting his hands.
"He's done! It's over!" His voice was rough, edged with frustration. "You wanted a fight, you got one. No one else needs to—"
The hit came fast.
A heavy fist crashed against his jaw.
Stars exploded across his vision as he staggered, pain jolting down his spine.
Clay.
Still standing.
Still fighting.
The cheap shot had been deliberate, the moment Castin turned his back.
For a brief second, the pain wasn't the problem.
The betrayal was.
Castin had spared him.
And this was how he repaid him?
A slow, heated anger coiled in Castin's chest.
His muscles moved on instinct, his body already reacting before he had a chance to think.
He kicked out, a sharp, clean sweep meant to knock Clay off his feet.
But the moment his boot connected, something went wrong.
Clay's shin snapped like splintered wood.
The sound was worse than the scream.
Castin's breath stopped in his chest as Clay collapsed onto the dirt, clutching his ruined leg, his howls of pain drowning out the cheers.
Shit.
That wasn't what he meant to do.
He blinked down at Clay, then exhaled, rubbing his jaw as the crowd roared around them.
"…Told you," he muttered. "Should've stayed down."
Laughter rippled through the pit.
Then—
A gunshot.
The sound cut through the noise like a blade, and Clay's screams stopped instantly.
Castin's head snapped up, his blood turning cold as he followed the source.
Roe.
The Gunrunner leader still sat at his perch, smoke curling from the barrel of his pistol, his expression unmoved.
He let the silence sit for a long moment before flicking his gaze toward Castin.
"Ol' Rixis said it was a fight to the death," he mused, his voice light, conversational.
He tilted his head.
"So it's a fight to. The. Death."
He punctuated each word slowly, like he was explaining something simple to a stubborn child.
A few of the rats in the crowd laughed, muttered dark encouragements, but Castin's stomach churned.
It didn't have to end like that.
He took a step forward, shaking his head. "That wasn't necessary."
Roe lifted a brow, amused. "You sure? Seems to me you were well on your way to doin' the job yourself."
Castin gritted his teeth. "I gave him a way out."
Roe exhaled, tapping his fingers against the grip of his gun. "Yeah. And look where that got you."
A slow grin curled across his lips as he stood, rolling out his shoulders.
"You got fire, smooth-skin. Ain't often we get one of your kind down here that knows how to use his fists."
The crowd murmured in agreement, watching Castin with hungry, interested eyes.
"But a one-on-one match doesn't prove much, does it?" Roe continued. "Let's see what you can do when you're outnumbered."
The noise in the room shifted, a new kind of excitement rippling through the crowd.
Roe's grin widened.
"Hope you got some fight left in you," he said. "Because you're not done yet."
A pair of figures emerged from the crowd, stepping into the pit.
Castin's stomach tightened as he recognized their matching footwork, the easy way they moved together, shifting into formation without a word.
This wasn't random.
This was routine.
Rixis grinned wildly from his perch above, leaning into the microphone.
"Ladies and gents, we're in for a real show tonight. Introducing the reigning champions of the Rusted Fang's two-on-one match: Mordo & Slink!"
The crowd roared.
Roe gave Castin one last mocking smirk before taking his seat again.
"You impress me, smooth-skin," he said, resting his arms behind his head. "But let's see if you can survive impressing me."
The roar of the crowd shook the walls, a chorus of eager voices hungry for blood.
Mordo and Slink stood on the opposite side of the pit, two halves of the same beast, one slow and brutal, the other fast and precise.
They had done this before.
Castin could tell just by the way they moved, a seamless, practiced rhythm, neither stepping in the other's way, each anticipating the next move before it happened.
They weren't just fighting together.
They were hunting together.
And Castin was the prey.
His fingers curled around the switchblade in his hand, the same one Clay had tried to kill him with. He hadn't used a knife in years. He didn't like them, too personal, too final.
But right now?
Right now, it was his best shot at getting out of this fight alive.
Dancing with Death
Slink moved first, vanishing into motion, his lean frame darting forward so fast it barely seemed real.
Castin barely had time to react before the first strike came, a sharp, sweeping attack aimed at his ribs. He twisted away just in time, but the moment he did, Mordo was already there.
The giant rat's fist slammed into Castin's shoulder, sending him reeling sideways.
Pain flared up his arm, but he recovered fast, rolling with the impact.
The knife was still in his hand.
Mordo cracked his massive knuckles, the ground beneath his feet shuddering with his weight.
Slink grinned, circling Castin like a vulture.
"No way you're getting out of this one, smooth-skin," he taunted.
Castin didn't answer.
He just waited.
Mordo came first this time, his heavy footfalls shaking the earth as he swung hard, aiming to end this in one hit.
Castin ducked low, avoiding the blow, but he wasn't dodging, he was positioning.
Slink was already mid-sprint, closing in from Castin's blind spot.
That was exactly what he wanted.
At the last second, Castin twisted behind Mordo, using the larger rat's size as cover, Slink barely had time to react before Castin whipped the knife downward, slicing deep across the back of Mordo's ankle.
A roar of pain tore through the pit.
The Achilles tendon.
Mordo collapsed onto one knee, his massive frame struggling to stay upright under its own weight.
For the first time, the crowd gasped.
Rixis let out a long, amused whistle.
Slink's grin disappeared.
"You son of a bitch"
He lunged.
Castin met him halfway.
The Brawl
Slink was fast, too fast.
Every hit was meant to kill, every movement meant to overwhelm.
But Castin was faster.
Their fists collided in a brutal flurry of motion, dodges turning into counterattacks, blocks into openings.
Slink landed a hit to Castin's ribs, but Castin took the momentum and turned it back against him, driving an elbow into Slink's jaw.
The rat stumbled, but recovered too quickly.
They clashed again, and again, and again, Slink's speed vs. Castin's precision.
And then, a mistake.
Slink lunged, too eager to finish it.
Castin sidestepped and caught him across the side of the head, sending him crashing into the dirt.
Slink didn't move.
The crowd went silent.
Then, the booing started.
They wanted blood.
They wanted a body.
The Choice
Castin stepped away, breathing hard, his body aching but still standing.
Mordo was still on his knees, breathing heavy, his injured leg useless beneath him.
Slink was unconscious, barely breathing.
The fight was over.
Castin turned to the crowd, throwing out his arms.
"It's done!" he called. "I won. You got your show, now let them live."
The crowd hated it.
The boos grew louder, voices demanding a death.
And then, a metallic click.
Castin didn't need to turn to know what it was.
Roe had drawn his gun.
The pit went still.
Castin exhaled, then slowly looked over his shoulder.
Roe was watching him with cold amusement, the barrel of his pistol aimed right at Castin's head.
"You don't get to make the rules, smooth-skin." Roe's voice was calm. Final.
He gestured to the knife still in Castin's hand.
"You're gonna kill one of 'em. Now."
Castin's jaw clenched.
He turned back to Mordo, who was still watching him, not pleading, not begging. Just waiting.
Slink was still out cold.
The weight of the knife felt heavier than before.
Castin's fingers curled around the handle.
A choice.
Roe's gaze never wavered, watching him with piercing intensity.
Just as Castin lifted the blade, his body tensed—
And in one swift motion, he spun on his heel and threw the knife.
The blade cut through the air, its path straight, perfect, precise.
A loud metallic clang.
Roe's gun flew from his hand, the force of the impact sending it skittering across the pit.
The crowd fell into stunned silence.
For the first time all night, Roe's expression shifted.
His gaze flicked to the gun at his feet.
Then back to Castin.
And then, he laughed.
A slow, genuine laugh.
"Well, well, well," he murmured, rubbing his jaw as he looked Castin over.
The tension in the air didn't fade, but the energy changed.
Roe exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he retrieved his gun.
"Smart move," he admitted, holstering the weapon. "Could've got yourself killed."
Castin shrugged. "Could've."
A long pause.
Then Roe grinned.
"I like you."
The crowd erupted, a mix of cheers, laughter, and whispers.
Roe looked at Castin one last time, his grin widening.
"Alright, smooth-skin," he said. "Let's see what else you got."
The crowd was still buzzing, a mix of excitement and disbelief at what they had just seen. Castin stood in the pit, his breath steadying, his knuckles sore but his body still intact.
Roe let the energy settle, taking his time as he rolled his shoulders, giving Castin one last measuring look before smirking.
That was it.
That was the approval.
Matias stepped toward Rixis his voice calm, but with a sharpness beneath it. Rixis who was still perched above the pit sat as his tail flicked idly as he grinned.
"I think he's earned his place." Matias nearly ordered to Rixis
Rixis let out a low chuckle, scratching at his chin.
"Worried about your pet, huh?" His tone was mocking, but his eyes glinted with something else, curiosity.
Matias didn't respond.
Roe, on the other hand, just laughed, grabbing and then holstering his pistol before motioning lazily toward Castin.
"Let him up," Roe said. "We got better things to do than waste more talent."
The tension broke.
The fight was over.
And Castin?
He had won.
Echoes of the fight still clung to the pit, the scent of sweat, blood, and dirt thick in the air. Castin rolled his shoulders as he walked, wincing slightly at the deep ache settling into his muscles. His body still felt wired, ready for another fight, but his mind was catching up to the fact that it was finally over.
Matias was waiting for him near the exit, standing with his arms crossed, jaw tight.
He was pissed.
He didn't say it outright, but Castin could see it, the way his fingers twitched against his sleeve, the way his eyes lingered on the pit entrance like he was debating going back inside to handle something.
Castin exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair.
"Well," he muttered, "that could've gone worse."
Matias didn't smile.
"Could've gone better."
Castin rolled his shoulder again, testing the soreness in his ribs. "You want to help patch me up, or are we going straight to Rixis to get a job first?"
Matias hesitated. His usual calm, unreadable mask wavered, but only for a second.
"We see Rixis first," he said. His voice was clipped, sharp. "The faster we get something solid from Roe, the better. Then we deal with your injuries."
Castin arched a brow. "That desperate to prove ourselves?"
Matias' jaw clenched.
"To keep Rixis from trying something again."
Castin stilled for a moment, watching Matias carefully.
That wasn't just frustration talking. That was anger.
Matias had hated what had happened in that pit.
And he wasn't going to let it happen again.
"…Alright," Castin said simply.
Neither of them spoke as they left the underground pit and made their way back toward the bar's private meeting rooms, the places where real business happened.
The back room of The Rusted Fang was quieter than the pit, but it still carried the same lingering sense of grime and danger. The wooden beams were warped, the air was thick with the scent of cheap alcohol and old smoke, and the single dim light overhead flickered just enough to make the shadows move.
Rixis was waiting for them.
He was leaned back in a chair, feet propped up on the table, lazily picking at his claws like he hadn't just orchestrated Castin's near-execution an hour ago.
Matias closed the door behind them.
Rixis didn't bother looking up.
"Didn't expect you two back so soon," he muttered, his tone somewhere between amused and disinterested.
Matias crossed the room in three steps and slammed his hands onto the table.
Rixis finally looked up, ears flicking.
"We need a meeting with Roe." Matias' voice was low, sharp, leaving no room for argument.
Rixis grinned. "And here I thought you were just droppin' by to thank me for the warm welcome."
Castin exhaled through his nose. He was too tired to deal with this, but Matias?
Matias was holding himself together by a thread.
Rixis must've seen it too, because he let out a mock sigh, stretching his arms over his head.
"Relax, mate. You've got your in. Roe's got an assignment for you two, something small. You'll meet him tomorrow, just outside the old freight tunnels."
Matias didn't move.
Rixis finally dropped his feet from the table, leaning forward with a smirk. "See? Easy."
Matias didn't blink.
"Don't pull that again."
Rixis arched a brow, still grinning. "Pull what?"
Matias' voice dropped lower, a quiet, controlled fury laced in every syllable.
"Throwing Castin into an unannounced fight to the death. If you ever pull something like that again, there will be hell to pay."
The smirk on Rixis' face twitched just slightly.
Then, he leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, clicking his tongue.
"Matias, you know trash like him isn't worth a shined up ball of shit?"
Matias moved before Castin even saw it coming.
A single, solid punch to the jaw.
The impact cracked through the room as Rixis' head snapped sideways, his chair tilting dangerously before collapsing beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor.
Silence.
Rixis groaned from the ground, paw twitching as he reached up to rub his jaw.
Matias shook out his fist, exhaling slowly.
"I think we've hit our limit here."
Castin blinked. "…Yeah. Seems like it."
Matias turned for the door. "Let's go."
Castin followed without hesitation.
Behind them, Rixis let out a pained, laughing wheeze, voice slurring slightly.
"Damn, Matias…" He coughed, chuckling as he wiped blood from his mouth.
"Didn't know you were into humans."
Matias stopped.
Castin barely had time to register the movement before Matias turned back and kicked over what was left of Rixis' chair, sending the rat sprawling fully onto the floor.
Rixis let out another wheezing laugh, still dazed but clearly enjoying himself.
Matias didn't bother looking at him again.
As they stepped out into the main bar, Matias muttered under his breath.
"I think it's closing time."