Streets of Ravetham

As Lost Stray, Kaelen exited the stage, the crowd’s murmurs of astonishment trailing behind him. The adrenaline still surged through his veins as he moved towards the shadows at the arena’s edge. A familiar voice cut through the noise.

Jason, known as Link Up, was laughing loudly with his entourage near one of the opulent booths. “Little brother’s still showing off, huh?” Jason smirked, leaning against the metal railing. “He’s always been a try-hard, but I gotta admit, that was pretty slick.”

Bolt, his electric blue hair standing on end, grinned. “Not bad for a lightweight. I thought he was gonna get chewed up by those zombies.”

Glitch, half-distracted by a flickering hologram, quipped, “He probably reprogrammed them to fall over. You know Lost Stray—he’s all about cheating the system.”

Patch chuckled. “Or maybe he just hit them so hard they thought they were defective.”

Jason gave a mock look of offense. “But let’s be real, none of you could’ve taken that many zombies without crying about it."

Surge, the last of Jason’s crew, crossed his arms. “Maybe, but I’d love to see him try that without his magic gun. When he can take them down bare-handed, then we’ll talk.”

Kaelen smirked to himself, standing just out of sight. He didn’t need their approval, but their banter was always entertaining. He knew Jason would never let his guard down, but this sibling rivalry fueled him. He began to walk further away, blending into the shadows, just as Don Cappo’s voice echoed through the warehouse.

“Strike! You’re up next!” Don Cappo’s booming voice caught everyone’s attention as Kaelen disappeared from view.

Strike, aka Elara Shade, sauntered forward with her trademark cool, confident stride. Her sleek black bodysuit shimmered like smoke, making her appear almost spectral as she stepped into the ring. A hush fell over the crowd as the necromancer raised his hands once again, summoning another horde of undead.

Twenty skeletons and zombies shuffled forward, weapons in hand, their soulless eyes fixed on their target. Strike cracked her knuckles, her tail flicking behind her in anticipation.

Unlike Kaelen, she couldn’t summon a soul gun. Instead, she relied on the twin daggers at her hips—sleek, deadly weapons that gleamed in the low light. She moved like liquid shadow, her agility unmatched as she danced between her opponents, her daggers flashing out with lethal precision. One zombie lunged at her, only for her to sidestep and slash across its throat in a single, fluid motion.

The crowd watched in awe as she effortlessly evaded attacks, slicing through the undead with a grace that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. When a group of skeletons closed in on her, she leaped into the air, her tail lashing out to knock a sword from a skeleton’s grasp.

She landed in a crouch, spinning with a dagger extended, cutting through bone and sinew with precision. Her chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, her daggers dripping with the remnants of her enemies. She twirled her weapons back into their sheaths with a casual flick of her wrists, barely breaking a sweat.

Within minutes, the battlefield was littered with bones and decaying bodies. Strike stood amidst the remnants of her enemies, her weapons back in their sheaths with a casual flick of her wrists, barely breaking a sweat.

Jason, still watching from the sidelines, couldn’t resist another comment. “Alright, alright. Not bad, Strike. But you’re all finesse. I’m about to show these people what raw power looks like.”

Bolt laughed. “Bro, you better hope your suit doesn’t run out of juice before you can even throw a punch.”

Don Cappo grinned. “Next up… Shadow Fang!”

The crowd buzzed as Shadow Fang, aka Ragnar Fang, stepped forward. He wasn’t alone. His pack of lycanthropes flanked him, each one towering and feral, their muscles rippling under their furred skins. The air grew tense as they stepped into the ring, the undead summoned for their test already rising from the ground in droves.

Ragnar, standing at the forefront, let out a low growl, his eyes glowing with a dangerous light. His transformation was sudden, his body expanding and contorting as his werewolf form took over. His pack followed suit, and in seconds, they were all hulking, snarling beasts, ready for blood.

The horde of undead surged forward, but Shadow Fang and his pack tore into them with savage ferocity. Claws ripped through rotting flesh, and fangs snapped bones like twigs. There was no finesse to their fighting, only raw, brutal power. Each lycanthrope moved with an animalistic grace, their howls echoing through the warehouse as they decimated the undead.

The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Ragnar, still in his wolf form, let out a triumphant howl as the last of the skeletons fell at his feet. The crowd cheered wildly as he shifted back to his humanoid form, wiping the blood from his mouth with a satisfied smirk.

Jason grinned. “Okay, that was pretty sick, not gonna lie. But they’re all about numbers. I’ll take care of things solo, thank you very much.”

Next came Ironing, aka Thorne Iron. The massive figure lumbered forward, his hulking frame making the arena seem smaller by comparison. He stepped into the ring, and the necromancer summoned his next wave of undead.

Thorne grinned, the light glinting off his iron-like skin as he cracked his neck. Unlike the others, he didn’t rely on speed or finesse. His strategy was simple: brute strength.

As the undead charged, Thorne swung his massive fists, each punch sending zombies and skeletons flying across the arena. His hits were devastating, breaking bones and crushing bodies with ease. When a group of zombies tried to swarm him, he let out a roar and slammed both fists into the ground, causing the floor to crack beneath his feet and sending a shockwave that scattered the undead like leaves in the wind.

The crowd roared as Thorne made short work of the horde, his massive frame standing victorious in the center of the ring. He gave a curt nod to Don Cappo, who acknowledged his performance with a pleased grin.

Jason looked at his crew. “See what I mean? All these guys are relying on armor or packs or blades. Me? I’m gonna show ‘em how to take care of business with tech and style.”

Glitch smirked. “Better hope your exo-suit holds up.”

Next up was Hot Fire, aka Vex. The necromancer summoned a fresh wave of undead, and Vex wasted no time. With a flick of his wrist, he ignited the air around him, his hands blazing with fire. He moved with precision, launching fireballs at the zombies and skeletons, incinerating them on contact. His flames danced through the arena, reducing the undead to smoldering ash in seconds.

Vex’s control over fire was masterful, and the crowd watched in awe as he manipulated the flames with ease, twisting them into shapes before sending them out in waves of destruction. Once the last of the undead was nothing but ash, Vex gave a casual wave to the audience before stepping off the stage.

Jason gave a slow clap. “Alright, alright. That was flashy. But now it’s time for the main event.”

Finally, it was Jason’s turn.

Don Cappo’s voice boomed again: “Last but not least: Link Up!”

Link Up stepped forward with a confident swagger, his exoskeleton whirring softly as he adjusted the settings. His friends grinned, expecting him to call them in for backup.

Link Up turned to his crew, cracking his knuckles. “Y’all watch this. I’m handling this round solo, no help needed. I’ll take care of everything.”

Surge raised an eyebrow. “You sure, man? It’s a lot of undead.”

Link Up smirked, adjusting his exo-suit. “Watch and learn. Link Up’s about to make history.”