Psyren
I wasn’t unfamiliar with the Rumble Ring.
No one who got into the superhero business remained ignorant of it for long. How it was legal was beyond me, but throw around enough money, and everything was legal. Or at least overlooked.
And getting supers into a cage match paid very, very well.
Honestly? I’d done it before. Of course, that had been under a different name and mask. When I first developed my powers, it seemed a good way to go about getting some practical training in. And it had been good for that, not to mention building connections. It was through it that I first met Dolly back in the day, after ripping apart one of the robots she entered. I mean, really. She should have known better than to enter a robot against a guy with magnet powers. But even then people had underestimated me, and it had paid good money. Big money too, and more reliably than I made now.
So why did I get into the freelance villain business instead? The whole concept was pretty much the same, only maybe a bit less controlled, and at the same time more so. See, in the arena, there’s three tiers: The Low fights, where its mostly newbies battling it out for some cash and draws the cheap seats; The Pros, where its some known names duking it out for a championship ring, and where power matchups are as hotly followed as any sport.
And then there were the Nights.
No one talked about them. There was nothing officially tying them to the Rumble Ring, but everyone knew the Nights had something to do with the RR. The Nights weren’t broadcast on any channels, they weren’t official, and on paper, they never happened. But I knew they did. I’d been to a few, and if you saw the sort of bloodsport they were doing there, you’d have quit the ring too. The Nights were to the death. Washed up heroes, desperate villains, and just average people got into bloody knuckled, no mercy death matches with powers. You could make a fortune at it, but when I was approached to fight in it, I knew my time in the Ring was done. Freelance villainy might be tacky, but better that than what amounted to pay-per-view murder.
I’d fight for someone’s entertainment, sure. But I wouldn’t kill for it.
The Rumble Ring was housed in the old warehouse district near the docks, but the building itself was partially underground. From the outside, it looked like a big cement dome, and had actually been one of the old shelters built for civilians in case of emergency. But those were pricy to maintain, so when the funding ran out, Arman Gleam bought it. But if anyone thought he’d turn the place into low-income housing, they were very quickly disappointed. The building built to weather a supervillain, invasion, alien attack, or natural disaster proved perfect to also take the no holds matchups of supers. It was a technically underground thing, and not only in the literal sense. Though not illegal as long as it was contained in the rings, the powers that be didn’t want people getting it in their heads that supers should be fighting for crowds. Set a bad precedent, the theory went. Not sure how much I bought that, given my whole job was getting into controlled fights with supers, but that was the idea, and it was carried out. So no official network, provider, or whatever was willing to carry it.
Then along came the internet.
Arman hit the money-maker with that. He started streaming fights almost as soon as engineers figured out how to make a modem scream. And he made bank. Everyone wanted to see heroes duking it out of course, and until the corps figured out how to properly market heroes like living GI Joes, he was all they had.
As I pulled up near the massive cement dome, I instantly picked out Steve’s van parked out front.
God how I hated that thing.
It looked like something a white guy who taught karate in the mall would drive. I had no problem with people painting Frank Frazetta looking lions and topless girls on their vehicles. In fact, I heartily approved of anything Frazetta. I would just prefer not to know those people or have any business with them. But Steve was a special case, and he usually left the van at home before a job, so we made it work.
Fortunately, I wouldn’t have to talk to him near it. He was slouching on the steps near the doors to the Rumble Ring, and when he saw me get out of the car he rose to his feet, a crooked grin on his face. I could understand why. Steve had been trying to get me to take his sister under my wing for the last year or so. Apparently, she had dropped out of college after less than six months. The way Steve told it, she’d been the victim of an unjust system looking to penalize free thinkers. Knowing Steve, I had a feeling her college was lucky not to have burned down. Then she’d gotten a job in the Ring, and Steve had always been a bit cagey about the specifics.
“Eyyy! You made it,” Steve said, jabbing some finger pistols my way, slouching where he stood. “My man. My friend. My bestest of buds.”
“Uh huh,” I said, looking at the bulk of the Ring. “She’s here?”
“Ey! Sure thing. Sure thing. C’mon. Got us some tickets. VIP, baby,” Steve said, waving me after him as he swayed up the stairs.
Glacia and I followed, Steve saying something to the bouncer, which got us past the ticket counter without issue. The interior was largely empty, the cold cement walls covered with some paneling and the flooring thickly carpeted. Had a definite WWF feel to it, complete with the smell of spilled beer that was probably never going to come out. Steve brought us to a set of stairs that led up to the event hall, where the sound of the cheering crowd rose with every step until we emerged into the main arena.
Seats were stuffed with fans, the low lights keeping them in the gloom. They surrounded and descended in tiers towards the arena far below. Guarded by a humming field of protective energy projected by a number of pillars around it, the ring was also surrounded by a mesh cage of chain-link fencing, which I always suspected was just for show. No one could really think that paltry steel could protect the audience from the powers on display in the arena. In the early days when it was just some beast mutants and brawlers duking it out? Maybe. But the Rumble Ring had a much higher selection to choose from these days.
And it was lady’s night.
As we emerged into the stands, I looked down at the ring. A woman with the fur of a cheetah and the claws of one too was fighting another woman in a spandex leotard that left nothing to the imagination. The woman in the leotard sported a pair of cybernetic arms which I reflexively tried to feel out with my magnetic powers. A bit tricky with all the metal around me, but I got the gist of it. Hmm. High quality steel and… zinc? No. Gold. That sort of enhancement couldn’t be cheap. I wondered if Dolly had a hand in building them…
The cat-woman yowled, hurling herself at the cyborg, who brought up her arms to block, only for the cheetah to grab her steel limbs, kick off and throw the cyborg woman off her feet, her back hitting the mat hard. The cat-woman landed deftly on the chain wall which creaked and bent as it took her weight, quivering at its limit. Only then did she spring off, hurling herself at the cyborg like a missile of fur and claw.
The cyborg saw her coming, reached up and grabbed the cat-woman. But it was a feint. With feline speed and fury the cat-woman wrapped herself around the cyrborg’s metallic limb, legs slamming into the other woman’s chest as she pulled on her opponent’s arm. The crowd was absolutely going nuts, howling and shouting at the sight of the two beauties straining against each other, breasts heaving, bodies toned to physical perfection quivering as they sought to triumph over one another.
There was a horrific tearing sound, and the cyborg screamed as her mechanical arm was ripped off from the elbow by her opponent. The cat-woman bounded back to her feet, hoisting the severed limb like a trophy for the crowd to see.
“Oof!” I said.
“She seems in pain,” Glacia observed blandly.
Well, that was an understatement. “She is,” I said, nodding at the writhing cyborg woman. “Those nerve connections are no joke, but she’s playing now. They’d have shut off almost immediately. Plus,” I noted, pointing at the torn cabling. “It was made to break off there. See? No tissue damage. She’ll be able to get that hooked back on no problem.”
“Yep,” Steve said, nodding his head. “She sure will. She’ll be back in the ring in noooo time. Cyborgs are always getting’ torn apart. Part a the maaaaagic,” he said with a flutter of his fingers.
Well, that was true. Beating the crap out of robots was the one way to get really visceral without having to get higher than PG. Get too bloody in a man to super fight and you’d have the law and angry parent groups up your ass, and I wasn’t sure which was worse.
“Which was your sister?” I asked Steve.
“Neither.”
“Hm?”
I looked at Steve questioningly, but he just grinned and nodded lazily down at the arena as the cyborg was finally carted out by some medics, the cat-woman making a final triumphant round on the ring. “My sister’s coming on up, and she’s gonna give us a real show. Yes she is.”
Curious. Even more curious was that the lights were dimming. I looked about the arena, feeling a shift in the energy of the crowd. All leaned forward, eager and attentive. Now what was that about? The spotlights on the arena below suddenly switched, flashing a bright crimson and purple, detaching from the walls and floating on some drones who descended, a couple bearing cameras. The large screens in the four corners of the stadium’s walls lit up.
Music began to thump from speakers. A beating heaviness like a pulse of a heart. The bass was so heavy I felt it in the hollow spots of my body, my skin tingling with the anticipation I couldn’t help but feel.
Steam hissed from the stage below as a trap door slid away. From beneath, a platform began to rise, bringing forth from the depths a woman for all to see.
Pretty didn’t do her justice. Early twenties with pixie cut neon pink hair and a leather jacket over a crop top that showed a slim stomach and advertised firm, modest breasts. Heavy mascara shaded her eyes, and she was nodding away to a pair of truly massive headphones. Cut off jeans hugged her ass and firm thighs, and her face had that impish prettiness that said ‘I could set a cat on fire and I’m pretty enough you’d forgive me’. Which she probably could, and girls like that were always trouble.
But the crowd was here to see trouble, and by the rising cheer that seemed to break from them I could tell hers was a popular act.
“There she is,” Steve said with all the pride and love of the devoted brother, his eyes actually moist as his Oakleys slid down, his grin crooked and his baggy sleeves rolling back from his raised arms. “My girl! Victor? Meet Psyren!”
Psyren threw up her hand and flashed a smile that dazzled from every screen around the arena. “Helloooo everyone!” she cried. “And welcome to the show!”
Music blared from the speakers. A bubbly pop thing the audience would have grown out of after they turned seventeen. But that was before Psyren started to sing, and a voice like hers would make angels fall.
“Eh? Ehhhh? Ain’t she gorgeous?” Steve asked me, leaning in close to be heard over and giving me a whiff of cheap rum.
“Sure is,” I said, already feeling dread grip me. Yeah, she was sexy. Unbelievably so. The kind of hot that screams danger, but you want to see how far you get before she tries to stab you with a nail file. But there was more to it than that. See, in the villain biz, colour coded hair usually meant one of two things: cyberpunks, or psychic powers.
And considering Steve’s powerset, I doubted I’d be finding many mechanical limbs on Psyren.
Steve slapped my back, grinning ear to ear, tilting his head back so far his Oakleys slid back over his eyes and I got a disturbing view of his sprouted nose hairs. “My maaaaaan,” he said. “She is gonna looooove you. Here, come on. I got a spot to meet her back stage. This is gonna be just fantastic.”
I’d be the judge of that, but was glad to get away. I could see the crowd were in absolute rapture, more keyed up than a bunch of gibbons on Ritalin. People leaned forward on the railings overlooking the pit and their voices rose and fell with the power of the music. And Psyren was only using mild suggestion, I could tell. Not that she was able to influence my mind. Mental powers didn’t work on me. Largely, this was due to my powers. I wasn’t sure of the specifics, but manipulating magnetic fields meant psychics couldn’t get a grip on my mind, other than giving me a splitting headache. It’s been pretty satisfying having the few who tried get a really shocked look right before I slammed a car into them. Fucking assholes. But if I was going to be working with Psyren, the last thing that I needed to do was total a Hyundai into her. Not just because it would be a shame to go full auto on a such an attractive specimen of villainous beauty, but also because I’d hate to lose Steve as a friend.
I wasted no time following Steve, nudging Glacia as I passed to break the influence being pumped from the speakers. She blinked, losing the slight glassy look and shook her head. I pointed after Steve, the sound of the crowd and music too loud for me to try and talk over. She nodded and followed us up from the cheap seats and through one of the exits from the stands.
We moved back into the side corridors, Steve leading the way up some heavy cement stairs, my headache fading as the music grew distant.
We made our way deeper into the Rumble Ring, the music becoming less than an echo. Posters of combatants were plastered all over the walls with dreary regularity. We passed a few doors with Employees Only on them, and a couple goons in security suits who let us pass without issue. Soon we reached another door which Steve opened after digging out a key card from his pocket, letting us into a muted room washed in faintly purple light. The whole scene felt weirdly off, as if the air had a viscosity, like we were walking on the ocean floor. Some scattered couches littered the place along with more than a few bottles of various booze. There was a scent of cigarettes in the room and something like ozone. A fish tank sat against the wall, emitting a cool light and a shimmer of underwater blue.
Reflexively, I reached out with my magnetic powers, searching for a trap, but felt little other than the usual metal fixtures, wiring, and the studs in the couch. Except…
Ah, interesting. I pointedly did not look at the purple lamp above us, which in addition to its electrical wiring, also had a microphone hidden in it. How curious, albeit not unexpected. With a tweak of my power I jerked out the power supply, killing it at once. There. That was better.
While I did that, Steve collapsed into one of the couches, loose as if he were made of rubber. His head tilted back until he was staring at the ceiling, so relaxed I could understand why some people assumed he had stretching powers. But hiding your real strength is a villain’s greatest asset. Well, that and mental illness.
“Eyyy, Victor? You know, you can stop wandering about like that,” Steve said, rolling his head to look at me. “Just relaaaaax. She’ll be here soon.”
I realized I was pacing and did as he suggested, slumping into the couch opposite him. Glacia ended up sitting beside me, albeit at the far end, holding herself there so stiffly she probably could have sat in midair. What did she have to be so nervous about? I was the one who was probably about to take on a telepath.
I tried to relax with mixed results. Though the whole room seemed designed to soothe, I only felt more tense. It was almost a relief when the door opened again and Psyren made her appearance.
She looked even better up close, if I was being honest. Steve had told me a lot about his sister, but never trust an older brother talking about his siblings. She might have been the angel he described her as, but by the looks of it, she’d fallen from heaven long ago.
I rose to greet her, and when I did, I noticed she wasn’t alone.
It had been a while since I’d seen Arman, but he looked much the same. Having skin made of diamond does that. Only his head and hands showed out of his neatly pressed suit, but they both glittered with impossible purity, the facets flashing strangely in the weird light of the room. Ridges and indents formed his facial features, his crystal skin allegedly having been brought about by some cursed stone he’d handled. Tall and with a heavy jaw and massive frame, he had a very square head and a body like a bowling ball crossed with a weight lifter. I’d have been tempted to call him fat if I didn’t known it was all muscle, or whatever passed for muscle in his silica form. He’d apparently been a hitman for the mob before starting the Rumble Ring, and word was he still had those connections. I didn’t doubt it.
He smiled when he saw me, and seeing the craggy tissue that was his face twist in the effort was less than appealing.
“Well well! If it’s not Victor,” he said in a heavy voice. “This is a surprise. I haven’t seen you in quite some time.”
I shrugged. “Just came by to visit,” I said.
“So I’ve heard,” Arman chuckled, a sound like someone grinding gravel.
Yeah, I bet he had. I pointedly didn’t look at the ceiling lamp and its disconnected mic. “Just came by to meet Psyren. Steve wanted to introduce us.”
“So you’re going to be the one who will be furthering the employ of my best singer. Well well,” Arman said. “And here I was worried about losing her to some scoundrel. What a relief. My dear? I do hope you two get along well,” he said, patting Psyren on the shoulder.
“Sure think we will,” Psyren said with a lazy grin at me, her eyes faintly glowing pink.
Oh, starting already, hm? I could already feel the subtle pressure of her mental powers throbbing in my skull. Chuckling, Arman gently patted her again. “Well, don’t let me keep you both,” he said, turning and leaving the room, shutting the doors behind him.
Shiny prick.
Whatever, I didn’t have business with him, and certainly didn’t want it. I turned my mind and attention to Psyren as she moved inside, lazily sinking down on the couch opposite me, legs crossed, eyes faintly flickering with the neon pink glow. They roamed over me brazenly, and a smirk worked across her lips.
Ah, so it was going to be like this, eh?
“My brother said I’d like you,” she said, her eyes lingering on my crotch. “And I think he might be right.”
“Right. But I’m not here to be liked,” I said. “He told me you wanted to start working as a freelancer and villain.”
“Hmmm. I was thinking about it,” Psyren said, leaning back further, her top riding up, pushing up her breasts and teasing me with a glimpse of the undersides. “He says I got a real knack, ya know? But I dunno. I do want to finish with the music stuff, and you do look fun. So ya know, maybe we can like, work in a compromise, huh?” she said, her eyes glowing brighter. “How about you come over here.”
“How about no?” I said.
A bit of her grin faded, her brow furrowing.
“Pfffft!”
She shot a glare at Steve, who muffled his laughter with a hand and waved her on. “Please! Ignore me,” he said.
Psyren pursed her lips and looked back to me. Her smile rose again, and as her sclera deepened their pink glow, I felt the aching stab of pain plow into my brow like an ice pick into Trotsky’s skull.
“C’mon,” she said, her voice gaining a curious vibrating quality. Like a song being hummed with every syllable, the air around her tinting from blue to pink, the wavey reflection from the fish tank washing over her face. “I won’t bite. Much.”
Alright, any more of that and I was going to need to start popping Tylenols like candy. I stood up and moved towards her. Her smirk widened, her eyes growing lidded with satisfaction as I planted a hand beside her head, looming over her.
“If you don’t cut that out, we’re going to have a problem,” I said.
For the first time her smile utterly fell. She stared at me in confusion, and I won’t lie, I did feel a little smug in that moment. The lives of most psychics tend to be the most awful things imaginable. No one likes having their secrets broadcast, and when kids grow up hearing and seeing every fucked up thing an adult can imagine, it messes them up hard. They usually ended up more maladjusted than a schizo off their meds, or tend to see other people like NPC’s they can tweak as they please. If they’re lucky, they come into their powers later in life and might have a chance at a ‘normal’ development phase. If they’re not, they usually end up kidnapped to be used in some government experiments, or have the empathy of a goldfish. Either way, they always had some serious superiority issues. Was it any wonder most end up as villains?
So the fact I wasn’t on my knees, drooling over her fine leather boots like a puppy was likely a first for her.
“Now here’s how it will work,” I said pointedly, letting a portion of my powers leak out, making the metal around us hum softly with magnetic vibrations. “You want me to show you how to freelance as a villain? Fine. I can do that. But we’re going to have some ground rules. Number one, no using your powers on me. It won’t work, but it will give me a bitch of a headache, and if that happens, I’m going to make it your problem.”
“I-“
“Don’t interrupt,” I said, and nodded when her mouth reflexively shut. “Good. Now, rule two, you do as I tell you. Question, backtalk, whatever, but I’m going to show you how this whole business works, and I expect you to obey.”
“Obey?” she said, a subtle shiver seeming to work over her.
“Yeah. And rule three, no using your powers unless we’re practicing, or you have no other choice. Got it?”
“Got it,” she breathed. “And…”
“And what?” I said.
The glowing pink in her pupils seemed to swim, bend, and take on a shape like a pair of neon hearts. “And… I think I’m in love!”
What?
I drew back a little at the sudden change in her. Psychics were notoriously prone to mood swings, and it looked like Psyren was one of them. Steve however seemed to find this hilarious, bursting into laughter, practically having a fit on the couch.
“Ha ha ha! I told ya, sis! Told ya you’d like him,” Steve cackled, wiping a tear from his eye.
Psyren giggled. “Yeah, you did,” she said, fluttering her lashes at me.
“Er, right. Okay. So long as you understand,” I said, removing my hand from beside her head.
“Sure do, bossman,” Psyren said with a wink, stretching her arms across the back of the couch, head tilting back as if begging me to do any number of things to her firm, high breasts and lovely body. “Just give me the order. I can prove I’m a good girl. Or a bad one, whichever you need.”
Well, she became agreeable real quick. But I wasn’t totally buying it. I moved back and sat back down. “Alright. So, tell my why you want to get into this business.”
“I think it’s the fun,” she said.
“Fun?”
“Yeah,” she said, shrugging. “I mean, hell, the concerts are fun, ya know? Getting all those people all excited over little old me. All obsessed with me and wanting me. But I want to go deeper, ya know,” she said. “I want to use my power and be as evilly sexy as I can be. But if I do that just, you know, casually, I could get into bad trouble. And wouldn’t it be nice to be able to use your powers and not have to worry about that?”
Well, that was true. Using her abilities would be difficult for obvious reasons. Unless she went full villain and waged war on civilization, she’d have a tough time doing more than she was with the concerts in the Rumble Ring. And the only reason she was able to do that was probably Arman’s protection. Manipulating people wasn’t the same as straight up controlling them, though given her little display when I first arrived, I had a feeling it would hardly have been the first time. I glanced back up at the ceiling light, wondering how often Arman had had her do it…
“So freedom?” I said.
“But that’s not all,” she gushed, sliding out of her seat and crossing the floor. I sat up straighter, tense at what she was about, but then she slid into my lap, snuggling up against me.
“Uh-“ I began.
“I’d really like to work with you,” Psyren said, stroking me chest, practically purring like a cat. And if I wasn’t absolutely sure she couldn’t use her psychic powers on me, I’d be very tense. “I think we could do such wonderful things together. Right? You got a sidekick?”
“I don’t really do sidekicks,” I said.
“Oh?” she said, glancing at Glacia, whose lips I noticed were pursed so tight they were white as her hair. Psyren grinned and wriggled further in my lap. “Mmm. Lucky me…”
I sighed. “Look, I work solo,” I informed her.
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right woman,” Psyren countered with the not-so subtle implication she had one in mind. She leaned up against me, rubbing her breasts into my chest with a brazenness that made my breath catch and cock grow hard. “How about it? Wanna team up, boss? I’ll be your good henchgirl. Promise.”
“This is a favour I’m doing for Steve,” I said.
“Mmm. Bro always gets me the best toys,” Psyren giggled.
“Excuse me,” Glacia cut in icily. “Sir is not your toy.”
“Of course not,” Psyren said with another teasing grin. “He’d be so boring if he was.”
I massaged my brow. Things were getting complicated.
And they were about to get worse.
I felt the floor vibrate and looked up to the doors. Psyren cocked her head, listening, and pouted. “Dammit,” she muttered.
“What?” I said, sitting up.
“Manotaur,” she sighed.
Huh?
The doors were suddenly thrown open and one of the biggest men I’d ever seen bulled his way into the room.
And bull was right. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but some torn jeans and showing off a bronzed build that spoke to either superstrength or steroid abuse. Or maybe both. Some guys, when they gain the strength to lift a car, feel a need for their body to imply it, but the thing that sold me on the super strength idea was the pair of bull horns that grew out of his head. He shoved himself into the room, his face having a faintly muzzle-like quality to it, which made me wonder if Dolly had been playing with genetics outside of herself.
“Psyren!” the massive man bellowed. “Say it ain’t so! So you ain’t quitting!”
Psyren rolled her eyes. “Hi, Lyle,” she said, glancing over at him.
“Babe, you gotta be jokin’!” he said, pushing his way inside, shoving one of the couches out of the so hard it flew across the room to bang against the far wall. “My match wouldn’t be the same without you! You never even responded to my texts!”
Psyren sighed, resting her head against my shoulder as she looked up at the pit fighter. “Seriously,” she said. “I’m not interested. I thought I made that clear.”
“Babe, come on! I know I can make you happy. Just give me a chance. What are you even leaving for?”
It was then he noticed me, which showed about how well he was able to read certain cues. But the way Psyren was draped in my lap didn’t exactly leave much room for misinterpretation. His mouth opened a bit, then he reared up, face tightening like he’d just bitten into a lemon. His huge hands tightened at his sides and he snorted so hard steam gusted from his nostrils.
“So it was you!” he bellowed.
“Oh great,” I sighed.
“You think you can steal the Manotaur’s girl?” he demanded.
“Manotaur?” I said.
“Yeah!” he barked, pounding a fist against his chest with a sound like a drum. “I was once just a normal man. But then, while working at the slaughterhouse, I was bitten by a bull who imparted onto me his spiritual strength! Now, I am the Manotaur, and I won’t let you steal my girl!”
Well, as far as origin stories went, I’d heard worse. I glanced past him and saw Arman moving back into the room. Little wonder who told the meathead about Psyren leaving, or when. I had a bad feeling about this, especially when the diamond-skinned pit boss came over to us.
“Is there some trouble?” Arman said.
“Boss!” Manotaur cried, turning towards Arman. “You can’t let Psyren quit!”
Arman sighed in faux despair, spreading his hands. “Afraid it’s not up to me, my boy. Dear Psyren’s contract was up. And she decided not to renew. It’s out of my hands.”
“But into mine!” Manotaur bellowed, turning back to me and poking a finger into my chest. “You and me. In the ring! Whoever comes out on top gets her!”
“What? No,” I said. “That’s insane. I’m not going to fight you for her. She can make her own decisions.”
“And I want to be with you,” Psyren said, pulling herself closer to me, smiling mischievously. Oh, she was a real problem girl alright. There was no way she couldn’t see what effect this was having on Manotaur. The guy’s muzzle was actually turning red with rage.
“Fight me!” he shouted, moving to grab me.
Yeah, no.
There were a number of metal buckles in his shoes, and as he moved to grab me I gave them a magnetic push. Manotaur’s eyes shot wide open as his feet flew out from under him and he slammed down on the floor, face hitting it hard. Oooh, that had to hurt. And judging by how Manotaur bellowed like the bull he resembled, rearing back and grabbing his nose as blood poured down his face, I was right.
“You… cheap shot!” he roared, winding back an arm to punch me.
He didn’t get far. Before I could even grab something metal to hit him with, a ray of freezing blue hit him full in the chest, coating him in a layer of freezing ice.
“Good job, Glacia,” I said, glancing over at her.
Glacia had sat up, blue light surrounding her like a nimbus. One arm was raised, icy blue whirling around her palm.
“Sir does not have time to deal with trash,” she said as cold as an Alaskan night. “I suggest you remove yourself from his presence. Now.”
Manotaur grit his chattering teeth, the ice cracking around him as he began to try and flex his way out. Well, good luck was all I had to say for that.
“He can be a real handful,” Psyren told me, snuggling my chest.
I looked down at her. She was really not helping things. “Why didn’t you use your powers to make him go away?”
“Remember?” she said with a teasing sweetness I knew was going to haunt me. “I promised you not to use my powers to manipulate minds unless I had no choice or training. And I want to be a good girl for my new boss. It wouldn’t look very good if I broke my promise just like that.”
I narrowed my eyes, but had to respect the con. She might just make a decent villain after all.
“I… I… w-won’t g-give her u-up!” Manotaur chattered through the cold.
Right, he was going to be a problem. I sighed. Well, if it solved things faster, fine. “Alright,” I said, sliding Psyren out of my lap and rising to my feet. “Fine. I’ll fight you in the arena. But you have to swear that if you lose, you’ll leave Psyren alone. Got it?”
“A splendid idea,” Arman said, clapping his hands and grinning down at us with 100 carat teeth. “I think such a bout would resolve this matter quite amicably. Gentlemen, shall we?”
So that was his game. Humble the bull and get a show out of it to boot. How very like him. I wondered if he actually intended for me to get beaten in the arena? Arman knew how good I was, even if he didn’t go spreading it around. Hell, he’d tried to get me to headline for him before I struck out on my own. But likewise, if I did win, he’d likely make damn sure Manotaur left me alone. Arman was a blackhearted monster, but he kept his word. You didn’t get far in the underground without people being able to depend on that. If you made a threat or a promise, it didn’t mean shit if people didn’t think you’d follow through. Much as it annoyed me to admit, fighting the bull now would probably save me time and effort down the line.
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Most gratifying,” Arman said, and brought a fist down on the ice. With a crash it shattered, Manotaur roaring as he ripped out of the fragments.
“I’ll-“
“Save it for the match,” Arman said amicably, a massive hand of precious stone grasping Manotaur by the shoulder and giving a squeeze. “And once you beat our guest, I’m sure Psyren will see what a true man is, hm?”
Manotaur snorted, but either through the pressure of Arman’s grip or the idea actually penetrating his thick skull, he quieted down, satisfying himself with a red-eyed glare directed my way.
“Sure,” he said, grinning. “Sounds good.”
I sighed again.
What a pain.