Prologue: (Rewriten)

The snapping noise of a body hitting the ground silenced the deafening and suffocating cheers from the public. One of the fighters stood above the other’s body, bloodied, having troubles breathing. His weapons fell from his hands besides his defeated rival. He collapsed to his knees as the public erupted into celebrations.

A well dressed man appeared next to the winner, grabbing his arm and lifting it up, making him grunt in pain. “It’s done! It’s done! The rookie has done it! Against all odds he accomplished the impossible! What a fight! What a night!”

Just like him, two others appeared out of thin air and carried the defeated man out of the arena.

“Ladies and gentlemen, one of your new champions, Naim “Rookie” Zhurnaym!” His head hung forward, his body only staying up thanks to his arm being held. Underneath him a pool of blood had grown alarmingly big. The winner didn’t get to enjoy the public chanting his name.

On a balcony that hung from the ceiling at the centre of the chaotic arena, an old man stood up and walked to the edge.

“My friends, it is my joy and pleasure to see you are enjoying this special night. In thirty years at your service we have never seen such terrific battles and incredible fighters in just one event,” the rookie was being dragged away while the man spoke, commanding all the attention of the arena attendees.

“It is almost time for this to end, sadly. Our last fight will begin shortly. Please, indulge. All your orders at the stalls are in the house!”

The public rushed to get food and drink, while the staff worked hard to clean the blood stained floors. The old man sat back down and looked to his side.

“Lady Shoda, you look pale. Would you like something to eat?” next to his purple and golden throne, on a smaller and less decorated chair, sat a young red headed woman.

Her eyes shot daggers at him but her smile was kind and polite. She shook her head, looking back at the front. He smirked with a hateable smugness and turned to his other side before she spoke. Rolling his eyes, he turned to listen.

“Thank you, Grand Summoner, but I am fine. I do, however, question where this hospitality was hours ago. You even had time to change your clothes! Yet my fighter was left on your worst bleachers and not a single drop of water has been offered to him.”

The few other guests in the VIP balcony grew silent, all turning to see the confrontation. The Grand Summoner chuckled and laid back on his throne, rubbing his fat round belly.

“My apologies but you must understand, running events such as this ain’t easy. Details can slip past my or my assistant’s hands. Micheal? Could you tend to our guest of honour before his fight?” A short boy with pointy ears standing by his side bowed before leaving the balcony.

He leaned near her afterwards to whisper into her ear. Raspy, low; a similar sound a growling dog would make. Nothing like the slow tone he usually used.

“Please don’t get the wrong impression, Chiyo. The only reason I gave Samuel the headliner fight of the night was our bet. Why should I treat him as anything else than cattle out to slaughter?”

“Bold. I thought you feared your friends hearing such an ugly voice.” His voice made her ears bleed, figuratively. She hated it, the fake or the real. Still, such a childish threat made her chuckle.

“Enjoy the show,” he finished.

Grand Summoner Zachary Sunders, one of the Summi of Dosumn. A select group of summoners who could bring things over from other worlds, people or otherwise. He always had a horrid taste in Chiyo’s opinion, always a bit too extra. It had to be his dead dream of being king in his old life. His long beard, decorated with golden and silver flowers and scented with the most expensive perfumes was fake, she knew it. His immaculate purple robes with golden accents were made for cheap by slave work. His black robe, supposedly the hide of a beast, had been summoned from Earth. Out of everyone in the city, she hated him the most.

“Lady Shoda, it is time,” the butler whispered, leaning down. Chiyo looked at him and nodded.

“I hope Sam knows what he is doing.” She stood up, fixing her dress.

“Have faith in him, that’s all we can do now.”

“I know, I know,” she sighed and rubbed her temple, “we don’t have more options either way.”

Chiyo left the balcony through one of the many platforms after asking one of the staff where the bathroom was. When she reached the corridor the staff member mentioned, she took a left turn instead of a right.

The short pointy eared boy made his way down the corridors and to the most recondite corner of the arena. He opened the door to a small, dark and humid room. He was about to drop the jar of water on the floor before someone stole it from his hands.

“Finally. Show time,” the man said, pushing the boy out of his way before downing the entire jug. His appearance wasn’t like any other fighter that night. They all had some protection most of the time. This man? He walked around bare chested and with yellow and blue shorts. The only piece of equipment he seemed to have were a pair of bronze gauntlets.

“W-wait, you aren’t supposed to leave yet! They will-”

“Show time!” He exclaimed again, rushing down the corridor. The boy rushed after him, but quickly lost sight of him.

A minute later, Sam was in a deserted corridor of the arena. There was no staff nearby and the only sound he heard was that of heels walking closer towards him. He smiled and walked towards it, taking a turn and seeing Chiyo in the distance. She smiled back and quickened her pace.

“You were uncharacteristically punctual, Samuel,” she grabbed his hands, a faint golden hue enveloping them.

“That’s a bit ironic coming from you,” he replied, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. “Was the old man as insufferable as you thought?”

“No, thankfully. He basically ignored us the entire evening,” her thumbs rubbed the back of his palms before she gently squeezed them. Her smile dissipated into a look of concern. “Are you sure about this, Sam?”

“It no longer matters Chiyo. I’ll be fine, if anything you should be worried about ‘Bear-Frog’. Maybe you should have helped him?”

“I’m serious Sam,” she sighed, to which Sam pulled one of his hands away from hers and cupped her cheek.

“Me too.” As Sam started leaning forward, they were interrupted by rushing steps coming towards them. He let go of her and took one step back, she did the same.

“Don’t do anything stupid, alright? You tend to be quite reckless,” was the last thing one of them could say before the short boy showed up.

“T-there you are! Gods, you earthlings are so annoying to deal with. The arena is ready.”

“Aight. Well, Lady Shoda, thanks for the last minute morale boost. Go cheer for me, okay?” And with that and one last look between them, Sam left to the arena and Chiyo to the balcony.

Sam stood on the corridor that led inside the arena, hopping from leg to leg and moving his arms. The roaring cheers outside the wooden door were impossible to make sense of but he knew they were for his rival. The famous Bear-frog, an earthling like himself from Russia, the arena’s most prolific fighter. In contrast, when his ears picked up the faint sound of the Grand Summoner's voice mentioning his name, the crowd booed. To that, he smirked.

The other opened and he stepped inside. As he made his way to the centre of the arena, cracking his knuckles and neck, he took a second to look up at the balcony. Chiyo was there, seated next to the disgusting Grand Summoner. He could also recognize some of his men standing nearby him, some he was forced to beat up a few times.

“So you are the one who caused Sunders much trouble? This is going to be fun! Don’t dare disappoint.” Sam’s eyes were drawn to the one speaking, his rival for the night. A 7’ man, shirtless, with dark brown hair covering most of his body and an unmistakable broken nose.

“Your nose is broken,” Sam pointed at him before getting into position.

“Ah, yeah. Heard you liked doing that crap. Come on then, try to fix it,” the other man did the same.

As soon as the enormous gong was hit, Bear-frog rushed towards Samuel. His legs got hairier, bigger; they started taking the shape of frog legs. When he was in the middle of the arena he squatted and jumped into the air, making a tall arch and landing forcefully next to Samuel. The crowd went wild, chanting the shape shifter’s name, waiting for a quick and clean victory like usual. Samuel planned to ruin their expectations.

He dodged his crashing legs by side stepping. With his hands in front of his head, he slipped between his legs with the russian looming over him. His arm was lifted into the air, changing like his legs did but into a bear paw instead. As the claws were sent towards his face, Samuel threw a speedy and nasty uppercut to the man’s face. His bones cracked, his muscles going into overdrive to fuel his punch.

Bear-frog let out a short scream and took a few steps back clutching his face with his still human arm. He had missed Samuel by an inch and had, instead, received a blow. He saw blood on his hand and appeared shocked. The crowd went silent. Bear-frog touched his nose. It was no longer crooked.

He looked at Samuel again, but the man had already moved forward. He couldn’t dodge the second punch that went straight to his nose. Again. Breaking it with a sick and loud crack. Samuel’s arms however, were both broken and hanging at his sides.

“Who said anything about fixing?” a golden hue covered his arms and, with a sickling cracking noise heard all over the arena, his arms straightened themselves, “I will make it even uglier..”