The Throne of the Devoured God

The Scrap Iron Arena

The only thing more lucrative than an empire built on blood is the business of watching that blood spill.

The thick iron bars of the cage slammed shut with a deafening metallic clang that echoed through the damp, subterranean tunnels. Lu Feng barely kept his footing as two heavily armored guards shoved him forward from the dark corridor into a cramped, circular holding cell. The floor beneath him was covered in a thick layer of rusted scrap metal, jagged iron shavings, and dried brown stains that told the story of a thousand previous occupants.

"Get in there, trash," the lead overseer shouted through the iron grating, spitting a glob of dark tobacco onto the floor. He wore a heavy leather vest lined with iron studs and carried a long whip infused with faint electrical energy. "You belong to the Scrap Iron Arena now. Try to survive long enough to make the lords upstairs double their bets. If you die in the first round, we throw your carcass straight back to the wolves."

Lu Feng did not answer. He leaned his back against the cold iron bars, his eyes sweeping across his new surroundings. His left arm hung completely useless at his side, twisted at a horrific, unnatural angle from his encounter with Hog. Yet, his face remained completely vacant, an eerie mask of absolute calm that did not match the severity of his injury. The absolute numbness in his veins kept the agony at bay, transforming what should have been a screaming torment into nothing more than an inconvenient stiffness.

Three other figures sat in the shadows of the circular cage. They were large, gaunt men with hollow cheeks, their bodies covered in matching prison brands and ancient scars from previous gladiatorial matches. As the guards walked away, their heavy boots fading down the stone corridor, the three prisoners slowly rose to their feet. Their eyes locked instantly onto Lu Feng's ruined limb.

"Well, look what the guards dragged in," a tall, bald prisoner with a jagged scar across his throat said, stepping into the center of the cage. He held a heavy iron spike tightly in his right hand, the tip filed down to a lethal point. "They told us only one of us gets to eat the ration bowl tonight. I was worried I would have to work hard for my supper, but it looks like the gods delivered a miracle."

The second prisoner, a stocky man with missing front teeth, laughed loudly as he picked up a heavy, rusted gear from the floor. "The boy is already half dead. Look at that arm. It looks like a broken twig hanging from a tree. One slap from me and the whole thing will probably fall off into the dirt."

"Do not kill him too quickly, Scar," the third prisoner chimed in, a thin, rat-faced man who was nervously flipping a rusted bolt between his fingers. "Let us take our time. It has been days since we had any real entertainment in this hole. We can break his other arm first, just to hear him beg."

Lu Feng looked at the three men, his voice completely level as he spoke. "You should worry about your own lives, not my food."

Scar took a step forward, his grin widening as he pointed his iron spike at Lu Feng's chest. "You have a big mouth for a cripple. Do you even know where you are? This is the bottom of the world, boy. Nobody cares if you bleed out on the scrap metal. The overseers only care about who stands at the end. Out here, a broken arm is a death sentence."

"I know exactly where I am," Lu Feng replied quietly.

Inside his mind, the newly acquired combat memories of Hog were swirling like a violent storm. His muscles twitched, instinctively calculating the exact distance between himself and the three attackers, evaluating their stances, and identifying the fatal flaws in their casual movements. Hog had fought in these exact cages for two entire decades. Lu Feng knew how these men fought before they even took their first steps toward him. He could see that Scar favored his right leg due to an old knee injury, and the stocky man left his left flank entirely exposed whenever he raised his weapon.

"Then you know you are about to die," Scar sneered, raising his iron spike high into the air. "Any last words before I drive this through your throat?"

"Just one piece of advice," Lu Feng said, stepping away from the iron bars. He reached down with his steady right hand and firmly gripped his own shattered left forearm, right where the broken bone was pressing sharply against the skin under the dark, pulsing veins.

With a brutal, continuous twist, he forced the splintered bone back into its socket. The terrible sound of grinding cartilage and snapping bone echoed loudly inside the cramped metal cage.

Lu Feng snaps his own broken arm back into place without blinking, terrifying the prisoners before the fight even begins.

"What kind of freak are you?" Scar muttered, his grin completely vanishing as his hand began to tremble.

"The kind that is going to take your food," Lu Feng said.

Scar looked at his two companions, his confidence rapidly bleeding out into the dark. "Do not just stand there looking at him. Move. He is only one man, and he is using a single good hand. We take him down together right now or we do not get to touch that food tonight."

The stocky man spat on the floor and gripped his heavy rusted gear tightly, though his steps were far slower than before. "The boss is right. He is performing cheap tricks to scare us. Break his legs and see if he keeps that calm face."

"You talk too much," Lu Feng said, his body already shifting into a low, aggressive stance that belonged entirely to the ghost of Hog. "You speak of survival, but none of you actually understand the rules of this pit. Let me show you how a champion fights."

Before the stocky man could swing his gear, Lu Feng moved with explosive speed. He did not look like an untrained boy from the slums anymore; his feet found perfect traction among the loose metal shavings on the floor. He closed the distance in a fraction of a second, sliding inside the stocky man's clumsy reach. Lu Feng drove his right elbow straight into the man's exposed ribs, shattering them instantly.

The stocky prisoner groaned, dropping his weapon as he collapsed sideways into the iron bars.

"That is one," Lu Feng whispered, turning his gaze toward the thin, rat-faced man who was now backed into the far corner of the cage. "Are you still planning on making me beg?"

The rat-faced man dropped his rusted bolt, his knees knocking together in absolute terror. "No. Please. I do not want the food. Take the bowl. Just stay away from me."

"The overseer said only one of us gets to leave this cage alive to eat," Lu Feng noted, stepping over the groaning form of the stocky man. "The rules of this arena do not allow for mercy."

Scar screamed in a desperate panic, lunging forward from behind with his sharpened iron spike aimed directly for Lu Feng's lower back. "Die, you monster."

Lu Feng did not even turn around until the last possible second. Utilizing Hog's twenty years of ingrained battle reflexes, he swiveled his hips, allowing the iron spike to graze past his ribs, cutting through his shirt but failing to pierce his flesh. With his newly reset left arm, Lu Feng grabbed Scar's wrist, locking it in place with a grip like an iron vise.

"Your stance is too high," Lu Feng told him, looking directly into Scar's wide, terrified eyes. "And you always telegraph your right side."

With a swift, brutal jerk, Lu Feng snapped Scar's wrist, forcing the iron spike out of his grip. He caught the weapon with his right hand before it could hit the floor and drove it down with flawless precision.

The cage fell completely silent, save for the heavy panting of the rat-faced man in the corner.

Lu Feng stood in the center of the scrap iron floor, his face completely devoid of sweat or exhaustion. He looked up at the ceiling, where the faint sound of cheering nobles from the upper districts began to filter down through the iron grates.

"The food is mine," Lu Feng said, throwing the bloody spike at the feet of the last remaining prisoner. "And tomorrow, I am taking everything else."