Chapter 01

The Girl Who Lived at the Bottom of the Pit

The scent of sweat and blood increased Hari’s pulse.

It wouldn’t be the first time she had felt this emotion, this urge and will to fight. She breathed it in. The fight was in her bones, in her flesh, in her blood.

If Hari knew anything about herself, it was that she loved to fight. The first battle of the night was finally over, but she wasn’t one of the combatants. The crowd in the Pit cried out, going wild. The commotion made the row tremble and the walls vibrate.

Hari flinched, feeling a shiver run up her arm. When was the last time she received a standing ovation? It had been at least a few months, for sure. She sighed, staring at the dirty floor and the excited expression on the crowd’s face. They never made this expression when she fought. What was she doing wrong?

She shouldn't blame herself so much, they were probably just dumb. Yes, Hari liked this conclusion. The night’s winner was a new fighter from Kansei province — one of the few places that still bordered Rarik — his name was Gojo. No wonder Gojo fought like a beast. He probably lived with them.

At least those were the legends people told about those who lived in Kansei. Rumors said that they grew up with the beasts, suckled on their tits, and that some even bred with them. Hari found the legends so funny that she preferred them to any other story. Whatever the truth, Gojo didn’t appear to be any son of beasts. He even had some beauty, but nothing that really caught Hari’s attention. Still, Gojo’s punches felt heavy.

Hence the powerful smell of blood and sweat in the air. Gojo had destroyed his opponent with a string of crushing punches. The blows sent blood to the farthest row. Hari watched closely, while the opposing boy didn’t even resist the first round. Such was Gojo’s brute strength. She could have sworn she saw one of the loser boy’s teeth hit the ceiling, falling into an adjacent row. Too bad, it seemed like a good teeth.

It wasn’t his fault though. The boy was young, not yet experienced, but he held up well and would probably have a long life in the Pit. The Pit loved those who knew how to defend themselves well and resist a massacre. They were also a part of the ecosystem of this place, the prey. To the euphoria of the crowd, some needed to be taken down. The boy did his part well.

Gojo, however, belonged to something else. He was part of the other end of the Pit ecosystem. The predators. The Pit had few of these and loved them more than any other. Gojo was sixteen years old, but he had the build of an adult. Hari wondered if he had any Nan ancestry.

Lately, with the war and the invasions, it was difficult to discern if one had an isolated bloodline. All the peoples were gradually blending together. Only nobles and previous generations still seemed to care about keeping some pure lineage.

Hari, on the other hand, had a non-special role in this place. She was what many called filling. Hari wasn’t strong enough to be a predator, nor was she weak enough to be a prey. So, she fit perfectly in the middle. Hari types made up most of the Pit fighters. They lost some combats and won others.

Fillings weren’t special to watch, but they kept audiences busy and spending money. Therefore, they were important to the sponsors. Occasionally, some of them would defeat a predator, rising through the Pit hierarchy, which guaranteed more coins and more fights. Tragically, some fillers lost to rising prey and were relocated or discarded.

Hari has always been a filling, but she planned to become a predator soon.

The key to the Pit was the crowd. The crowd always kept the system spinning and the sponsors’ pockets warm. All hallucinating to watch the children and teenagers beat each other until they bled—sometimes, to death. Thus, those who conquered the crowd conquered the Pit. And the Pit was hungry. Not in a literal way, metaphorically speaking.

Hari didn't know why she had to reassure herself. But sometimes she felt that the Pit might actually be some kind of hungry entity that had occupied this underground building. Or maybe she was just drinking too much Daqujiu.

Gojo wiped some sweat from his forehead, ruffling his black hair. His gaze was sharp and defiant. Hari knew those eyes, for she had the same. The eyes of someone addicted to battle. She grinned, letting her excitement slip.

Luckily, Hari was the next to fight him.

The fight was scheduled for the next night. Well, that would give Gojo time to rest. Hari didn’t want Gojo not to be at the peak of his performance when he fought her. Although she doubted he was really tired. Today’s fight meant nothing to him. But the next fight meant a lot to her. Hari was getting old.

At her age—twenty-two, most underground fighters were dead, disabled, retired, or simply resigned to oblivion. The sponsors, and the crowd, were much more interested in fights between child and teenage prodigies—who could still lose some body parts and bring novelty to the Pit—than clashes between old and tired fighters. But Hari had something on her side, she was a girl. A woman. The only one left in the Pit. So it was still worth watching her, despite her age.

However, Hari knew that this minor advantage would soon disappear. She remained too long as a filling, to where her fights were no longer stimulating to them. Hari needed to emerge. She attracted less and less public. The sponsors also no longer seemed interested in helping a girl who wasn’t making enough money and still lost fights. Fortunately, she still had Duke Ping. He looked like a distrustful slender snake, but he was a nice guy.

And the Fist Maker… Hari feared that he no longer had any hope for her. But the Fist Maker had scheduled a fight for her against this week’s newcomer, Gojo. Hari jumped with joy when she heard the news and rushed to the Pit to watch Gojo’s fight, but it ended so quickly that she couldn’t even gauge her future opponent’s techniques.

At least he looked like a normal person and not some unbeatable lunatic monster. Still, Gojo was young, strong and a man. Hari had developed techniques and ways to deal with the handicap in body mass, but there was a threshold that she could not cross. Hari took a deep breath. She would go all out in the next fight. She wouldn’t let anything stop her from defeating Gojo and proving to everyone that she was still a fighter to be respected.

“Y-you need to lose the next fight.” the Fist Maker said, stuffing a big chunk of pork into his mouth. He chewed with his mouth open, letting a few pieces fall to the table. Hari didn’t understand how he could be so relaxed saying that to her.

“What? No way!” she punched the table, making everything shake, spilling some of the beer the Fist Maker was drinking. “You know this is my chance. I can’t just lose.” she emphasized, openly gesturing each of her words.

The Fist Maker shrugged, swallowing another big chunk of meat with his beer. “Y-you don’t have a choice. T-the outcome of the fight has been decided. Go-Gojo wins, you lose. Si-simple.” he said, staring at the plate.

Hari couldn’t tell if the Fist Maker was simply uninterested in the matter; if he truly didn’t care about the outcome of the fight; if he didn’t care for her, or if he was averting his eyes, afraid to face her. Hari grabbed him by the collar, bringing him closer to her. The Fist Maker was taller than her, but Hari didn’t care. She forced him to face her.

“Why?” she said in a melancholic whisper.

The Fist Maker freed himself from Hari’s grasp. “W-why? Y-you know why.” he sat back down, leaving Hari staring at the walls, unsure how to react.

Hari closed her eyes. No, she deserved a better explanation. Did all these years mean nothing? Would he just discard her like he did everyone else? She wouldn’t accept that. “Why? Because I don’t fill the Pit with a big crowd? I can put on a good show for them to watch. I know I can. That’s all they care about, isn’t it?” she held back some tears. “I’ve always been a good filling. You know that Fist Maker!” she almost yelled, but held back her voice. Her emotions wanted to explode.

“You're not filling Hari, you're prey.” The Fist Maker said, without stuttering.

Hari felt as if her chest sunk into a deep sea with no escape. For an instant, she even thought her breath had left her body. The Fist Maker’s words were more painful than any punch Hari had ever taken. The tears finally came.

“That’s all I have. This—”

“C-captain Fushi wants a demonstration fight against the Pit’s oldest fighter. H-he’s the direct sponsor of Gojo. S-so, he asked me if you were available.” he paused, swallowing all the beer. “H-he offered a lot of gentle coins, so I accepted. T-the Captain thinks it will be a great show. The new generation against the old one.”

Captain Fushi was one of the best-known sponsors of the clandestine fights that took place in the Pit. Many said he was a bloodthirsty man who climbed the ranks of Hyperia’s army due to his contacts and dealings in the Black Emporium. Besides, the only thing Hari knew about the man was that he loved to show off his new fighters as prizes and was always on the lookout for a new champion—like all the sponsors in the Pit.

“So this is it?” Hari asked, wiping away her tears and forcing herself to stop crying. “Captain Fushi wants revenge because I defeated his prodigy two years ago. Can’t you see?”

“T-this isn’t about revenge, Hari. T-this is about money. N-nobody wants to fight you, and you don’t have any sponsors anymore.” the Fist Maker concluded, rising from the table and heading for the door of his small office.

How could she not have a sponsor? So who was paying for her expenses? “What about Duke Ping? I thought he sponsored all of your fighters.”

“N-not anymore. N-not for you.”

“So, who?”

“No one, Hari. No one!” he yelled. “I’m the only one who still cares about you. I pay for you.” he took a deep breath. “S-so then, please go into the Pit and lose.”