Lunar Legacy: Rise Of The Beastlord-Chapter 314: Cage Fight

21:24 PM.

The Cage - Underground Arena.

The descent from Big T’s office to the fight club level felt longer than usual. Every step down those worn stairs brought Jayden closer to the roar of the crowd—a sound that vibrated through the walls like a living thing, hungry and anticipating violence.

Marcus walked ahead of him, silent and imposing. At the bottom of the stairs, he paused and turned.

"Last chance to back out," Marcus said, his expression unreadable. "Ain’t no shame in walking away from Tombstone."

"I’m not walking away," Jayden replied.

Marcus studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. Through that door, you’ll find the prep room. Strip down to your waist, wrap your hands if you want. No shoes allowed in the cage. No weapons. No abilities that can permanently maim—The crowd wants to see an hardcore fist fight. Any excessive use of abilities, and Big T loses face. Understood?"

"Understood." Jayden replied flatly.

"Good." Marcus stepped aside. "May God have mercy on you, kid. ’Cause Tombstone sure as hell won’t."

Jayden stepped in the prep room casually. It was small, grimy, and smelled of sweat and old blood. It contained a single bench, a sink with a cracked mirror, and of hand wraps sitting in a basket.

Jayden stripped off his shirt, revealing the lean, defined musculature of someone whose body had been forged through constant combat and Lycan genetics. His skin was marked with fading bruises from the previous night’s fights—purple and yellow splotches that would be gone by tomorrow.

He wrapped his hands methodically, the ritual oddly calming. Loop around the wrist. Across the palm. Between the fingers. Around the knuckles. Pull tight. Secure.

[You know this is insane, right?] Luna’s voice cut through his focus. [Fighting a seven-foot Level 50 evolved human in front of hundreds of people?]

"I’ve fought worse." Jayden replied simply.

[Have you? Really?] Luna snickered. [Because from what I can tell, your opponent has obviously been doing this for years. He’s a professional pit fighter. This is his element]

Jayden shrugged. "Then I’ll adapt."

Luna was adamant. [Jayden—]

"I need that information, Luna,"Jayden said calmly, but his tone was sharp. "I need to find Scorched and where his holding Cassandra. And this is the only way."

Luna was quiet for a moment. [At least be smart about it. Don’t just try to overpower him. Use your head]

Jayden nodded. "Always."

Just then, he heard a knock on the door.

"Two minutes to showtime," a gruff voice called from outside.

Jayden took a breath, centered himself, and walked to the door.

-----

The arena was packed.

At least three hundred people crammed into the tiered seating surrounding the chain-link cage. The demographics were exactly what Jayden expected—men ranging from twenties to fifties, dressed in everything from expensive designer clothes to street wear. Gold chains caught the harsh overhead lights. Cigar and cigarette smoke created a haze that hung in the air like fog.

The energy was electric. People were shouting, laughing, placing last-minute bets with bookies who moved through the crowd with holo-pads and cash. The smell of money and violence hung thick. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

In one corner of the cage stood Tombstone.

The man was a monster.

Seven feet two inches of solid muscle packed onto a frame that looked like it had been carved from granite. His skin was dark, scarred, marked with prison tattoos that covered his massive arms and barrel chest. His head was shaved clean, and his face... his face looked like it had been through a war. Broken nose healed crooked. Scars across both eyebrows. Missing teeth visible when he smiled—which he was doing now, a predator’s grin as he rolled his massive shoulders and cracked his neck.

_________

*Name: Kyle Ross (Tombstone)

*Level: 51

*Ability: Enhanced Strength

*Hp: 450/450

_________

The information appeared in Jayden’s Dragon Eye vision, clinical and cold.

Across the arena, in the VIP section elevated above the regular seating, Big T sat surrounded by his lieutenants. He caught Jayden’s eye and raised his bourbon glass in a mock salute.

The message was clear: Don’t disappoint me.

Jayden stepped through the cage door. The metal clanged shut behind him with a finality that made the crowd roar louder. He looked entirely out of place—a kid stepping into a meat grinder.

The crowd erupted into a chorus of jeers and mocking laughter. Bets were frantically being rewritten; nobody was putting money on the teenager.

Up in the VIP balcony, Big T gripped the railing, a bead of sweat tracing down his mahogany forehead. Half a million credits rested on the shoulders of a boy who barely reached Tombstone’s chest.

Back in the ring, the referee—a grizzled older man with gray in his beard and the weathered look of someone who’d seen too much—stood in the center of the cage. He gestured for both fighters to approach.

Jayden walked forward. Tombstone lumbered over, each footstep making the canvas floor vibrate slightly. They stopped three feet apart.

Up close, Tombstone was even more intimidating. Jayden was almost six feet tall and well-built, but next to Tombstone he looked like a teenager standing next to a bear.

The referee spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

"Gentleman, you know the rules. Fight until knockout, submission, or till one of you dies. No eye gouging. No groin strikes. No biting. Everything else is fair game." He looked at each fighter. "Touch gloves and go to your corners."

Jayden extended his wrapped fist.

Tombstone looked at it, then at Jayden’s face. His smile widened, showing those missing teeth.

"I’m gonna enjoy this," Tombstone said, his voice like grinding gravel. "Been a while since I broke someone this young. You got a mama? She gonna cry when she sees what’s left of you."

Jayden’s expression didn’t change. He kept his fist extended.

Tombstone laughed—deep and cruel—and tapped Jayden’s fist with his own. The casual contact felt like being hit with a sledgehammer.

They returned to opposite corners.

The crowd’s volume crescendoed. People stood, shouted, waved fists full of cash. The energy was a physical force, pressing down on the cage.

Big T leaned forward in his seat, bourbon forgotten.

The referee raised his hand.

"FIGHTERS READY?!"

Jayden rolled his shoulders, dropping into a loose stance.

Tombstone cracked his knuckles—the sound like gunshots.

"FIGHT!"

Tombstone didn’t waste a second. He let out a guttural roar and charged, crossing the ring in three massive strides. He threw a right hook fueled by pure, unadulterated Super Strength, aiming to take Jayden’s head clean off his shoulders. The sheer force of the swing displaced the air, creating a localized gust of wind.

Jayden didn’t dodge. He didn’t weave.

He stepped into the strike, raised his left arm, and caught the giant’s fist in his open palm.

CRACK. WHOOSH!

A shockwave rippled outward, kicking up a ring of concrete dust around their feet. The crowd’s roar died in their throats.

Tombstone’s eyes widened in sheer, uncomprehending shock. His arm trembled, the veins bulging as he tried to push forward, but his fist was locked in place.

Jayden stood perfectly still, his boots anchored to the cracked floor. He felt the kinetic energy wash over him, processing the input. He analyzed the weight, the torque, the raw output of a Level 50 bruiser.

"Hm," Jayden hummed, a cold realization settling over him.

This fight could actually be over right now. All he needed to was a simple twist and jab to the neck.

But Jayden let out a slow breath. He needed the VIP location from Big T, but he also needed these underground bottom-feeders to understand exactly who was walking their streets. He needed to leave an impression.

He decided to put on a show.

With a flick of his wrist, Jayden parried the massive fist aside, sending Tombstone stumbling forward.

Tombstone recovered, his face twisting into an ugly mask of rage. How could a scrawny kid like Jayden humiliate him like that. He lunged again, cocking his fist. His punch came like a freight train—a straight right aimed at Jayden’s face with enough force to crater concrete.

Jayden slipped it by inches, felt the wind of its passage, and drove his fist into Tombstone’s ribs.

BAM!!!

The impact echoed.

Tombstone grunted, stumbled back a half-step, and his eyes widened slightly.

That had hurt.

Jayden saw the realization dawn on Tombstone’s face: This kid hits harder than he looks.

"Not bad," Tombstone admitted, rolling his shoulder. "But you gonna need more than that to take me down."

He came in again, this time with a combination—jab, cross, left hook. Professional boxing technique delivered with superhuman strength.

Jayden blocked the jab, ducked under the cross, and caught the left hook on his forearm. The impact sent pain radiating up to his shoulder, but he held firm.

Then he followed up with a body shot that sank deep into Tombstone’s solar plexus. Air exploded from the big man’s lungs. Another shot to the ribs. Another to the liver.

Tombstone roared and swung wildly—a backhand that would have decapitated a normal person.

Jayden ducked under it, stepped in close, and delivered an uppercut that snapped Tombstone’s head back.

The giant crashed to the canvas.

The arena went silent.

For a frozen moment, nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Nobody could process what they’d just seen.

Tombstone—the same monster who’d hospitalized his last three opponents—was on the ground.