The back corridors of the Crimson Arena smelled of sweat, old blood, and cheap incense meant to cover both. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows that danced like living things on the cracked concrete walls. Matt walked behind Rex, his body still buzzing with leftover adrenaline and the heavy, warm fullness of Garon’s blood coursing through his veins. Every step felt different now — lighter, stronger, more predatory. His senses picked up things they never could before: the distant heartbeat of a scared spectator two floors up, the metallic tang of fear-sweat on the bouncers they passed, the faint rustle of rats in the walls.
Rex didn’t speak much at first. He just smoked another cigarette, the orange glow lighting his scarred face every few seconds. The man moved wit
