Start as a Spiritual Planter: I Have a Game Panel-Chapter 217: Zero-Point Arena
The roar of the crowd in the Zero Point Arena was very loud, a wave of sound that vibrated right through Shane’s bones, even in the plush, sound-dampened luxury of his private box.
Laser lights, the color of toxic waste and cheap synth-booze, sliced through the cigar smoke that clung to the air like a greasy shroud, painting fleeting, grotesque patterns on the faces of the frenzied spectators below.
The Zero Point Arena wasn’t just big; it was a colossal, multi-tiered behemoth carved into the underbelly of the city, a veritable cathedral to violence and desperation.
Shane leaned back, a glass of expensive, dark liquor swirling in his hand, his gaze sweeping over the scene.
Imagine a giant, hungry maw, lined with multiple layers of viewing platforms and private boxes like his own, that rose dizzyingly high, disappearing into the smoky, synth-haze far above. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞
Down on the main floor, it wasn’t just one fighting pit, but several.
Smaller, railed-off cages were scattered around the perimeter, their sandy floors stained with the dark, unmistakable marks of spilled blood.
You’d see everything in those lesser pits like street thugs with rusty, sparking cybernetics, or mutants with Bio enhancements looking to earn a few credits or a sliver of reputation.
The cleanup crews, with their high-pressure nutrient-solvent hoses, were always busy, an efficient counterpoint to the chaos.
But the real draw, the heart of the arena, was the massive central stage.
This is where the professionals, the Tier 4 and above combatants, clashed in duels that were as much art as they were butchery, and death matches that kept the bloodthirsty crowds screaming for more.
Down on that platform now, two figures were a blur of motion.
One was a hulking brute, all mismatched, heavy-grade cybernetic limbs and glowing red optics that glowed with every furious swing of its massive, hydraulic-powered fists.
His opponent was smaller, quicker, a lithe figure darting in and out of reach, energy whips crackling from her wrists, leaving trails of incandescent blue in the smoky air.
Each crack of the whips was like a miniature thunderclap, and the crowd roared in its approval.
Bets were flashing on the giant view-screens suspended overhead, numbers flickering faster than a street thief’s fingers as odds shifted with every landed blow or near miss.
This place, Shane mused, taking a slow sip of his drink, was a stew of chromed-out gangsters with heavy firepower visible under their expensive suits, pleasure-bots with vacant, too-wide smiles gliding through the throngs offering various illicit services, and sexy women in clothes that left little to the imagination, their laughter sharp and predatory.
The air was thick with the kind of tension you could taste, metallic and sharp, like blood.
’Damn kid, Ram, the audacity of that Tier 3 pipsqueak, destroying his warehouse, freeing those worthless slaves.’ Shane watched, his expression unreadable.
He wasn’t here for the cheap thrills; the fight was a decent distraction, but his mind was elsewhere, gnawed by a persistent, irritating itch.
Then there was Kain, still missing, presumed dead or captured by that same group of cloaked Half-Drows.
And on top of it all, Alchemist Brian was breathing down his neck about the Eclipse Dust production, or rather, the lack thereof, since the warehouse lab went up in flames.
The energy whip fighter on the stage danced aside, a whip lashing out to catch the cybernetic brute across its optical sensors.
The brute roared, stumbling blindly, and the crowd went wild. Shane barely registered it. His mind was on the Heretic Mask.
Its loss was a far greater blow than a few dead thugs or a ruined drug lab. That mask... it was a key to his evolution to Tier 6 and above.
"Fools," he muttered into his glass, thinking of Krunk and the initial ambush. If they hadn’t been so incompetent, so easily outmaneuvered by Mai and her pathetic brother...
He hadn’t had a moment of peace since that encounter with Ram and that terrifying woman, Esha.
Just then, a sly, feminine chuckle cut through his dark thoughts. "Trouble in paradise, Old Man Shane? You look like you swallowed a whole Lemon-Slug."
Shane’s jaw tightened. He didn’t even need to turn to know who it was. Jessi.
Her voice, smooth and laced with just the right amount of mockery, always managed to get under his skin.
He slowly turned his head, his eyes, usually cold and calculating, now carrying a dangerous glint.
Jessi leaned against the doorway of his private box, the very picture of casual arrogance.
She was a striking figure, her movements fluid and serpentine, a subtle hint of the alien bloodline that gave her gang, The Bloodfang Serpents, their edge.
Her skin, or what looked like skin, had a faint, pearlescent sheen, almost like perfectly crafted synthetic armor that moved with her like a second hide.
Her eyes, a startling shade of emerald green with slitted pupils, held a perpetual glint of amusement.
She was beautiful, in a lethal sort of way.
"What do you want, Jessi?" Shane’s voice was a low growl.
The Bloodfang Serpents and their Blood Hawk Gang had been rivals for as long as he could remember, constantly snapping at each other’s heels for territory, resources, and the lucrative information brokering market where the Serpents excelled.
Their synthetic skin, rumored to be enhanced with their serpentine bloodline, made them incredibly flexible and resilient, deadly in a close-quarters fight.
Jessi pushed herself off the doorframe and entered into the box, her hips swaying with an easy confidence that grated on Shane’s already frayed nerves.
She settled into the plush chair opposite him, crossing her legs elegantly. "Just came to see the show. And maybe offer my condolences."
"Condolences for what?" Shane snapped, his hand tightening around his glass.
"Oh, you know," Jessi said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "The recent... disruptions to your business. Warehouses burning, key personnel disappearing... It’s a tough city out there, for you these days."
"Especially when you can’t seem to keep your own house in order." Her smile was all teeth.
"Fuck you... Bitch," Shane cursed under his breath, his face growing dark.
He knew she was goading him, enjoying his misfortune.
The attacks from Ram and his mysterious Half-Drow allies had been a constant thorn in his side, and Jessi, with her network of informants, undoubtedly knew every humiliating detail.
"I’m fine," he bit out. "Just a few pests that need exterminating."
"Pests?" Jessi raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "From what I hear, these ’pests’ are running circles around your Blood Hawks."
"Making you look rather... incompetent, wouldn’t you say?" She leaned forward, her emerald eyes sparkling. "Word on the street is, you were utterly humiliated by a woman. Tsk, tsk."
"Not to mention, the news about the loss of Eclipse Dust, Alchemist Brian can’t be too pleased about that."
Shane flinched inwardly at the mention of Brian. A Tier 6 Alchemist wasn’t someone you could disappoint.
The pressure to recover the mask and get the Eclipse Dust production back on track was immense.
He forced himself to remain outwardly calm, though the effort was considerable. "My business with Brian is none of your concern, Serpent."
Jessi just laughed, a light, airy sound that somehow felt more insulting than any direct taunt.
"Oh, but everything in the CyberCore District is my concern, darling."
"Especially when one of the major players starts... fumbling." She paused, her smile widening.
"Tell me, Shane, how does it feel to be outmaneuvered by a bunch of unknowns? It must be quite the blow to that infamous Blood Hawk pride."
He wanted to lash out, to wipe that smug smile off her face, but he held himself back.
A direct confrontation with Jessi here, in the Zero Point Arena, would be foolish.
It would draw too much attention, and right now, attention was the last thing he needed.
He was already walking a tightrope with Alchemist Brian.
"Enjoy the fight, Jessi," Shane said, his voice tight with restrained anger, turning his gaze back to the arena floor where the cybernetic brute was now on the defensive, sparks flying as the energy whips wrapped around its limbs. "Don’t let me keep you from your... observations."
Jessi’s laughter followed him as she rose.
"Oh, I will. I most certainly will. And don’t worry," she purred, pausing at the doorway, "I’ll be sure to send my regards to Alchemist Brian. Perhaps he’d be interested in a more... reliable partner."
With a final, lingering smirk, she was gone, leaving Shane to stew in his own fury, the roar of the arena crowd suddenly sounding like a mocking laughter.
The heavy door of the private box clicked shut, leaving Shane enveloped in a silence that felt heavier than the lingering scent of Jessi’s alien perfume.
He slammed his empty glass down on the polished obsidian table, the sharp sound barely audible over the unending roar of the Zero Point Arena.
Jessi’s mocking laughter still echoed in his ears, each syllable a tiny needle prodding at his already raw pride.
"Damn that slithering bitch," he snarled, his voice a low rumble.
He pushed himself out of the chair, the expensive synth-leather groaning in protest, and paced the confines of the box like a caged beast.
The panoramic window, offering a god’s-eye view of the carnage below, now felt like a transparent wall to his own personal hell.
He watched, unseeing, as the energy-whip fighter on the central stage finally brought down the cybernetic brute.
The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of cheers and jeers washing over the arena, but Shane felt none of it.
His thoughts were a complete mess.
