Page 3 of Celestial Combat

I didn’t look at him. “New fighter?”

“Umm…”

That was all I needed to hear. Tony was always dragging fresh meat into the cage, testing their limits, breaking them in.

The doors slid open, revealing my underground empire. Python’s second life. A massive warehouse, cold and dimly lit, stretching out beneath the city street. The barin the corner was stocked with expensive liquor. But the real centerpiece was the pit, the underground ring sunken into the floor, surrounded by layers of seating that rose like a colosseum.

The place was empty now. A quiet monster waiting to wake.

I spotted Tony immediately.

Six-three, built like a war machine at only twenty, the olive skin on one of his arms inked with secrets. An enigma of Cosa Nostra blood and brutal discipline. Tony had been an unbeatable underground champion, but he never fought for a title. He fought because he needed to. Escape. Release.

A shark grin took over his features, all straight white teeth. “The Samurai…”

“Tony,” I responded, my voice curt.

He smirked, tilting his head behind him. “Got something for you.”

I exhaled slowly, eyes shifting to the newcomer.

Tony stepped aside, revealing his newest fighter.

Standing next to him was not a man.

But a woman.

She stood at probably 5’11, lean but not fragile, built like something meant to move fast and hit hard. Her posture was deceptively relaxed, hands buried in the pockets of her black sweats, shoulders slightly slouched like she had nothing to prove – but I knew fighters like her.

The low light carved out the sharp planes of her face, an arresting mix of Black, Latin and Asian features– cheekbones high, nose straight, lips full, her bottom one scarred by a faded split. Her skin, a deep, rich tone that the cold fluorescents barely did justice to, was smooth. She carried the quiet confidence of someone who’d been through things and walked out the other side, uninterested in explaining any of it.

Several cornrows, mixed in style, pulled back from her face, merging into thick, disciplined braids that trailed down to her waist. A warrior’s crown – intricate, deliberate, unapologetic.

Her eyes were the last thing I let myself focus on.

Black, like mine.

Unreadable, like mine.

Heavy with something I couldn’t name but recognized all the same.Like mine.

The way she held my stare, steady, unflinching, like she was studying me the same way I’d been studying her. Most people, even the ones who fought for a living, couldn’t hold my gaze for long.

She did.

And that told me more about her than anything else.

We watched each other in silence. The underground space around us, the hum of the lights, the empty pit waiting to be filled with blood and money – all of it faded to the background.

She didn’t look at me like a newcomer begging for a chance.

She looked at me like I was the one who needed to prove myself.

I didn’t like that.

I narrowed my eyes. “Have we met before?”

The corner of her mouth twitched – almost in a smirk. “You’d remember.”

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