They were interrupted when the crowd cheered again. A lone fighter, a bulky masked man, stepped inside. He wore a gold gamberson and black pants. On his back he wore a war hammer, yet it was obvious that he was equally skilled with his bare fists. He was alone, shouting for a challenge. The teen looked down for a moment, glancing at her sword, in its sheath, resting at her waist. She looked up to the apologetic waiter with a question, “How much to join the matches?”

He eyed her in alarm, “Y-you’re a child-“

“-And you're a waiter desperate to keep his job. What does it take to get in?”

He stammered, holding his platter against his chest, “W-we’ll take anyone at this rate, actually. Business is so low, we-“

The girl placed some spare change into his pocket, “-Sold.”

She stood up, rattling the table. She stepped forth, her armored boots resounding across the room. Fearless, shoved folk out of her way. Relentless, she cleared a path for herself with her sturdy neanderthal bulk. Stubborn, she stepped up the raised platform. She walked straight up to the announcer, placing a muscled hand on his shoulder, “Still no opponents?”

He shook his head.

An angry smirk crossed her red face, “I’ll fight him. Name's Felicity Rhyolite.”

Before he could argue, she started climbing the cage. Spectators watched in shock as a seventeen year old girl climbed into the ring. Her eyes were dark and serious as she pulled herself over the fence. She needed as much intensity as she could get. Thus, it came to this.

The cage rattled as she leapt in. Sturdy boots slammed into the padded floor as her small yet muscular frame jolted. A dark growl was emitted as the opponents started to look each other down. She pulled her jacket off. Her green shirt rippled as she cast the leather coat down. As smoke swirled, she pulled her sword free from its sheath. The delyn blade reflected the limited fire light. She was positive her outfit would get bloodied, although one could wonder how her red, yellow, and brown stained pants could look any worse. Not for the violence, but the excitement, the girl chuckled. An unhealthy thrill seeker, she was thirsty for whatever punishment and pain this opponent could give her. She could bathe in it. This reckless, PTSD ridden girl was running off raw rage alone as the announcer did his job.

The announcer eyed her in curiosity before he boldly spoke, “And here we have it, folks! The moment you have all not been waiting for! Cain the Crusher verses Felicity Rhyolite! Fight!”