Taking a step back, he kept his eyes on Horace before returning to his seat.
"Why don't we enjoy tonight's match?" Jian said politely, relaxing his shoulders upon his young master's restraint.

"M-Mr. Delacourde, there's nothing to worry about. I'm here to see the result of our deal. There's no breaking of rules on my part."

Respectful, aren't we? Eros thought to himself. Ignoring them all, he placed his attention on the monitor. 

"That last rule, let it resonate in your heads. Now for the main event. The challenger tonight, coming in the heavyweight class 228lbs, Pasadena native, Alsford Medina."

The bulky, six foot four Mexican with a cocky grin on his face, strutted through the crowd accepting the polite cheers from the audience. A smaller, shifty-looking man followed closely, eyeing the place with his beady eyes. To outsiders, he can be Medina's coach but the servers who were strategically placed around the ground floor knew his silent motive. 
Medina entered the cage and got lost in the audience's excitement. He enthusiastically shook Peter's hand, after all, he's every MMA fighter's ideal.
Wanting to act normal, Horace began to brag about his fighter with Wil and Trent weakly backing him up. The younger men didn't know the specifics of this match but they were feeling a tad bit uneasy. Their eyes searched the faces of the stoic men in the booth; they showed no sign of acknowledging the old man's bragging.

Jhoel stood abruptly and casually left the room.

"For the man, y'all have been waiting for. Two-time national champion, Iron Fist's youngest fifth-generation fighter, weighing at 205lbs, ladies and gentlemen, HONOR!" Peter's enthusiastic welcome created the mood of the club. The fighter under the five families was greatly welcomed and recognized. Just like Peter, he covered a lot of sports magazines and made it to Men's Health for four issues. In his twenties, Honor can say with confidence that he's content with life and ready to try new things if he wishes. Stepping out of the shadows, he shook hands with fans who reached out to him, signed autographs, and smiled for numerous phone cameras. Two men followed him acting as his guards and coaches. The brown-haired tightly muscled man didn't need 'protection' but an image had to be shown. His brown eyes had no emotion shining through but the smile on his face deceived the crowd. He had a job to do. The young master pulled him out of training for this and he had to show exceptional results. Stepping into the cage, his name was chanted throughout the building, his opponent grit his teeth in annoyance, his five seconds of fame was up and the main act was here.

Honor and Peter shook hands in familiar greeting before creating distance between them. It was time to work.

"Tonight's match is special for our young master. Let's make it an exciting one. We are doing a title match. Five rounds - five minutes each- one-minute rest period. Each fighter must give it their all, no fatal blows but rendering your opponent unconscious is considered a win. I can also stop the fight if one submits or simply can't defend himself. Are we set on these rules?"

Honor nodded stiffly and positioned himself to defend from Medina's blows. He knew this type of fighter, he had to train against these types in the early days no matter what weight class. This was why he was summoned. He had to show this man and his backer where they belonged. 
"C'mon pretty boy. I want to finish this quickly," Medina taunted.
Brown, emotionless eyes flicked to the camera overhead, two red lights flashed in his line of vision, with the message received he relaxed his body and allowed his mind to feel at ease. Peter saw the message also and stepped away from the two.

The bell rang and as ordered, Honor didn't move. The man behind the camera plus the two in the cage had ample experience in fighters who relied on their weight and stature. Medina was one of them. Not only did he depend on the weight disadvantage, but his boss also inflated his ego a bit too much. The strapping man charged towards him with a glint in his eye and an arrogant smirk on his face. Left hand posed to protect his jaw, Medina swung his right when he got into close proximity. Honor dodged the blow by lowering his body and moving under the incoming punch. In retaliation, he swung his own right arm and was successful in putting the large man into a daze. Easily he took two steps away from Medina and waited patiently for the man to regain his focus. The crowd celebrated Honor's hit and begged for more. The country's champion was known for his stealth and wide range in martial arts and boxing plus his stamina.

A frustrated growl reached his ears, ahead of him Medina once again charged towards him throwing punches and unpracticed kicks but they were all evaded or blocked smoothly by the champion. 

The buzzer went off. The first round was over. The 200 plus pound man staggered to the little bench his 'coach' brought in and drank the water that was forced into his hand. "That prick is playing with me. I couldn't even land a hit on the punk," Medina groused. His breathing was haggard, he felt like he was running miles instead of trying to dominate the fight. An ice pack was placed on the back of his neck while his sweaty face was cleaned. On the opposite side of him was Honor idly drinking water and chatting with the two men tending to him. 

"Try harder. We need to win this, get closer, and crush his throat or something. Both of our lives are on the line now," his coach said through gritted teeth.

The referee re-entered the octagon, checked his stopwatch, and signal the bell to be rung. Round two has started.

Four minutes later.

Medina was out of breath as he delivered a lazy kick to Honor's side. This was caught by him. He twisted his ankle and kicked at Medina's other ankle bringing them both down onto the mat. Not wasting any time, he used his knee to pin down the bigger man's arm and gripped his neck tightly. 
"C'mon, dude. Your boss is expecting a show. Your performance ain't too great tonight," Honor taunted with a cold grin. The ref came to the two after Medina's coach began to protest 'unjust actions'. 

"Can you hold out for three more rounds, kid?" Peter asked, only for his ears to hear. An identical smile to Honor's crept on his face. Medina knew at that moment, he won't make it out alive tonight. 

The bell sounded again. 

Medina crawled to his coach, his ego was definitely broken. For two rounds, Honor had him running around the octagon like a fucking show pony. His jaw was swollen and was accompanied by a busted lip. A throbbing pain was in his ankle and arm, his body was sweaty and it was a task to catch his breath. 
"Man, get your fucking head straight. The boss needs to win this deal. Get your ass out there and do your job."
Medina grabbed his coach's collar and thought of easily smashing his head in. "Why don't you do it if it's so easy. It's like I'm a fat rabbit and he's a fucking pack lion hunting for his king."

"Stop fooling around," was all the coach said, setting himself free from his hold. He glanced to the third floor then left the cage. Nervously, he looked at his surroundings, he swore he can feel more eyes on his back. 

> Third Floor<

"He-he's just warming up," Horace said with all the confidence in the world. The two ladies along with Wil and Trent knew the big guy was done for. Though they weren't followers of MMA matches and the likes, they can tell Honor was baiting the guy for two rounds. It was simply pathetic.

Eros didn't placate the man with agreeable words, he was bored and wanted this crap over with. On his iPad, a message popped up. The sender was Jhoel, knowing the job was completed, he only opened the message to view the contents. 
Good job as always. 
He made an adjustment to his payroll which was always open and made the additions to each soldier who partook in tonight's job. 
The bell sounded once more, it was the start of the third round.

"Mr. Horace, I think you need to stretch your legs. Two or maybe three minutes will do," he said. 

It was a simple suggestion but the underlying order was there along with the threat if disobeyed. Jian easily made it to the older man's side and escorted him onto the balcony. The girls wanted to follow but the two guards simply shifted their weight, stopping their actions in less than a second. 
Glancing at the young master, they found themselves under his predatorial gaze and slowly returned to their seat. They had no choice but to simply watch the match.

>The Octagon<

His arm felt heavy and it was taking all his might not to put much weight on his pained ankle. Honor was circling him like the predator he was. Medina followed each step of his, throwing punches to bait him but he didn't take it. After the second circle, everything went by in a blur. Right. Left. His head swung violently by the force from the padded fists. One fist made contact with his stomach, maybe it was his messed up head but he knew that fist left a major print. Doubling over in pain, he bit into his mouth guard to suppress his painful yell but it came out as a wail. 

"Get up." The order came from Honor. He received a pat on his head like a submissive dog. Like the bitch he was, he stood on unsteady legs and once again braced himself. Peter came up to him and harshly grabbed him by the hair. To outsiders it will look like the referee was helping him re-focus but it was far from it. 

"Give up or suffer more damage. He will do more than fracture a few bones."

"Fuck off," he bit out.

Peter chuckled and left him to his demise.

"HONOR!" "HONOR!" "HONOR!"

The crowds were wild on adrenaline. Ninety-five percent were oblivious to the nature of this impromptu fight and was high on the bloody fight, five percent were quiet with satisfied smiles on their faces. They knew. 
They saw the inevitable win for their young master and were itching to see Honor's finishing blow.

Few tired punches were made towards Honor with messy footwork. Protecting his jaw and revealing the smile on his face, the brown-haired protege of the young master moved without a sound. Medina felt the attacks but couldn't see them. Honor delivered three kicks in one succession. Thigh. Bruised stomach. Head. Once again he lost focus, he closed his eyes to regain his equilibrium, blood was trickling from his brow and a massive ache was pounding in his head but yet he fought to stand tall. A cold laugh was heard right before another blow to his head, the force doubled his body bringing him to his knee. 

One knee on the mat, he held onto his planted foot to steady himself. The ref came to 'check' on him but Medina pushed the man away trying to get back on two feet but Honor didn't allow him. A punch was delivered to his stomach once again, this time he knew his ribs were broken. His breathing was labored but he still pushed to stay standing. He can feel his body going forward but was braced by someone. 

"I'm impressed but it wasn't enough." 

Those cold words were the last words he will hear. A sharp knee was dealt to his stomach once again, this time his mouth guard was spat out with bloody saliva. The bright lights were now a blur and the body who held him up was removed. The final blow was made at the back of his neck by an 'ax kick'. White was what he saw as his face went closer to the mat. With a loud bang that was the end of his consciousness.

"One. Two. Three. Four......"

Honor stood patiently next to the unconscious Medina and turned his head towards the third floor. Horace was now gripping the rail tightly, fury was evident on his face.

"Five. Six. Seven."

Eros silently came to his side and said a few words, which turned his face pale.

"Eight. Nine."

The hand that gripped the old man's neck was quick as ever, along with the slamming of his head on the steel rail. 

"Ten."

Horace slumped to the ground with a bloody face, the ladies were screaming their lungs out but the crowd's cheers muted it all. Wil and Trent were frozen in their seats, in their peripheral they saw it all. 
Jian stepped over the lifeless body and handed his boss a wet wipe to clean his hands. Eros's gaze was downwards, focused on the man smiling up at him.

"And the winner is Honor." Peter lifted his arm, hyping the crowd more, dragging the young champion around the ring. Under all the chaos, two guards took away Medina's coach while another two came for Medina himself.

"He did well as always," Jian commented.

"He was having fun," Eros returned, dropping the used wet wipe on Horace's body. Re-entering the booth, he said nothing to his 'guests' and reclaimed his seat. Dreux stepped before them, his emotionless eyes rested on each of their faces. "Your presence is no longer needed. You will be escorted out of this building. If your boss does wake up, tell him to never touch the young master's things," he said.

Watching his guests the young Delacourde captured the attention of the guards who returned to their positions. "You're no longer needed for tonight. Enjoy yourselves," he said while fiddling with his security device. The guards hesitated both concerned and uneasy for their boss. Eros glanced their way and relaxed his body enough for them to see it. By that action, they too became at ease and left their boss.

It's getting harder to keep them at ease, he said to himself. Rising from his designated chair, he made his way to the back and pushed against the wall near the portrait of his France family home. The square panel slid away to reveal the keypad and biometric security passkey. Offering the AI his fingerprint, it announced his clearance and revealed his office. The AI was one of his early creations when he was a teen. So many upgrades he did to it allowed him to make duplicates for the family and allowed Nico to create a similar one, like a 'brother-AI' for his preferences. Both Nico and Eros were known as tech geniuses bringing the family business into the modern era, not to mention creating their own paths within the family. 

Entering the office, he quickly went to get out of the suit for a shower and a more comfortable set of clothes. The night's events faded away leaving him with one that was so hard to forget. The momentary release of his bloodthirst chased it away for a while but it seems like he needs more to cover it up. 
Dressed in a pair of distressed jeans, combat boots, a gamer's t-shirt, and a hooded cardigan, he settled on the sofa to end his night with mobile gaming. Maybe that will distract him until he falls asleep.

Away from the lively patrons celebrating Honor's win, the guards relaxing with drinks in their hands, and the servers enjoying their job, four individuals were stiffly making their way out of the club, heavily guarded. The door at the back of the club didn't slam against the wall like every other book describes when opened, someone was politely holding it open. 

Politely was a bit of a stretch though.

Not too sure with the happenings around them they stood lost to the situation. Trent, dubbed as the unofficial leader timidly stepped forward to ask if they were actually free when the loud sound of a car approaching them was heard. Swinging into the wide alley at a desperate breakneck speed was a silver-grey sedan. The house lights were on showing the fear on the driver's face, his hold on the steering wheel was tight and he kept looking over his shoulder. Probably at his back seat passengers. The car came to an abrupt stop, the smell of burnt rubber filled everyone's noses but that didn't assault their senses, it was the scene at the back of the car.

"GET IN!"

The driver was Medina's coach. The said man and their boss were still unconscious with bloody faces, two other men were with them. Their cries of pain along with their heavy injuries left little to the imagination. 

If your boss does wake up, tell him to never touch the young master's things. 

Those words came back to Wil. He swung his head around and looked at the suited men with stoic expressions, watching them in a bored fashion. He came to the realization of how normal this was to them. The brutality for disrespecting their master. This was the world he wanted to enter for untold riches? Wil stumbled away from the group, backing away from it all. The girls entered the front seat, again they screamed. Are their throats not sore? They scrambled out of the car trying to look at their bodies under the lights in the alley. The back of their legs had traces of blood, their dresses were now waste as it was now stained. 
"Shut the fuck up and get in. If the boss dies I will put the blame on you two," the driver shouted.

"But.. But... there's blood!" one shrieked.

"You have it your body, what's the difference?" one of Delacourde's men said aloud, scratching his neck lazily while watching the little drama show. In his opinion, folks outside of the seal are so amusing. The girl scowled at him then realized what she had just done.

 During the little show, Wil was distancing himself from them. He wanted nothing to do with that club and the people involved. Turning on his heel, he sprinted down the alley and onto the street, he didn't stop when he heard his name being called. Making it a few streets away from the club where a lot of people were. People who are clueless about the dark side of society. Mindlessly he walked towards the plaza that was still lively with street performers and people enjoying the nightlife. Wil took a seat at the fountain and made a promise to never cross paths with anyone linked to Delacourde. On top of that, he had no plans in revisiting that club.

Back in the alley, the car filled with fear-driven passengers left the guards who wore both amused and annoyed expressions. Trent left, running behind his companion - they knew seeing that kid again was at a low probability. Re-entering the building Druex who accompanied his brothers out of boredom received a text on the phone he was idly playing with. His thoughts of enjoying the nightclub atmosphere dissipated due to the contents of that text. 

"Yo! Where's Honor?"

That dude will be the only one to carry out this informal request.