A foul place. A place of sin, for sin. He sought the stench of rotting morals and corrupted souls. Kole needed to surround himself with filth to avoid feeling like it himself. He needed to fight, collide his fist with another's flesh, to feel like he was in control. And the only place he knew could satisfy both needs festered in the bowels of the city.

The only problem? He had left a bad impression nights prior.

"Let me in Sil," he growled at the woman barring his way. Her pierced nose flared, and her the studs in her lips sat uncomfortably from her pout. "I bring no trouble. Just need to fight."

"And that be the problem, Moody."

"Why? Ghoal changed his business of late?"

"No business be changing, just the types we let in, and ye aint on the list."

"Didn't realize there was one. Look, I don't need to be in a fancy, high-staked fight. Put me in with the masses, one of the potlucks, if you will."

"Ye desperate enough to want in on a potluck?" Sil snorted. "Only fools ask to be let in on the potlucks."

"Then I'm a fool."

Sil flicked her tongue over one of the rings in her upper lip. "Look mate, I got me orders. Ghoal said never to let ye in again. No matter what. I be out of a job if I let ye in."

"Ghoal doesn't watch the potlucks."

"Nah, but people got wagging tongues, ye ken? Somebody's bound to lark on ye. They remember ye well back there, and being on yer own and all, ye stand no chance in there. Ye'll die in there."

"Then I'll die," Kole growled. "What's it to you how I fare? Your job description is check folk at the door. You can cover and say you never saw me."

"Ye think that highly of yerself?"

"I don't need to. People can believe what they want. A story is a tale told wrong. A myth is what you want, and those are told with just enough lies to make it seem true."

"Those be some pretty words, Moody, but I got no time to make sense o' them. I aint letting you in."

Kole's patience was running dry, and if he wasn't careful, he'd fight his way into The Pits. Enough ale broiled in his system to make him reckless, but not enough to follow through on the thought.

"Sil?" Another voice entered the corridor, inquisitive and arrogant in its question. "What's going on here? Trouble?"

Sil nodded.

"I remember you. Kole was it?" Haze stood with his shoulder against the wall, arms folded, one foot hooked around the other. "Some might call you foolish for showing your face down here again."

Kole gave Sil a final look. "I didn't come here to cause a scene."

"Yeah, well Ghoal aint bloody likely to let you set foot in his pool again. He lost too much money the last night you were here."

"I don't need to set foot in the arena. Set me in the cages and I'll do the rest."

"The cages?" Haze scoffed. "You seeking a beating? Nobody sets foot in the cages unless they got no choice or they desperate."

Kole squared off his feet, folding his arms before him. "I don't need to explain my reasons to you, mate. My reasons are my own. I just want in. Don't even need a high staked match. Set me in with the lousiest lot you got and I won't complain."

Haze's gaze narrowed; he did not move. Silent, he stood frozen as if waiting for more information. "You might not want to tell me your reasons, but your avoidance is screaming your reasons nonetheless." He sighed, stepping past Kole and resting a hand on Sil's shoulder. "I got this."

"Ghoal will–"

"I'll speak to him if he ever finds out. If asked, say you didn't see him."

"I can't lie like that. He be putting the coin in me pouch. What thanks would I be saying by–"

"He will be thanking you," Kole said. "He'll get his coins' worth. I swear it."

Haze grinned. "Aye. We'll put on a show..."

The word 'we' stood out like a blue blade of grass, and Kole could not help the questioning look that pirated his face for a brief moment.

"You heard right Kole my friend. Aint no chance in the bleeding bollocks of hell I will miss the chance to see you fight among the worst The Pits has to offer, and I will be a fool dressed in a pretty dress if I did not involve myself. I am a spectator of no man's fights."

"This be a no weapons fight. All ye bastards strip and dress in the garb given to ye. Anyone got a problem with it, step outside and find some other hole to fight in." The man bellowing the instruction continued his rounds, handing out identical briefs.

Kole grimaced as the sodden pair stuck to his skin.

"What's the matter? Not used to seeing so much chest hair?"

Kole grunted, pulling at the tie of his shorts. "More like not used to wearing wet clothing—beside my own—so close to my boys."

Haze laughed, pulling off the last of his winter gear. "At least you know it's clean. The wetter it is, the less likely it is to smell of another man's shit."

"Words of comfort if I ever did hear 'em. Remind me to never ask you for advice or encouragement."

"If it's advice you seek a wise man would tell you to tuck tail and run. Those bruises are gonna slow you down, mate. They don't look to be just surface marks, they look painful and likely to give a mother a few new wrinkles."

"Good thing my mother's in the ground then," Kole growled as he wrapped his hands in the leather straps provided. They were brown and blood-stained, but like the briefs he wore, they were wet from a recent wash and smelt of pig fat and alcohol. A good combination.

"I aint worrying about a fretting parent waiting for you. What concerns me is your speed, your reflexes." Haze's fist flew towards Kole's cheek. Fast enough to catch a slower man, but not fast enough for Kole. He stepped aside and glared at the grinning man before him.

"I think I'll be fine, mate, but I thank you for the show of concern."

Haze shrugged, lifting his arms above his head and groaning with pleasure at the sound of his shoulders popping. His laugh echoed behind him as he sought out his own leather strapping.

The good thing about the used leather was its suppleness. It molded to Kole's hand like a fitted glove as he flexed and balled his fists. His muscles felt poised and prepared for battle, his senses attuned to the sounds and smells of pain. The Withania and Devil's Claw would see him through the night. He'd feel pain but not be hindered by it until morning, and what little pain he did feel he would soon numb with the adrenaline that spilt blood promised.

When Kole finished strapping his feet, the fight master beckoned the group to the gate—a melee of men from all walks of life, old, young, tall, short, muscled and lean. Kole eyed each one, spotting the threats and the easy targets. Haze stood across from him, his angled eyes scoping his first targets. Kole saw when the man found his first opponent. A man of decent proportion, arms and legs of equal size, muscles big enough to weigh a lot, but lean enough to prove a challenge. He stood two feet taller than Kole with a shaven head except for a long braid cascading from the crown. A ridiculous style, never mind impractical.

"Last chance for the cowards to forfeit," the fight master yelled. "The rest of ye, get the hell out there!"

The men roared and banged their chests as they opened the gates and streamed into the cage. Smaller than the ring that provided the main event of The Pits, its floor covered in gravel stones and wood shavings. A mismatched wooden fence surrounded them, topped with metal bars and mesh that kept the most desperate of Ghoal's patrons safe from the beasts fighting within.

Men sat with books and pouches, already discussing their bets and opinions. Prostitutes lurked among them, most seated on laps, their lips sucking and licking on necks, earlobes, or appendages of varied sorts. Kole grimaced. He hated The Pits, but it was this part in particular he despised most.

No fighter aimed to stay longer than necessary among the maggots of the city's crud, and if he did he was a maggot.

"Always a pleasure to see this place again," Haze said far too pleasantly. He inhaled. "I love this smell."

Kole raised an eyebrow, smiling despite his distaste. "You do?"

Haze scoffed. "Who doesn't love to breathe in the kernel of this place's defecations." He winked, rolling his shoulder back and forth.

Kole dragged his gaze from a particularly disturbing scene to face Haze. "You can still walk away."

"So can you."

There was a time where Kole would have given his left arm to move out of the cages into the main arena. He'd paid his dues here and sworn never to return. A promise he thought he would keep until he was decrepit or dead, but like so many promises, it lay cracked open, a summer fruit toppled to the ground after a storm. Broken.

"I'm gonna hold you to that promise you made," Kole said, refusing to acknowledge the previous comment. "I got your back as long as you got mine."

Haze continued to click and stretch his arms and neck. "I'll hold to the promise as long as you do. We call it a truce at the end."

"I'll hold to it."

A moment later a gong rang, the crowd bellowed their encouragement, then men inside the cage exploded with blood, grunts, and battle cries.

The outside world dropped away as Kole submerged himself in the chaos. He ran towards the center, Haze at his side, threw himself at the first man he came by, wrapping his arms around the man's torso. The momentum from the run gave him wing to slide, flip, and twist through the man's braced legs and land an elbow to the groin. The main grunted through clenched teeth, grabbing Kole by the shoulder. Kole twisted, grabbed the man's wrist with one hand, and with the other punched the elbow so that the elbow cracked and the arm no longer bent at the right angle. Another yell in his ear. Kole released the arm and reached to grab the man on either side of his neck, he then curled forward so that he ended in a one-legged kneel and his opponent landed flat on his back, winded. Kole took the opportunity to slam the side of his hand against the man's throat.

A gurgled gasp escaped the man's lips as his face began to purple and his hands clutched at his neck.

Kole leapt over the man and lunged for another.

He caught a wrist as it retracted, preparing for a punch. Startled, its owner turned to face the intruder and attempted to swing his other arm round. Kole allowed the movement only so he could catch the weaker arm. Now with both wrists in his grasp and the man's arms crossed at the elbow, he swivelled so that his back faced the man, and he stood inside the arms. It was a dangerous move, and one that needed to be completed quickly or he risked being throttled from behind. Chase scolded Kole for it every time, but it had yet to fail. Kole thrust his elbow backwards once, twice, and on the third time the man's ribs cracked. Kole thrust his other elbow, but this time followed through with the movement, exiting the circle of the man's arms. He dropped to the ground, leg extended to catch the man at the ankle. He landed with a loud thud, and a cloud of dust erupted as his head cracked against a particularly large pebble.

It all happened so quickly that by the time Kole stood up again, the now unconscious man's opponent still stood with his hands braced for a punch that never arrived.

"Mind if I cut in?"