The chanting of twenty thousand marks upstairs runs a chill of excitement and greed down Jamie’s back. Every little shake in the locker room floor gives him a jolt of pleasure, reminding him of the wealth and power that’s coming to him. He spent five years working the dregs of the XWF’s recruitment staff, convincing mitoids and other petty thugs to take their shot at the game. Five long years in sweatly gyms, seedy illegal boxing rings, and homemade redneck “wrasslin’” rings, being denied the opportunity of recruiting novas and getting a piece of the real action. And all of that time schlepping in shitholes paid off two months ago when Jamie got the drop on everyone else when he found Harold at the local Rashoud Facility. This little nerdlinger is his shot at the big time and the contract ensures Jamie gets more than a fair share of the profit. More roars filter down into the room, undoubtedly a positive response to one of the lesser fights happening tonight, and a smile grows on Jamie’s face, “Ya hear that, Harry? The marks are ready for you tonight.”

Harold smiles weakly and absently rubs one of his shoulders, “Yeah, sure…” Following his gimmick, the young nova is dressed in what can only be described as a Nova Age mockery of Renaissance clothing: high black leather boots with outrageously large cuffs, black pants that are more like strips of leather attached to a single waistline than actual pants, and black leather bracers covered with studs. The trainers told Jamie that Harold had picked up on the moves pretty quickly and he was tough enough to be put into the Red Circle, but he didn’t really embrace the attitude of a shootfighter. Not that Jamie cares, the contract is air tight and Harold will be the recruiter’s cash cow for at least two years. While starting to fidget on his bench, Harold’s babyish face contorts while looking at his arms and legs, “I don’t know Jamie, I look like some kind of freak in this outfit… and Glaurung sounds so much cooler than…”

Jamie rolls his eyes; the stupid shit is doing this again and still doesn’t seem to get it. He leans down to slap both of the blonde nova’s shoulders with an enormous smile, “Hey, you look amazing, Harry. Mythic is a much better name and you’re gonna have so much more heat with this gimmick! Look at you, the chicks are gonna eat you up!” Harold nods quietly, submitting almost immediately to Jamie’s pep talk and not noticing the rep’s rolling eyes. A stage hand leans into the locker room and silently motions to Jamie with a clipboard. The rep nods and gives Harold another reassuring slap on the back and launches into his pep talk, “Alright, it’s your time, baby! You’re a monster, an unstoppable machine! You’re Mythic, Master of the Fantasy World! Now go kick that bitch’s ass and show the world who you are!” Harold leaps to his feet, obviously pumped up by Jamie’s words, and he follows the stage hand out, bouncing back and forth on his feet like a nerdy Rocky.

Watching Harold leave for the ring, Jamie shakes his head. Sure, the kid is a meal ticket, but damn does he look like a ninety-pound weakling with no social grace.

Bright, pulsating lights turn the exit at the end of the dark corridor into a Technicolor portal to another world. Harold's heart is pounding in his chest as he follows the stage hand and he starts to wonder just how he got into this situation. It's not like he's a violent man, all he really wanted to do in life was read books and day dream. Sure, everyone wants to be a nova but it's not like he asked to end up a show man. It's not all that bad and the pay is good, but trying to hurt other people, even for sport? God, how can people do something like this on a regular basis? How can everyone be so barbaric, didn't humanity leave this stuff behind with ancient Rome? Jamie's pep talks and sales pitches bubble up again in his mind and Harold starts to relax a bit. At least here he isn't killing people or burning crops like those elites. Even Utopia screws up sometimes and innocent people get hurt. Not here, though, the XWF people make sure no one gets hurt. That's what Jamie and the others told him, why would they lie about safety things, right?

The stage hand stops Harold a few feet from the portal leading out into the arena while trying to talk over his headset. Looking out the exit, Harold can see the different levels of the ring, providing countless of opportunities for the shootfighters to do amazing stunts to the cheering crowd... the cheering crowd... Harold gets a good look at the people who paid to see him tonight and the sight of it stops him cold. Thousands, no, tens of thousands of people, dressed up in wild clothing and soak in beer, have come out to see their idols throw down and make the audience leave in awe. Christ, it's impossible not to feel the raw emotion coming off the crowd. And he's supposed to fight in front of that? A voice starts to burst to live through the overpowered PA system, "Tonight, one New York's native sons is making his debut in the ring after being trained by the best!" Kenny was a wrestler, really? He never said that and he sure doesn't look like a wrestler or a nova. "Within this man is the power of all monsters, waiting to be unleashed under his masterful control. Bow down for the amazing and terrifying forms of Myyyyyythhhhiiiiiic!"

Someone, must be the stage hand, shoves Harold forward and out of his daze, “Come on, kid, that’s your cue!” He stumbles out between the stands and into the spotlight, assaulted by the onslaught of the crowd’s voices. Some skew metal track picked out by the management blares as he walks towards the ring – he really needs to make someone listen to him about changing that theme – and the crowd’s response to his walk is, to put it mildly, varied. The far reaches of the arena continues to cheer, still driven by the excitement created by the bouts that have gone on so far. Those closer are quieter, trying to get a look at the small blonde man, not much more than a boy, walk towards the ring. But the spectators close enough to get a good look at the slight, bookish student wearing what seems to be the leftovers of a Judas Priest concert, and do a horrible job of retaining their laughter. He can feel his blush spread from his cheeks and down onto his exposed torso and he just focuses on getting into the ring. Oh no, this won’t be good for… oh, what did Jamie call it… for the ‘pop?’ He scoots his ass into the ring, trying to find his marker in the swirling lights and roaring – okay, laughing – crowd. Holy shit, there’s a lot of damage here in the ring: scorch marks from plasma, long gouges ripped out of ferro-concrete, and… is that stain blood? Oh man, maybe this isn’t a good idea.

Within seconds, the voice returns to the loudspeaker and Harold jerks up in surprise now that he’s just underneath it, “And now, returning for your blood-thirsty pleasure.” Blood-thirsty pleasure?! “When she’s not trying to steal your children with the Teragen she’s out here trying to make her opponents bleed, it’s the one… the only… Teeerrrrrminnnnaaaaatriiiiixxx!

Even before she’s all the way out of the floor Harold can see Terminatrix’s face. The crowd goes completely wild when she’s announced, but he doesn’t even notice it. It’s her eyes; those blank, black eyes staring at him like he’s a piece of meat. She’s over a foot taller than him with sharpened teeth and claws, but those terrifying eyes just reach into his chest and squeeze. “Are you sure you want this, little nova,” she asks him a voice that sounds like a fish being scaled, “Why do you want to whore yourself out for these monkeys?” Harold doesn’t say a thing – his voice is completely lost, scared away by the walking flesh eating machine in front of him, and all he can do is just stare at her with eyes the size of saucers. “Fine,” Terminatrix spits while barring her shark-like teeth, “I’ll penalize you, like the rest of these whores, with your blood!” Good God, he’s supposed to fight her?! They said it wasn’t going to be lethal! She starts to rush across the broken field that constitutes the ring and the bell sounds – who even knows if she was waiting for the bell – and a look of utter bloodlust dominates her blank eyes. Harold eyes jump even larger and his mind finally catches up with the situation. The crowd cheers on Terminatrix’s approach; even if the new guy is a wussy he’s a nova and that means the fight will be longer and messier. What happens next, however, takes them by surprise.

Acting almost entirely on instinct, Harold’s body starts to bubble, quickly gaining mass as his shoulders broaden out beyond human limits and his body stretches to match. The parts of the crowd close enough to see Harold’s transformation as his skin turns a sickly green, his arm stretch out even more to his knees, and glistening claws grow out his elongated fingers. Terminatrix collides with the morphed nova, hesitating a bit in surprise at his display before scoring a hit on the green, rubbery flesh. For her troubles, both of the clawed hands dig into the flesh of her chest before ripping outward to her sides, sending the Terat a few feet back. She looks at the green monster before her with newfound wariness, watching its rubbery flesh knit back together as fast as hers, and Mythic’s inhuman voice rumbles through monstrous vocal cords and an fanged-filled grin, “Yo, she bitch… let’s go.”

A mouth full of shark teeth spreads into a wide, hungry smile and Terminatrix growls, “Good, ziplover, this will make it all that much sweeter.” Claws rend into gray and green skin, drawing crimson streaks across both novas and loud cheers from the crowd. Mythic can barely believe what he’s doing as his claws slice flesh off of Terminatrix’s shoulder as she returns the favor to his own chest. He’s never had such a bloodlust before or hit someone so hard. Their quantum fueled exchange continues and an errant pair of strikes sends both novas flying over the exposed rebars sticking out of a broken ferro-concrete wall, sending the crowd to its feet to keep them in sight. Normal people don’t do this kind of stuff, this isn’t a job, but no one ever said it could be so fun. Part of Mythic’s morphed mind reveals in the violence he’s producing, trading claw rend after claw rend with Terminatrix, and the ring shudders under their exchange. Wait, this isn’t working, that psycho is too fast. She’s making him bleed too much and he can’t keep healing forever. After all, he really isn’t a troll even if he wants to devour this bitch’s flesh. Oh God, it’s time to change it up…

The green skin under Terminatrix’s claws turns from its rubbery consistency to a hard, shiny black chitin and her strikes slide off it ineffectually. Those claws hurt; he needs a form that’s got a tougher defense. The thousands of spectators howl in glee at the sight of Mythic’s form start to buckle from his next change. His body gains even more height and mass, now standing over ten feet tall, his skin swells outward like a balloon as it hardens into an exoskeleton, and his head stretches out to hold two sets of insect eyes, one oversized and the other small but gleaming with what can only be called dancing lights. Terminatrix renews her assault and it skips off of Mythic’s new form with a sound worse than nails running down a chalk board. If being a troll was strange, this was outrageous. He swings his massive arms at his opponent, trading superhuman blows that shake the loose ferro-concrete frame inside the ring, and all of it makes the crowd scream louder. That’s why he’s doing this, isn’t it? It’s for the crowd’s pleasure and the money that he’s trying to crush Terminatrix’s body, not because he needs the minerals in her body to keep his chitin from becoming brittle… right? Wow, the floor looks interesting, such a harden surface has never looked so soft before, just like dirt… dirt… The insect-like Mythic ducks under a wild strike by Terminatrix and burrows into the ferro-concrete like it’s loose soil, disappearing into the foundation of the ring as the hole closes behind him. It feels just like swimming, slicing through the rock-like substance as if it was butter. He can’t hear the crowd anymore, but he can almost feel what’s above him in the ring. Yes, just a little further and he’ll be in the perfect spot. The floor cracks then explodes outwards behind Terminatrix, sending broken pieces into the air that are closely followed by Mythic, and audience cries with excitement. Acting on instinct, he wraps his oversized arms around her, trying to pierce her skin with his claws and mandibles. Terminatrix response in kind almost immediately, latching onto one of his arms with her sharp teeth. As his grip reflexively loosens, her claws precisely find a soft piece of chitin at his shoulder, sink into his body, and then rip out while she flings him through the second floor of the standing ferro-concrete platform and onto the third. Okay, maybe bipeds aren’t a good idea against her; she’s too experienced for that. And this form is just so… alien. Maybe something a little different would be better.

Joints and muscles pop again and Mythic drops to all fours atop the structure and out Terminatrix’s sight. The crowd, however, is still able to witness the chitin soften and sprout white fur and they cheer on Mythic’s change. Within a second a huge white wolf with ice blue eyes stands where the insect-thing once stood. Mythic can smell the blood in the ring – the hunt is on and his prey is waiting – and he lifts his head up to let out a deafening howl. Luckily, the XWF and its fans have learned from last year and the quantum-fueled affect is retained to the ring, nearly shattering Terminatrix’s ears. Mythic leaps from the high platform and hits the ground running almost effortlessly. He dashes between the pieces of rubble filling the ring, using the environment around him and his prey’s loss of hearing to keep his location hidden. He can smell her blood and her bloodlust. She’s not afraid but she’s confused: a target ripe for a true hunter like him. The right openings presents itself and Mythic dashes out behind Terminatrix, his sharp jaws snapping at her exposed hamstrings. She screams in pain, spinning around to score a hit on his side, but she hits the ground as her legs give out and Mythic darts back into the debris. The taste of blood makes his now red stained muzzle twitch in anticipation while he stalks his prey. She’ll be getting up soon… healing that bite should be breeze for her… better take advantage of the situation now. Mythic shoots back out from the debris piles, red staining the white fur on his side and muzzle, and he leaps into the air to slam into Terminatrix. She welcomes the attack and begins to tear into his white furred hide with her razor sharp claws. However, she – and most of the crowd except for those who share Harold’s interests – didn’t expect what happens next. Mythic’s jaw latches onto her throat without enough force to rip through her harden skin. His barrel-sized chest expands under Terminatrix’s claws as he takes a deep breath. He can feel the deep cold in his body and he lets it all out with his exhale. Super-chilled air rushes out of Mythic’s mouth, bathing Terminatrix and parts of the ring behind her in bitter, subzero frost, and ice forms nearly instantly across her body and the ring. She drops the wolf-form Mythic, staggering back into a piece of frozen and now brittle ferro-concrete, and it shatters under her weight. He grins with the scent of the kill like any wolf and a deep instinct drives him to rush in and finish his meal. No, no this isn’t right. It’s a sport, not a hunt, and what kind of finisher would be him feasting on that gray flesh? Something majestic and fantastic should finish this fight.

Terminatrix pulls herself back up to her feet, still unable to hear the crowd’s shouts and cries of glee, but she can see Mythic shifting again before her. The white wolf rears on its hind legs, body cracking under the strain as it grows into the air, and the fur gets rolled into picture perfect flesh. Standing now before Terminatrix is a god-like figure in Mythic’s costume, towering over twenty feet in the air and looking impossibly handsome: a titan who’s come to life. This is how things should be: fighting with grace, power, and beauty. Mythic knots both of his hands together and swings downward at Terminatrix, crushing the floor just after she slips out of the way. She leaps at him and the arena shudders under the forces being exchanged by them. Mythic can’t see it, but it’s almost comical to see a towering giant clash with an inhuman shark woman as they tear up the specialized ring. He’s got reach and strength on his side but Terminatrix is just too experienced and quick for him to stay even with her for long, let alone hope to gain an advantage. He sends her through another wall and she responds by dropping into the large ferro-concrete structure and it shatters under him like a broken chair. She’s too angry, this one… this is a contest between mighty novas, not some kind of sick gladiatorial blood sport. This is a place for the truly noble to shine, to set an example for… wait, that’s that? A red light bathes the entire arena and both of the combatants stop as the voice booms over the sound system again through the sound of a ringing bell, “Time has elapsed! With no pins or incapacitations made, the officials have tallied the points they have given for the fight… and the winner is… Teeeerrrrrmminnnaaaaattrriiiiiiiixxx” Those blank, black eyes catch Mythic’s gigantic blue ones and Terminatrix spits at him with disgust before stalking out of the ring, making the crowd love to hate a heel like her even more. Mythic somberly smiles, bows his head to the crowd, and they cheer in approval: honorable in defeat, which is how things are properly done. It’s a dirty business being a shootfighter… fighting, pain, blood, lies, and the roar of the crowd’s approval… but he can get used to it. Now if they’ll only let him lose this stupid costume and maybe find some groupies…