I sat at the bar, nursing my whiskey while the vampire bartender's words hung in the air.
"You're going to make a corpse if you're not careful. We don't like unknowns here."
Fair enough. I'd walked into a den of predators without backup, without allies, without even a clear plan beyond "find supernatural beings." Not my smartest move.
I needed to be more careful. Smarter. In Heaven, I'd had authority, power, a reputation that preceded me. Here, I was nobody. Worse than nobody – I was a potential threat that any of these creatures could justify eliminating.
"Understood," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "Not trying to cause problems. Just new to the city, trying to figure out how things work."
She studied me for a long moment, then seemed to come to some decision. "You have the look."
"What look?"
"Dangerous but desperate. Skilled but broke." She refilled my glass without asking. "This one's on the house. Consider it an investment."
"In what?"
"In not having your corpse stink up my bar." She leaned against the counter. "You need work."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "I need a lot of things. Work is one of them."
"Can you fight?"
I almost laughed. I'd been Heaven's executioner, had killed things that would make everyone in this bar look like children playing dress-up. But I just said, "I can handle myself."
"Prove it."
"How?"
She nodded toward the back of the bar. "We've got a cage. People settle disputes there, test newcomers, place bets. You survive three minutes against our regular, I'll make an introduction that might help you."
"And if I don't survive?"
"Then you were too weak to matter anyway." She smiled, all fangs. "What's your name, stranger?"
I considered lying, but what was the point? "Cain."
Her smile widened. "Bold choice."
"Something like that."
"I'm Katrina. I run this place." She gestured around the bar. "Everything that happens here, I know about. Everyone who's anyone comes through that door eventually. Play nice, and I can be a valuable friend. Play stupid, and..." She shrugged.
"Got it. Don't shit where I drink."
"Exactly." She pulled out a phone – even vampires had modernized – and sent a quick text. "Marco will meet you at the cage in five. Try not to die immediately. It's bad for business."
I finished my whiskey and headed toward the back, feeling eyes tracking my movement. The bar's interior was larger than it appeared from outside – supernatural spaces often were – and the cage was in a separate room entirely.
It was exactly what it sounded like: a twenty-foot-diameter chain-link octagon, bloodstains on the floor, reinforced to handle supernatural strength. A small crowd was already gathering, word spreading fast in the supernatural community.
The bouncer from the door – the werewolf – stood near the cage entrance, arms crossed.
"Heard you're fighting Marco," he rumbled.
"Apparently."
"You're stupid."
"You flatter me."
He snorted, which might have been a laugh. "I'm Garrett. When he breaks your ribs, try not to scream too much. Scares the customers."
"I'll keep that in mind."
The crowd parted, and Marco entered.
He was... not what I expected. Average height, lean build, plain features. He looked more like an accountant than a fighter. But the way he moved – liquid grace, perfect economy of motion – told a different story. And his scent...
Vampire. Old one, too.
"Fresh meat," he said, his voice carrying a faint Italian accent. "Katrina says you need testing."
"Apparently I need a lot of things today."
"Well, let's see if you survive long enough to get them." He stepped into the cage, and I followed.
Garrett locked the door behind us. The crowd pressed closer, money already changing hands as bets were placed.
[Combat Encounter Detected]
[Opponent: Marco Bellini - Vampire, approximately 400 years old]
[Threat Level: Moderate at your current power]
[Recommendation: Don't use obvious divine abilities - maintain cover]
[Win condition: Survive 3 minutes OR prove dominance]
Marco didn't waste time. The moment Garrett signaled the start, he blurred.
Vampire speed – faster than human eyes could track. But I wasn't human. I'd fought demons and fallen angels; a four-century-old vampire was barely a warm-up.
I sidestepped his first strike, then his second. His fist whistled past my ear, and I could feel the displaced air. If that had connected, it would have shattered bone.
"Quick," he acknowledged, circling. "But let's see how you handle – "
He blurred again, this time feinting high before going low. I blocked, my forearm meeting his with a crack that echoed through the room. The impact would have broken a human arm.
Marco's eyes widened. "What are you?"
I didn't answer, just pressed the attack. I kept my movements human-ish – faster and stronger than normal, but not impossibly so. Just enough to suggest I was some kind of supernatural, without revealing exactly what.
We traded blows, a dance of violence that had the crowd murmuring. Marco was good – centuries of experience showed in every movement. But I had a millennium on him, and even at 2% power, my combat instincts were divine.
I caught his wrist mid-strike, twisted, and used his momentum to slam him into the cage wall. The chain-link rattled, and someone in the crowd whistled appreciatively.
"Two minutes," Garrett called out.
Marco extracted himself from the fence, blood on his lip. He licked it away, his expression shifting from casual superiority to genuine interest.
"You're trained. Military?"
"Something like that."
"And enhanced. But I can't smell shifter, don't sense witch magic..." He cocked his head. "What's your secret?"
"I'm just motivated."
"Mmm, let's test that motivation."