What Roberts sold to me as the Pit was far from what my imagination could draw. Although it's true that the terminal corridor gave off a bad vibe and was completely dark, the coliseum was something else entirely.
The arena was covered in white ash. A perfect ring of the same material, similar to obsidian, surrounded me within a space of a few meters, like a small basketball court. From there, the coliseum was painted with walls divided into three levels: the first, a vivid silver, with dozens of silhouettes watching; the second, gold, with only a few dozen, less than half those in silver; and finally, at the top, above the sky, among the clouds drawn on a whitish dome, seven aligned shadows.
I couldn't distinguish anyone, but I understood: they were my patrons, they were the ones who would bet over my head, almost like a clown, a showman, someone who wants to feel like more than what he really is. I lowered my head in a respectful pose and turned around the stage, which remained silent, except for a few scattered voices.
One female figure in gold, one male figure and one female in silver, and two in the skies.
"Damn, I could almost bet who's who."
A large screen showed a counter. A clock displayed descending digits and a sentence indecipherable to me, but whatever it was, I would be ready.
.................................
Rachel was nervous. Although she had shown complete support for Tristan, she couldn't ignore the obvious. To her, he was her friend, someone who somehow earned her trust, but in her eyes he wasn't a warrior—he was like a small frightened puppy that motivated others to protect him.
The image Díaz gave her while recounting the events of Gemini only reinforced that perception, and to make it worse, after Paul's death in Cancer at Tristan's own hands, for a moment she thought her sweet little puppy had broken. But on the contrary, his baby teeth had fallen out, and now he was still a puppy, yes—but one who could turn into a "great guard dog."
That was the girl's hope. From her privileged position she could distinguish Roberts, who was making calculations with other Silvers, possibly associates of "The One Who Enjoys Crushing Dreams." In the end she wasn't ignorant: Roberts would make money from this, more than Tristan believes, since before her, on the large screen, it described:
[Round One: Lepus | Rodent creature the size of a child, burrowing qualities, blind and sensory, victory percentage 30%.Stats: [ATK|3] | [DEF|2] | [SPD|4] | [PRE|3] | [NEX|1]]
Although Lepus' stats were not frightening for an average level two, what scared Rachel was the fact that Tristan had not trained beforehand, he had barely practiced with the knife, and on top of that she still wasn't sure he was capable of killing someone with his own hands, even knowing they were only creatures created by the Nexo… wait, did Tristan know that?
The young woman's mind was a mess, and what affected her most was not having anyone at her side. Sal was up there with his Platinum acquaintances, and her so-called acquaintances were in Silver. She could only sigh and wish Tris good luck… betting 100k in favor of her friend.
.................................
Roberts was licking his lips.
—How beautiful, I haven't seen so many zeros piled up.
—Without a doubt you brought a big fish today —Captain Morgan replied, also preparing his bets, grooming his splendid black mustache.
—I feel sorry for them, really —said a young silver-haired woman wearing a loose one-piece lemon-colored dress, Díaz, seated a few meters away from the noisy Silver bettors.
At her side, a man with an almost comical appearance elegantly held a cup of tea and took a long, noisy sip.
—Thank you for inviting me, President Díaz —declared Bonaparte without stopping his drink.
—I honestly only invited you so you would bet in favor of the boy.
—Why do you have interest in someone like him?
—I'm sorry —Díaz said, pressing her hand against her chest—, he is like us, a strategist, a conqueror.
—You're still clinging to that dream, you should let it go.
—As long as it is possible, I will keep my hopes.
—You two —Roberts interrupted, shouting at the pair while trying to ignore the noisy captain—, have you already placed your bets? Hey Morgan, quickly ask Teach if the Golds have already bet, the event is about to start.
—Hey, and what contact do we have with the Platinums?
—They don't need motivation to bet, besides, there is someone interested in the player up there.
—You are despicable, Roberts, very careful sea rat, you fill me with pride —Morgan raised his hand to his ear and pressed a small switch he carried there—. Hey Teach, have the Golds already bet?... What do you mean the girls aren't convincing people?
.................................
—So, Herc, Sal… are you sure I'll see something interesting? —said an imposing dark-skinned man with a great beard and black hair tied with a golden emblem. His musculature was only overshadowed by that of Heracles. Almost completely naked, except for a fine golden cloth covering his groin and part of his thighs, and as a cape, a white cloth that reached his knees, his large eyes almost bowed before Saladin, who answered him with an intense look.
—Of course, Gil…
—Then I'll believe you. What surprises me is that both you and Herc are supporting the… what did you call him, Art?
A man much less bulky than the others, dressed from head to toe in fine silver armor with blue cloth ornaments, nodded while shaking his golden mane poorly at the first hero of history.
—The impostor.
—Hahahaha, he must have balls if he made the nutcracker angry.
—I assure you it will be worth betting in his favor, Gil —commented Heracles, this time dressed with his great lion skin, although underneath he still wore his casual summer clothes. His attitude toward everyone present was predatory.
Such was the atmosphere in a room full of Platinums.
—I also appreciate that you showed up, Chu, Moc and Ati —completed Saladin, greeting the rest.
A man in a complete dark green suit, fully elegant, carrying a mustache that shone in gold and silver, his large nostrils expanded after seeing Sal. He had a wild and primitive elegance; even so, he gave him a bow as to his equal.
On the other hand, a completely naked man, painted with bright blue paint, sat cross-legged. Although significantly less muscular than the others, his presence was as terrifying as any monster. He raised a hand showing an open palm with seven fingers that greeted Herc and Sal with elegance.
Finally, a silent man, the oldest in appearance among those present, with a tied black beard and abundant loose hair among fine and fluffy fabrics that covered his body entirely.
In the room were seven of the most powerful beings in the Nexo:
Saladin, the one who recovered Jerusalem in the name of Allah; Heracles, son of Zeus and the one who surpassed the twelve labors; Arthur, king of Camelot, leader of the knights of the round table; Gilgamesh, the first hero and king of Uruk; Attila the Hun, one of the bloodiest and most recognized conquerors in history; Cu Chulainn, king and warrior, son of the god Lugh; and Moctezuma II, the greatest of the tlatoanis of Tenochtitlan.
—This is a sausage party, damn it… —Gil said, sprawling in his seat—. At least you could have invited your little girlfriends, right?
Both Sal and Herc looked at him with deep hatred. In that room most had a contract with the same "One," so their war instincts were always on edge.
—Fine, I understand… and what about your admirer, nutcracker?
Arthur ignored the first king, who simply dropped into his chair.
—I won't bet until he proves he is worth it.
—That is valid —said Heracles—. For now, I will place my first bet.
—So will I —followed Saladin.
—Only for today.
—Only for today —the sultan replied to the Greek hero.
.................................
Rachel remained seated in her place. The clock was about to finish. A pair of girls, one with dark hair and one blonde, dressed in sailor outfits, had been encouraging bets for a while, but fortunately they had not come to bother her.
—Excuse me, is that seat taken?
Asked a young woman with shoulder-length black hair and deep green eyes who stood before Rachel. Her loose and comfortable clothes could be described as a hoodie and sweatpants with plastic sandals. In Rachel's words, she was the antithesis of her elegant dress.
—No, not at all, you can sit. In fact, I would be glad to have company.
—That makes two of us. The bastard who invited me didn't tell me we'd be separated by rank.
—What a coincidence. Rachel, nice to meet you.
—I know you. I'm Jean.
Before Rachel could answer, a bell like lightning thundered throughout the arena.
—Let the round begin!