Chapter - 12

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Chapter - 12: New Mask

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I pushed my way through the noisy crowd. Shouts and cheers filled the air above the blaring music, while spotlights lit up the ring surrounded by bodies, looking exactly like the last time I'd been here.

A large group had gathered around, yelling obscenities and encouragement toward the bloodstained floor of the ring, which honestly wasn't a sight for anyone with a weak stomach.

In the middle of the ring, two muscular fighters were locked in a brutal, ruthless contest. One of them was on top of the other, raining down vicious blows without showing the slightest hint of mercy.

His hands, drenched in his opponent's blood, while his face twisted into an expression of pure bloodlust and malevolent joy, almost reveling in the pain he was causing.

This was the reality of the underground fight club—a place where fighters tore each other apart in exchange for a decent amount of money. Here, there were no limits; violence was the norm, and suffering was part of the game.

The only rule respected was not to kill your opponent. As long as they were still alive by the end of the fight, anything was fair. But if one of them died, the match automatically ended in a loss for the other.

Strangely, these kinds of tragedies happened more often than one might think, considering that most participants were used to pushing themselves beyond their limits, with no regard for the consequences.

I kept my head down, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my hoodie, which covered the lower half of my face. I wore simple blue jeans and black shoes, with a white shirt partially buttoned, its collar sticking out underneath a gray hoodie.

The whole look was completed with my black leather jacket, with a red interior, two white horizontal stripes on each sleeve, and a wide red insignia in the shape of wings on the back that, honestly, I really liked.

Yeah, I was practically cosplaying as Alex Mercer because it seemed like the most fitting choice for a place like this, considering I was trying to distance any thoughts of me being Spider-Man.

But the main reason I was doing all this was to build a new identity in the underworld, one that could come in handy later, whether I needed vital information or a way to infiltrate places that would be otherwise inaccessible to a hero.

Additionally, we were very similar: his outfit was a construct made from biomass that couldn't be removed unless he changed form, as it was part of his anatomy.

For that reason, I decided to adopt his identity as my "villain" persona; it was too perfect not to use to its fullest potential. Using his image would allow me to infiltrate the criminal world and gain credibility, making my goals easier to achieve.

It wasn't my first time in this place. In Peter's memories, this fight club wasn't new at all. Before officially becoming Spider-Man, he had come here more than once.

Unlike his 616 universe counterpart, who performed in wrestling matches, this Peter had ventured into full-blown fights to the death. He had chosen a much darker and more violent path.

He had been driven here by desperation and the need to solve his financial problems. He hadn't sought fame or attention, just money, and this place was perfect for someone who wanted to remain anonymous while using their abilities in underground fights.

The fights here weren't organized spectacles. There were no rules or referees to protect the participants—just blood, sweat, and rage. It was clear that this Peter was very different from the one people knew.

He wasn't afraid to use his strength, to risk his opponents' lives to survive and earn. Every punch, every move betrayed his pent-up anger and the guilt he carried inside.

But after a few weeks, the incident with Uncle Ben happened, and Peter never came back here. Every corner of this place, every blow dealt in that ring, reminded him too much of what he had lost because of his choices.

I, however, wasn't Peter. His memories were mine, but his emotions didn't fully belong to me. I saw this place differently, knowing I could come here and make money—money I really needed.

Peter had always stayed away from easy money, but I didn't have the same kind of inhibitions. I knew I'd need it soon, especially with all the plans I had in mind.

But it wasn't just about the money. There was another reason, perhaps even more important. Here, I could train, test my limits, and face real opponents in real fights.

It wasn't about fighting criminals or saving lives, but pure and simple survival. Facing fighters who had nothing to lose would help me become stronger, faster, more dangerous.

Most of the other amateur fighters like me moved aside as I made my way toward the participant's corner. I had to talk to the organizer to set up my match.

This wasn't just any fight club; it was one of those that had evolved over the last year, becoming an underground network of clashes between mutants, mercenaries, and super-powered fighters.

Here, massive bets were placed—money that came from wealthy spectators hidden in the shadows, ranging from Kingpin to the mutated leaders of the Hellfire Club, and that was exactly what I needed.

As I approached the fighters' area, a burly man with a scar running down his face and a cigar clenched between his teeth intercepted me with a hard stare.

"Hey, kid! Never seen you here before." His voice was raspy, scratched from years of smoking and probably a few too many brawls that had left him with damage beyond repair.

He looked at me like a fresh piece of meat brought into a butcher shop, sizing up how much he could get out of me. "What's the deal, you new? Another amateur looking to get slaughtered?"

I stared at him silently for a moment, my expression unchanged by his words, and with a sly grin, he let the cigar dangle slightly from his lips as he sized me up.

"So, what's it gonna be?" he added, taking a long drag of his cigar and stifling a laugh, "Feel like doing an easy fight? 100 bucks if you don't die first, of course."

"No," I said flatly, cutting off his offer with a firm tone. "That's not even close to enough for me."

"Not enough?" He looked at me, surprised, raising an eyebrow. "Ah, I get it. You want to aim higher, huh? Guys like you always end up dead, kid. But hey, who am I to tell you how to live—or better yet, how to die?" He chuckled darkly, looking at me like I was already a dead man.

"I'm not here for easy money," I added, keeping my gaze fixed on him. "I want a real fight. Someone who knows what they're doing. I don't care about anything else."

"Hahahah! You're out of your mind!" He laughed, staring at me with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "Kid, let me make this clear: this place isn't for playing around. Out there are people who would turn you into a bloody pulp without a second thought, whether you're a mutant, a lab experiment, or whatever the hell you think you are." He pointed the cigar at me like he was trying to discourage me, almost questioning my sanity.

I stayed silent, knowing that talking wouldn't change anything at this moment. Words, without actions to back them up, meant nothing here. In a place like this, where strength was the only currency, anyone who talked too much without showing results was seen as weak.

I had no intention of looking weak. I knew the only thing that mattered was what I could do in the ring, and I would let my fists do the talking for me.

"Here is no circus," he continued, his tone hard. "There's no playing around. Here, you fight until your opponent is completely broken, and even when they are, many still keep going. There's no room for second thoughts or mercy."

"I'm not here to play," I replied coldly, staring directly into his eyes. "I want the best match possible tonight. I don't care who's on the other side."

The organizer shook his head, amused. "You've got guts, I'll give you that," he said with a chuckle. "Alright, kid. But don't blame me for your death. You're the one sentencing yourself."

He tossed his cigar to the ground, crushing it under the heel of his boot with a sharp gesture. "Write your name, or whatever you want to go by. No one here cares about real identities; everyone's trying to keep their real lives far from this place."

He handed me a pen and a sheet already filled with names and numbers. I didn't hesitate for a second. I took the pen and, with a steady hand, scribbled the name that best suited the new mask I was about to wear.

"Ahahah! You'll fight in an hour. If you win, you'll take 2000 dollars." He glanced at the paper and smirked at my name. Not that I was surprised—my choice was pretty arrogant. "It'll be a show, trust me. The best… or the bloodiest massacre of the night, depending on the champion's mood."

I was curious about who exactly this champion was, but I didn't ask. I figured I'd find out soon enough, and besides, this place was basically my gigantic training ground.

As I walked away, his voice followed. "Hope you don't have a family to miss you, 'cause not even your body's leaving this place." I wasn't intimidated. I found a corner to get ready.

Waiting for my match, every muscle in my body was tense, knowing I had no idea who I'd be facing. I was in the Marvel world, and that made everything a whole lot messier.

Pure adrenaline coursed through my veins, accompanied by a visceral desire to push my limits. I still didn't know if the fight would be fierce, but I was ready for anything.

"Alright, alright, alright, make some NOOOISE!" shouted a sharply dressed man, wearing a sleek suit, as he stepped into the center of the ring. His presence was commanding, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU! COME ON, ARE YOU HERE TO FIGHT OR TO SLEEP?" he continued, his powerful voice echoing through the air, sending vibrations through everyone's hearts.

The crowd grew even louder at his words, and his enthusiasm was infectious, even pulling in those who had been trying to mind their own shady business.

"YEEEEEES, this is exactly what I wanted to hear!" he exclaimed, and his words encouraged the cheers to grow even louder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is the night of a massacre! This evening, an amateur with a true desire for death, ready to face our undefeated champion. But who can say what will happen, as fortune favors the foolish? Let's welcome… Nidhogg!"

The crowd erupted in a mix of applause and nervous laughter as my name echoed in the air, blending with an atmosphere of uncertainty and challenge. I stepped forward into the ring, feeling the glares of disdain and curiosity from the audience, which I ignored.

The energetic announcer continued, "On the other side, we have an opponent you all know, a true champion! With a reputation for brutality and mastery in combat, he is a veteran of the ring. Ladies and gentlemen… Crossbones!"

Okay, I honestly didn't see that coming...

My first real opponent in this world was one of the most tangible and dangerous threats to Captain America. That said a lot about the type of guy I was facing: a ruthless mercenary, willing to do anything to achieve his goals.

His reputation as a recurring enemy of various heroes in the Marvel universe made him someone not to be underestimated. In a way, he was perhaps the most fitting opponent for me at that moment.

A brutal fighter, ruthless—exactly the kind of person I would have to confront often if I decided to continue with my Spider-Man identity. The sooner I got used to facing people like him, the better off I'd be.

The crowd erupted in a roar of applause and cheers as a massive figure made his way to the ring. Each step seemed to shake the ground, his muscles bulging and taut, ready to explode. He could easily break an average man without any effort.

He was clad in a black and brown suit, the skull-shaped mask covering his face giving him a sinister aura. His cold, piercing gaze seemed to cut through everything in his path, as if I were just an ant ready to be squashed.

"LET'S GET THIS MASSACRE STARTED!" he shouted, pressing the siren on the megaphone to signal the beginning of the fight. The tension was palpable, the crowd screaming for blood, eager to see their champion turn me into pulp for their amusement.

But as the fight approached, a smile spread across my face. Things were going to go very differently than everyone expected in that place.

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Marvel: I'm Spider-Man in this Damn Reincarnation: 3 advanced chapters

Osmosian Sorcerer?: 3 advanced chapters

Son of Li Qiye?: 3 advanced chapters

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Chapter - 13: A Dragon Rises - Chapter - 14: Symbionte - Chapter - 15: White Tiger 

 Chapter - 16: Demon Sorcerers - Chapter - 17: Onmyoji - Chapter - 18: The Power of Bao 

 Chapter - 7: Hobby - Chapter - 8: New Hunt - Chapter - 9: Past unknown

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