Warworld
The fervor of the alien spectators redefined "madness" for Jay; their passion for the Warworld's sporting events was beyond any earthly frenzy. Amid the diverse alien crowd surging into the stadium, he had to grip Kara's hand tightly to avoid being separated by the tide.
The colossal arena was a spectacle, with tiered seating on three sides curving around the central gladiatorial pit. By a rough count, there were tens of thousands of seats. Shiny white metal paneled the floor while a ring of laser barriers sealed the combat zone in an invisible cage, restraining competitors while protecting spectators. Opposite the spectator seats, a pale gold tower rose majestically, its boxy observation deck jutting out toward the arena, offering the best view for VIPs.
However, not just anyone could ascend the tower; it housed the control hub for all the fortress's weapons—a symbol of power comparable to the White House, with even greater significance.
Most crucially, it was also the holding place for all captives brought to Warworld for combat, making it the primary target for Jay and Kara's mission.
They discreetly took seats in an inconspicuous corner amid the electrified crowd. The pink primate-like announcer with a sucker for a mouth vibrated his lips as he delivered the opening remarks. Jay wondered how he managed to articulate with such a mouth structure—alien anatomy was truly a marvel.
After the brief introduction, the announcer presented the competitors. The undefeated champion Drago, mentioned by the alien at the door, indeed looked extraordinary. Wearing a horned helmet and sporting a deep scar over a closed eye, he raised his battle-axe aloft, roaring with such force that the crowd erupted in excitement.
The thunderous cheers rattled Jay's eardrums and frayed his nerves, but a sidelong glance at Kara brought a strangely calming presence.
"Is this what you'd consider a date?" he joked.
Kara shot him a surprised look, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Maybe it is."
Seizing the moment as the next contender was announced and the crowd roared, they slipped away toward the inner tower. Engrossed in the spectacle, none of the exuberant spectators noticed their departure. As they silently incapacitated the guards and sped into the tower with superhuman swiftness, the match concluded in under a minute—a far cry from a thrilling duel. The alien, once rumored to have the formidability of a mythic beast, lasted but ten rounds against Drago's mighty axe, his beheading too quick even to finish a cigarette.
The crowd rejoiced Drago's victory but was incensed by the brevity of the anticipated match. They fiercely demanded a stronger foe for the next bout, one who could withstand at least thirty blows. The relentless din continued until the announcer, under a barrage of spittle, assured them of a more ferocious opponent next time, mollifying the audience enough to disperse.
Inside the VIP booth, an advisor with a tall hat reported to the throne, holding a tablet-like device. The giant seated there had sandy skin and a visage like a demon, his blood-red eyes gleaming with malevolence.
"What will happen?" he inquired in a thunderous tone when the advisor hinted at unrest.
"Revolt," the advisor stated cautiously. "There's talk among the people."
The towering ruler dismissed the notion with confidence, convinced the promise of continuous, spectacular battles would maintain order. He counted on Earth's improved fighters to deliver a lasting solution.
The advisor aired concerns over the Earthlings' recent failures, leading the monarch to issue an ultimatum: deliver a contender who could withstand Drago for thirty rounds within a week, or the Earth collaborators would perish with their project.
The advisor relayed the command with a mix of deference and haste—leaving the room with as much dignity as he could muster, and only straightening up once the doors closed behind him. He strutted through convoluted corridors to meet the man professed as Kevin Morgan, who eagerly proclaimed progress with the test subjects. But when faced with the new, tighter deadline, Kevin's composure faltered.
The advisor left Kevin with the ruler's final order: fulfill the demand in a week or face annihilation alongside the failing project.
Back in the lab, as Kevin considered which test subjects to extract, a sudden disruption drew his attention. In moments, the entire lab's staff lay unconscious, and the two superpowered teens emerged at the center. Their eyes burned with a heat that seemed to radiate a thousand degrees.
"We meet again, buddy," Jay clenched his fists, his tone icy. "Miss me?"