Fleur-de-lis

Inferno: Side B

Vanitas's p.o.v

"Any idea who i'm fighting today?" I ask Pedro, on our way to tonight's venue.

Pedro shakes his head. "No word from the underground. Probably nobody important. El hefe is really just trying to get the attention of the people who run the streets. He has Vince take care of a lot of the extra work."

"So I'm just his prized donkey that he flashes to get people interested." I deduce.

"I don't think he wants to risk getting you too injured." Pedro says. "Having a tiger on a leash is only threatening if it's alive and growling."

That made sense. Mr. Sable wouldn't give me more than I could take, but part of me was itching for some really crazy fun. I refused to complain, though. I let myself get out of hand once and I hurt Pedro. I was gonna double down on keeping it together.

My ears pick up on chanting in the distance. We must be getting close to the venue but the chanting was a little odd. Usually it was just a bunch of people trying to talk over eachother. As we get closer, the chants could be heard more clearly.

"Armilus, armilus, armilus." They chant in the distance.

"Uh oh." Pedro lets slip out.

"What?" I question, now concerned.

"N-nothing." Pedro says. "It's probably nothing."

But I know better. Nothing is ever just "nothing" around here. My guard goes up as we reach the venue. An old scrap yard. I wonder how it was decided that the fight be hosted here. It was pretty inconspicuous, I guess. Pedro and I walk in and the chanting of the crowd grows louder as we come into view.

"Armilus, armilus, armilus, armilus!"

Pedro looks uneasy.

Mr. Sable comes to greet the two of us. "Hey there. How's my two favorite under the table workers?"

I was barely concerned with pleasantries. Instead I was wary of the chanting and what it meant. "What are they saying?" I question.

Pedro speaks up unexpectedly. "Armilus. It's like...the anti-christ. I think it's what they named you"

"Oh...- Pretty sure my mom would be proud of that." I regard sarcastically.

Pedro look over to me with a serious expression. "Getting a nickname on the streets ain't a good thing. When you represent a name, people feel challenged to take it from you."

My expression falls. "Well that's just my fuckin' luck, isn't it..." I regard.

"I'm certain you can handle it." Sable comments, earning a brief glare from me.

"Just point me in the direction of my next ass to kick and give us our money so we can go home." I disregard.

Mr. Sable bows and gestures. "Right this way."

Pedro follows me to where Mr. Sable pointed us. Further into the scrap yard is a wall of junk and broken down cars, forming a circle to block the view of any outsiders. The crowd sat on random piles of junk and broken vehicles gaining a nice vantage point to view the fight from. I watch as Mr. Sable goes to meet who I presumed was the sponsor for my opponent, a dark skinned man in a slim fit suit. He wore a watch on his right wrist that looked expensive and had a scarily symmetrical haircut. A regal type I'm guessing. But he wasn't who I needed to focus on.

The crowd suddenly starts chanting again. This time, chanting a different name.

"EMT, EMT, EMT, EMT!" They shout.

A tall and fit dark-skinned man comes strolling out of the corners of the junk yard, stepping into the ring and taking a stance.

"Hey, Pedro." I call back, stepping into the ring.