He had already checked all of his equipment. His sword, his suit, his collar, his vials…
All of it was in top condition for what would be his last fight. He had made sure of it, and checking over it had been nostalgic. Better days came to mind, when all he had to worry about was the next fight instead of a knife in his back or poison in his tea. There was violence in those days, honest violence, and it was better for it.
In the end, he never quite managed to turn snakes into tigers. Just gave them a den to breed in.
He was quite done with them. He had no interest in managing them any longer. A good death was far preferable to even a single year more with most of them. No wife, no children, just him and a single friend. Akuhara would likely leave after his death, there wasn't anything else keeping him in the gang at this point.
Just a pair of old tigers, from the days in which there were many. Night City was once a place of heroes and monsters, their clashes turning streets into ruin. Now it was decayed and faded, a place where mundane treachery ruled. He once fought for the challenge, clashing against the most heavily cyberized street samurais with nothing but his sword and fury.
Every day was a thrill. Every fight could be his last if he didn't use everything. In using everything to stay alive, he became a monster that survived the death of the Inquisitors.
He wasn't alone, there were other monsters with him, fighting for the sake of fighting. A few of them survived the final stand of the Inquisitors with him. Fewer still survived the years afterwards. Only one survived as long as he had.
Standing up, monoswords on his hip, he walked through the tunnel leading into the Arena.
The light blinded him for a moment, he kept walking without pause in his stride. His eyes adjusted halfway to the center of the hard-packed clay arena. There was no grass here, only the dried earth of the badlands underneath.
The stands of the arena were filled with spectators, wildly screaming and cheering in anticipation of such an event. To watch two monsters tear eachother apart. Truth be told, he was anticipating it as well.
Walking into a fight knowing with absolute certainty that it'll be his last… It was a thrill he hadn't experienced before. It made him feel young again, young enough to ignore how weak his body had gotten with age.
Standing in the center of the arena, arms crossed, was the Demon of Arasaka. He was in his casual, Gemini frame, which still meant that he could probably kill everyone in the arena and audience with relative ease.
Men are slain by monsters and heroes.
Monsters and heroes are slain by demons and gods.
Demons and gods are slain by chance.
He was an old monster. Adam Smasher was an old demon. It was the expected result of such conflict. Still, it would have been fun to cross blades at least once before his death. Ah well.
He looked to the otherside of the arena, the other entrance.
There, walking towards him, was the old brute who survived as long as he had through sheer stubbornness. He highly doubted it was for his smarts. Ryuzaki cared very little about being smart, and much more about being strong. It was one of his more appealing traits.
They met in the center, sizing each other up and letting the noise of the arena fade from their perceptions. Ryuzaki was a solid foot and a half taller than he was, which was downright irritating at times. Still, size only meant a larger target in most circumstances.
Sota Saito breathed in and out, a full inhale and exhale through his iron collar.
He reached up, grabbing his overcoat by the collar, and tossed it away from himself as hard as he could.
Underneath, his armored bodysuit was revealed, hugging his frame and clearly demonstrating the muscles he had worked tirelessly for in youth, and maintained into his old age. A body of whipcord muscle, covered in an armormesh that was practically painted on. Contrasting with Ryuzaki's own full set of plated armor and snarling visage mask.
Sota grabbed his own mask, tied to his waist, and secured it to his face. A snarling tiger highlighted in neon-orange LED wiring, crafted in the same style as the dragon that his opponent wore.
A second breath, in and out, filling and emptying his lungs.
Slowly, he drew his monoblades.
Slowly, Ryuzaki's wolves extended from his battlegloves.
They assumed familiar sparring stances, long practiced against one another.
Sota felt a grin grow on his face. He could picture the same expression on Ryuzaki's right now.
"Ready?" The demon rumbled, towering over the both of them. They both nodded.
"Begin." The demon commanded. The crowd roared.
The Tiger and Dragon were rivals. It was tradition.
—
They were old now, both of them. It had been many years since they first met, and many years since they went their separate ways. This was not something he was particularly ashamed of. Each of them wanted to see what they could do alone, both of them managed to make a gang-pack. Both of them failed in some ways.
He stomped the ground. It was dirt, hard dirt, good for stomping. He let the stomp throw him forwards, swiping at Sato with his claws. Sato ducked and scratched at him. He stomped his other foot down, and used it to twist into a kick. Sato couldn't scratch him without being kicked. He aborted and jumped to the side.
Sato wanted to make a gang full of tigers like him. Quick and strong, with sharp claws and fierce eyes. Most of his den was filled with snakes now, not tigers. He wanted to make a gang of any animal, a pack full of sharp claws and fangs and tails and scales. He succeeded, but he never ended up finding another who thought like him.
Sato lunged forwards, lashing out in a feint before striking with his other claw. He was always like that, a tricky fighter, he used both claws to trap his opponent. He knew this, so he didn't worry about defending himself. He trusted his scales, and lashed out in his own clawed strike. Sato aborted one scratch, using the claw to brace himself against his claws and pushing himself out of the way of the strike. Sato was too small to push him anymore, he felt sad at this.
It was hard to remember names. Names and faces and people and everything. He made sure to remember Sato. Sato was Orange-Tiger. Orange-Tiger was Sato. Most things slipped right out of his head, like mud in his fingers. He couldn't hold onto them. He used to be frustrated by this, but that was a long time ago. Sato was good at remembering. Beast was bad at remembering, he had to use his 'instincts'.
Beast lunged forwards, burying his fingers into the ground and throwing himself fully into a kick towards Sato. Sato sidestepped, and moved to cut him in the belly. Beast buried his fingers into the ground again, twisting his arm into a spinning kick against Sato's side. Sato went flying away and Beast rolled across the dirt for another few feet before stopping.
It wasn't a very good kick, but it was something. Sato was hard to hit. He smiled under his face, it had been a very long time since he fought Sato. He picked himself up and locked eyes with Tiger.
—
He forced his shoulder back into place with a loud pop, rolling it to ensure his flexibility was back. His iron collar injected him with another dose of adrenaline, forcing the pain dormant once more.
Ryuzaki was exactly as much of a powerhouse as he had always been. His tremendous strength afforded him equally tremendous mobility and speed, even under the weight of thick armor. It was a common misconception that the bigger you were, the slower you were. For the untrained masses, this was often true. For warriors though, this couldn't be farther from the truth.
Speed and Weight, Ryuzaki's absurd physical prowess afforded him a great deal of both. Even the lightest blows would be fatal to an unarmored man. It was only his armormesh bodysuit that prevented his bones from snapping like twigs under such attacks. It held him together, forcing his body to assume the correct shape like an exoskeleton.
His hide was strong enough to deter lighter blows, but a direct blow would kill him. Had he been thirty years younger this wouldn't be a concern of his.
But he was old now. Mentally, he cycled through his array of stimulants. He needed to be stronger and faster.
Rambo-7 was developed by the Colombian army originally, attempting to create a low-cost combat stim for their soldiers. Succeeding for the most part, Rambo-7 allows a man to lift a side of a car, break his back in the process, and keep fighting. It would last him around five minutes, it would do for right now.
The iron collar injected him with the dose. His eyes dilated, he could feel them do so. He stepped forwards once, feeling the chemical strength fill his body. His heart began to beat faster.
He raced forwards. Ryuzaki threw himself forwards in turn.
He lashed out with his swords scraping against each-other. The goal was not to actually hurt him, not this time. Ryuzaki caught the blades with one of his wolvers, and moved to lash out with the other pair.
Sato snarled and forced his aged muscles to push harder, aided by the stimulants in his system. The monoswords cut through the claws on that arm, sending the split-blades to fly through the air.
The other arm was close to him, the drugs in his system let him react to it in time. He brought down one sword to parry it away.
His sword shattered, the Kendachi-MonoOnes never intended to defend, only attack. Still, the blow was drained of its strength, and the claws only threw him to the side instead of cutting him in half.
He rolled across the arena floor, only jumping up after the third roll.
Ryuzaki was there to greet him as he rose. Ryuzaki punched him in the chest. Sato lashed out with his remaining sword.
He felt ribs shatter as he flew through the air again. He landed on the hard dirt. His vision went black for half a moment.
He was staring at the sky.
He couldn't think. The pain was too much.
Hazily, he cycled through his stimulants again. Number 2, number 2 was the one. 2 was important. He selected 2.
Speedball filled his veins, the pain disappeared entirely. He threw himself up to run at Ryu again. His heart beat faster.
The original Speedball was simply a combination of cocaine and heroin. It was refined over time to its modern state, a much more effective chemical overall. A man couldn't feel pain while under the effects, and their aggressiveness was increased tenfold. The average dose would last about thirty-five minutes. He didn't need that much time.
He left a trail of red behind him as he lunged again. It was downright nostalgic.
Ryu was running at him too, one arm uselessly dangling behind him. Good, he had hit those tendons after all.
—
There wasn't anything either of them had to say to each other. Not arguments, not insults, not compliments, nothing like that. Talking was for when you weren't fighting, they were fighting right now. Why ruin a good thing with things like talking? Fists were much more honest.
His left claws were broken now, broken and useless. He used his shoulder to swing the limb in the path of Sato's claw. It cut deeply, slicing right through his scales. That was fine, that arm was useless. He lashed out with his right claws.
Sato had seen it, and punched his arm to keep his claws away. Beast's arm was forced back, and Sato's hand shattered. It didn't seem like he noticed. He cut right through his left arm, and into his shoulder.
That was fine, Beast had moved so that it would only cut the rest of his left arm off. That would only make him slower. It hurt, but he was having too much fun to care about little things like arms.
He kicked, hitting Sato's stomach and sending him flying away again. His shoulder was bleeding now, so he let his hand burst into fire and held it over. You had to burn cuts, to make them closed, so you wouldn't bleed to death. That was something Sato had taught him.
Sato was bleeding a lot, he was always bad at following his own advice. He was bad at remembering things, but he didn't forget the things Sato had told him. Sato went off to make a Tiger's den, so he went off to make a den too. He couldn't choose an animal though, he liked them all. He was smarter than Sato sometimes. Sato thought he had to pick, so Beast just picked all of them.
He liked animals, he remembered them better than people.
—
He needed to be faster. He cycled through his stims again. Number 1 emptied itself into his veins. His heart raced faster.
Black Lace was a drug developed to be the final answer to any endorphin related stim needs. Euphoria, adrenaline rush, invulnerability to pain, and stimulated reflexes. The consequences of such were almost guaranteed chemical dependency and a violent euphoria.
You can fight, you can kill, you can win. These facts were ironclad while under the effects of the stimulant.
A chemically induced joy settled into his mind as he raced forwards again.
Making this a battle of endurance meant he would lose. Ryu was too strong. His advantage was speed and a sharp sword. It felt light in his hand, he made sure not to let go of it.
He wasn't going to lose to Ryu again, he'd never hear the end of it. Nurse would rant at them for getting hurt again. He planned on tuning her out again. She was too annoying not too.
Ryu's hand was on fire, he must have gotten that HotHands battleglove he had mentioned before. Didn't matter, it was just a little fire.
Ryu lashed out with a kick, which he ducked under and slashed up…
Ryu's foot crashed down on his left arm, he turned his kick into a stomp halfway through, it slowed him down for a moment before suddenly crashing into the dirt next to him instead. He felt lighter.
He lashed out with a slash, his blade cutting off a few fingers and wolver-blades on Ryu's arm. He met too much resistance.
Ryu brought his leg up in a rising knee-strike against him, crashing against his chin. He flew back, rolling across the dirt before using the momentum to flip up and planting his sword in the ground to stop himself.
He wasn't strong enough.
He cycled through his stims again.
Number 0 filled his veins. His heart pumped too fast for him to make out the individual beats.
Taz was short for "Tasmanian Devil", of classic cartoon fame. A blue, crystalline powder that could be snorted, ingested, or freebased and injected. It left the user's nervous system in shambles after wearing off, even the slightless sensation becoming agony. The upside?
Thirty minutes of power. His fist clenched around his sword hard enough to crack the handle.
His left arm was gone, he had just noticed. He must have lost it without noticing. He wasn't too concerned, he'd just find it later.
After he beat Dragon, Tigers were way stronger than Dragons, that was a fact.
He raced forwards again, sword in his right hand.
Dragon raced forwards in turn, claws raised.
—
"Oi, Dragon."
"Yeah?"
"This city is fulla nutters, ya know?"
The prepubescent boy in blue overalls nodded, staring at birds on the rooftop adjacent to them. They were very pretty birds, he liked them, he wondered if they would like some nuts. The boy next to him glared at nothing in particular, just sneering at the streets below.
"I don't want to give them crap, ya know? Not a single thing from me." The equally young boy in orange overalls said, clothes stained in grease and grime. "So we're going to make a pack."
"A pack?" Dragon said curiously, he had heard that word before. The faceless lady gave him a picture book with animals in it. "What's pack?"
"It's like a promise, got it? We're going to make a promise." The orange-clothed boy said impatiently. "Nurse said this city will kill us if we keep getting into fights. Well we're not going to get ahead if we don't, ya know? So I'm not going to let it, and I'm not going to let it get you eitha."
"Okay." Dragon responded. Tiger got like sometimes. Tiger was smarter than him, so he would listen.
"If we're ever about to bite tha' dust, we're going to kill each other instead. Got it?" He glared at Dragon. Dragon flinched back and looked at Tiger sadly.
"But I don't wanna kill you."
"I know that, gonk!" Tiger snapped back. "But I'm not going to give this city a crapping thing. I'd rather you kill me than the city get me, got it? If either of us are going to die, we're going to fight instead, got it?"
Dragon looked at the birds and pulled his knees up to his chest.
"Dragon! I'm making a pack with you, you can't back outta it!" Tiger poked him in the shoulder harshly.
Dragon nodded sadly. If Tiger said you couldn't back out of it, then it must be true. Tiger wouldn't lie to him.
"Okay, we'll fight."
Tiger stared at him for a long moment, before turning back to the city.
"Good."
Dragon pulled out a candy bar, and offered Tiger half. Tiger ate it, glumly. Tigers were grumpy like that. Tiger was his friend, and he was glad for it, grumpiness included.
—
His monosword hit Dragon's claws, and stopped for just a moment. Then, it began to slice up and through his arm.
Splitting his arm in half, hitting the shoulder, then out.
Dragon's claws buried themselves in his chest.
His sword kept going, hitting Dragon's neck.
It went through without even a moment of delay. His muscles tore themselves apart, snapping like overburdened twine.
Dragon's head flew off, landing some distance away.
He didn't know where.
Two seconds after Sato Saito decapitated The Beast, his heart exploded.
It was a mutual kill.