Atticus could barely feel the thrum of his pulse through the haze of exhaustion as he emerged from the arena. The demon’s death had bought him the Reaper Points he needed, but it had also left him with a gnawing emptiness. The shadows of the arena’s blood-soaked ground seemed to cling to him as he made his way through the labyrinthine corridors to Grimlock’s office.The arena manager’s quarters were a stark contrast to the brutal spectacle of the arena. Lined with opulent furnishings and trinkets from across the realms, the room was a testament to Grimlock’s status. It was here that Atticus found him, hunched over a desk cluttered with papers and gambling receipts.“Grimlock,” Atticus began, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.Grimlock looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Atticus. You look like hell. But that's the point uhn. Gunning for more fights?”“Actually,” Atticus said, leaning against the doorframe, “I’m here to talk about something similar.”Grimlock’s interest piqued. He

As Atticus left the underground ring, the cheers and bloodthirsty roars of the crowd still echoed in his ears. His steps were steady, his expression calm, but beneath the surface, his body thrummed with a strange energy. The soul essence of the Bone Crusher, the life force of his defeated opponent, lingered within him, fueling his every step. The system was doing its work, absorbing the essence and converting it into raw power. His mind was flooded with the sensation of strength—a heavy, suffocating weight that both thrilled and disturbed him. The Reaper Points tally flashed in his vision, now at a staggering 50,000."All that from one fight," Atticus muttered to himself as he crossed through the dark, winding corridors. The weight of the negative emotions he had absorbed—the fear, the hatred, the malice of the crowd and the Bone Crusher—pressed down on him like a suffocating cloak. It had fueled his victory, his current profit. It was a dark, addictive power, one that came at the co