Shauna

As I walked up to our makeshift home, Kiser was there waiting, a lingering pain etched on her face from her own bout at the club. We've all fought in the ring, but only I seem to recover quickly, never falling ill. It's a constant reminder of my oddity.

"How did it go?" Kiser asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Only six hundred," I replied, the disappointment heavy in my voice.

Trevor, overhearing, sprang into action. "I'll get your bath ready. You've got a big day tomorrow." He disappeared inside, his concern for me always heartwarming.

"Thanks, Trev. And don't forget, school tomorrow," I called after him, my hopes for his future far beyond these streets and fight clubs.

Kiser and I shared our unique handshake, a symbol of our unspoken bond. We sat side by side, the evening air cool against our skin. "How much for the next fight?" she asked, taking a drag from her cigarette.

"Twenty thousand," I said, the figure still surreal to me.

Her eyes lit up. "That could be our ticket out of here."

"Yeah, that's why I agreed to it," I said, mirroring her hopeful smile.

But her excitement faded as I mentioned my opponent. "A fallen Bellicose soldier," I mumbled.

Kiser's joy turned to worry. "Shauna, that's too dangerous. You should cancel."

I shook my head. "We need this, Kiser. I'll be fine."

As we embraced, a question lingered in my mind. "Where's Siren?"

"Upstairs, sulking because you left without him," Kiser replied, a slight smirk on her face.

I found Siren on the roof, his fists pounding a punching bag, his anger palpable. Siren, an Interloper with a military past, had become our unlikely guardian after we found him abandoned on Earth.

He barely glanced at me. "So, you're back," he said, his voice deep and tinged with annoyance.

I approached him cautiously. "I didn't want you to watch me fight your own kind. You're family, Siren."

He paused, his anger subsiding. "It doesn't bother me as much as you think."

I smiled, relieved. "I know, but I still care about your feelings."

As we talked, I hesitated before breaking the news of the Bellicose fight.

Siren, always observant, beat me to it. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Trevor must've mentioned it," I realized, a touch of annoyance in my voice.

He took a sip of water, his gaze steady. "Are you nervous? This will really push your limits."

I mustered a confident front. "I'm ready for it. We'll see how far I can go."

After another hug, I retreated to our makeshift luxury – a salvaged bathtub. Lying in the warm water, doubts crept in despite my outward bravado. Sleep eventually claimed me, my dreams filled with a mixture of fear and hope for what the future could bring for us all.

Marcel

The question gnawed at me incessantly: Why had they gone to Earth? It was more than a query; it was a specter haunting every corner of my thoughts. My son, entangled in their schemes, remained oblivious to their true intentions. Frustrated and seeking answers, I made my way to a concealed chamber within the Palace, where my informant awaited.

As I entered, Prince Torell's wife, always playing her seductive charade, greeted me with a nervous smile. She was smart, always playing the side that benefited her. "Where is your husband?" I demanded, cutting through the pleasantries.

"Earth," she replied, a hint of fear in her voice.

"And why?" I pressed, eager for the truth.

She hesitated before revealing, "He believes he has a sister. He intends for her to succeed him. He has no desire for the throne."

Her words ignited a fury within me. "So, they would choose a Hominin over me? This is utter madness!" I raged, startling her.

Realizing my outburst had frightened her, I attempted to soothe her fears. "I would never harm you, my love," I said, kissing her softly. As she yielded to my embrace, I pondered my next move.

As Torell's wife left, my mind churned with plots and counterplots. Without delay, I contacted a group of skilled Interlopers, mercenaries who operated in the shadows of our worlds. In a dimly lit, clandestine meeting, I issued my command with cold precision: eliminate the King's secret heir, this 'princess' on Earth. The gravity of this action wasn't lost on me, but ambition knows no kinship, and the throne beckoned with a siren's call.

The Council meeting that followed was a carefully orchestrated dance of words and power plays. As we discussed potential threats and governance, I played my part, all the while my thoughts were on Earth and the impending strike.

King Cornel's entry marked the meeting's end. An Elder's suggestion about Torell's involvement in Council affairs was met with a measured response from the King. He was a master at concealing his true intentions, a trait I both admired and loathed.

"In three weeks," the Elder announced, "we'll begin the transition to Prince Torell's kingship."

I observed in silence, my mind racing. How could my brother be so blind to Torell's disdain for the crown? Why choose a girl, he doesn't even know over his brother?

I seized the opportunity to confront him once the chamber had cleared. "Why send Torell to Earth without notifying anyone? What's this urgent task?"

His response was enigmatic, a smile that held more secrets than assurances. "Change is on the horizon, Marcel. Be ready for it."

I probed further, frustration mounting. "Shouldn't these changes be subject to a vote? To Council approval?"

His hand on my shoulder felt like the weight of destiny. "Some matters transcend protocol, especially when it concerns bloodline. You will be informed in due course. Rest assured, your interests are protected."

As he walked away, a cascade of unanswered questions lingered in the air. I found myself irresistibly drawn to his throne. Seated in the symbol of ultimate power, a sense of destiny enveloped me. It was a throne I had long coveted, a seat that whispered promises of untold power and glory.

As I sat there, contemplating my next move in this intricate game of thrones, a new resolve hardened within me. If Cornel would not willingly share his plans, I would forge my own path to power, whatever the cost. The game had changed, and I intended to be its master.

Earth

The night air of Earth hummed with a peculiar energy as the Bellicose brothers, Torell, and Cell disembarked from their craft. Their mission: to find Shauna. It turned out the task wasn't as challenging as they'd anticipated. The city's streets were plastered with fight posters, each one proudly displaying Shauna's name.

Hawk's eyes narrowed as he studied a poster, his brow furrowing. "She's set to fight a Bellicose? What sort of Hominin thinks she stands a chance against one of us?"

Torell, enigmatic as ever, kept his cards close to his chest. "I can't reveal much now, but believe me, she might just surprise us."

Hawk scoffed, his competitive nature flickering. "Fine, keep your secrets. But if she actually manages to win, I'm claiming the next round against her."

They navigated the bustling streets, drawing curious glances from passersby, their formidable presence unmistakable. Even Cell, usually detached, showed a flicker of interest. The notion of a Hominin, seemingly ordinary, potentially standing toe-to-toe with a Bellicose, was intriguing, if not outright unbelievable.

The club, nestled in the heart of the city's less reputable district, presented a facade as unassuming as it was nondescript. The exterior, adorned with peeling paint and graffiti, belied the pulsating life that thrummed within its walls. As the group approached, the distant echo of bass grew into a rhythmic heartbeat, resonating through the cracked pavement underfoot.

Upon entering, they were greeted by an assault of senses – the air was thick with the smell of sweat and stale beer, a tangy aroma that hung heavily in the dimly lit space. The lighting was sparse and moody, casting deep shadows that played tricks on the eyes, making the room seem both larger and more intimate than it was. Neon lights, flickering erratically, bathed the club in a surreal glow, painting the patrons in hues of blues and reds.

The decor was an eclectic mix of the old and the new – one wall was lined with vintage posters of legendary fighters, their faces faded but still exuding a fierce defiance. In stark contrast, modern holographic displays showcased the night's lineup, with Shauna's name prominently featured.

The bar, a long, battered piece of wood, bore the scars of countless brawls and spilled drinks. Behind it, a bartender moved with an efficient, almost mechanical grace, serving up an array of concoctions to a diverse clientele. The crowd was a melting pot of the city's underbelly – rough, raucous, and ready for the night's entertainment.

In one corner, a makeshift ring stood, its ropes frayed and its mat stained with the history of countless bouts. The space around it was crowded, bodies pressing close in anticipation of the impending fight. Energy crackled in the air, a mix of excitement and raw adrenaline that was almost palpable.

As Hawk, Torell, Viper, and Cell made their way through the crowd, they could feel the weight of curious glances. Their presence, so starkly different from the regulars, drew whispers and speculative stares. Yet, their focus was singular – they were here for Shauna, the enigmatic Hominin who dared to challenge a Bellicose.

The club, with its gritty charm and undeniable energy, was a world unto itself, a place where the unlikely and the impossible seemed to converge. And tonight, it was the stage for a confrontation that promised to be unforgettable.