Web of Fate

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!" The announcer's voice echoed through the arena, his tone booming and filled with excitement. The crowd's roar intensified as the energy in the room spiked. "Tonight, we have something special for you!"

He paused, letting the anticipation build. The spotlight shifted to the center of the ring, where the fighters were gathered, each one eager for the chaos to begin.

The announcer's grim expression told the crowd everything they needed to know. "Tonight's match will be a Free-for-All. Every fighter will enter the ring and battle it out until only one man stands victorious."

The atmosphere grew electric, tinged with excitement.

"Now, remember," the announcer continued, his voice lowering with a dark edge, "Fighters will only be disqualified if you surrender… or if you're dead." He let the weight of his words hang in the air, "So, prepare yourselves for a fight like no other."

The crowd erupted into cheers, a deafening roar that vibrated through the entire arena.

Thirty fighters stepped into the ring, each one sizing up their competition, trying to predict their next move. Peter stood among them, his posture relaxed but alert, his eyes quickly scanning the faces around him as he bounced lightly on his feet, loosening up.

The bell rang, loud and commanding, signaling the start of the match. Instantly, some fighters rushed forward, charging at their nearest opponents, while others stayed put, analyzing the situation.

A few formed quick alliances, sizing up their next targets, but others driven by the heat of the moment. Rushing in, seeking to end the fight as soon as possible.

Peter, however, remained still. He didn't rush in. His focus was on the two closest fighters who were already making a beeline toward him, intent on taking him down first. Their eyes burned with the intent to kill.

Peter could feel the weight of their approach, the danger growing with every step they took. He let his body go limp, acting the part of a panicked rookie, hoping to bait them into thinking he was an easy target.

As they reached him, both of them launched synchronized kicks, aiming for his head, determined to knock him out with a single strike. But Peter was ready. At the last possible second, he rolled forward, his body moving like liquid, narrowly avoiding the incoming kicks.

The two fighters, unprepared for his sudden shift, collided with the air where Peter's head had been just a moment before. The impact sent a jolt through their legs, and both fighters stumbled, wincing in pain as they clutched their legs.

As Peter was still kneeling on the ground, another fighter charged toward his right side. The man launched a powerful kick aimed directly at Peter's face, confident that this would be the finishing blow.

But Peter was ready. With lightning reflexes, he grabbed the fighter's leg mid-air, twisting his body and rolling forward. The fighter, off balance, crashed to the ground with a heavy thud, surprised by the sudden shift in momentum.

Before the fighter could recover, Peter seized the opportunity. He swiftly turned his body and drove his elbow into the man's stomach, the sharp impact forcing the wind out of him. The fighter gasped, struggling to catch his breath, unable to react fast enough.

Just as Peter was about to follow up, he noticed another figure charging toward him, ready to strike. Without hesitation, Peter pushed off the ground and sprang to his feet. He darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the incoming attack.

In the midst of the brutal chaos, one fighter stood out, his movements deadly and unstoppable. He cut through the crowd like a force of nature, his every swipe leaving destruction in its wake.

Throats were crushed, limbs were ripped from their sockets, and the arena quickly became a blood-soaked battlefield. Bodies piled up as the man slaughtered anyone who dared get too close.

This man was massive—tall, muscular, with wild, unkempt blonde hair. His jagged teeth peeked out from beneath his lips, giving him a feral, almost animalistic appearance. He was a beast in every sense of the word.

Peter, amidst the chaos, noticed the man's approach. His instincts kicked in, the danger too evident to ignore. The fighter charged at him, his eyes gleaming with malice, ready to tear him apart.

But Peter didn't hesitate. He leapt into the air, performing a perfect backflip, narrowly avoiding the savage attack. He landed a few feet away and his heart racing.

The monstrous fighter, intrigued by the failed attempt, turned toward Peter with a predatory look.

His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, a strange look crossing his face. "You smell different," the man said, his voice rough and low, like the growl of an animal. "Something's off about you."

Peter could feel the tension in the air. The man was sniffing him, trying to make sense of the strange scent that clung to him. It wasn't just human. It wasn't mutant either. It was something... else.

Something that defied explanation. The fighter couldn't place it, but it was enough to make him pause, confused and intrigued.

The monstrous fighter wasn't deterred in the slightest. If anything, Peter's strange scent only made him more intrigued. This wasn't just another weakling who would fall with a single blow. There was something about Peter—something that made him worth pursuing.

Peter, recognizing the deadly presence in front of him, immediately understood who he was up against.

The sheer strength, the feral demeanor, the savage claws—it could only be one person. Victor Creed, better known as Sabretooth, one of the most dangerous mutants alive.

Sabretooth let out a low growl, his eyes locking onto Peter as he lunged forward, his claws extending like blades. He aimed for Peter's throat, but Peter was faster.

With a swift, he weaved to the side, narrowly avoiding the deadly slash. The air hummed with the sound of the claws missing their mark, and Peter felt a rush of adrenaline surge through him.

But Sabretooth wasn't slowing down. He pivoted on his heel and came at Peter again, his claws swiping through the air with brutal force.

Peter ducked, then spun to the side, narrowly avoiding another deadly strike. His heart raced as he kept moving, every muscle in his body working on instinct, his mind calculating his next move.

Sabretooth growled in excitement, he slashed again and again, each strike coming faster and more vicious than the last, but Peter's agility kept him one step ahead.

Every time Sabretooth's claws missed, the tension in the air grew thicker, and Peter's resolve hardened. He couldn't afford to make a mistake. Not against this guy.

Sabretooth lunged once more, but this time Peter swiftly dodged to the right. In that instant, he realized his mistake—Sabretooth's claws were dangerously close to another fighter in the cage.

Reacting fast, Peter grabbed Sabretooth's arm, pulling it away from the other fighter just in time, and shoved the fighter out of harm's way. But Sabretooth only grinned, seeing an opportunity. With a swift movement, he slashed at Peter with his left hand.

Peter, however, wasn't caught off guard. He kicked Sabretooth hard, sending him several meters back. The impact was sharp and sudden, and for the first time, Sabretooth flinched from the pain. His smile grew wider, not from the blow, but because he saw it now—Peter was no mere opponent. He'd found a worthy rival.

The ring had thinned out, most of the fighters either having surrendered, been defeated, or worse, dead. The few that remained were barely holding on.

"Focus," Peter muttered to himself, trying to push aside the lingering fear of Sabretooth's deadly claws. Despite the dread, he raised his hand, ready to face his opponent, steeling himself for what was to come.

The crowd was on the edge of their seats, the roar of excitement building as they anticipated the next move. Meanwhile, Kingpin sat back in his seat, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He was pleased with how things were going.

If Peter hadn't entered the main event, Kingpin knew he'd be missing out on a lot more than just money. This was the kind of fight that drew in the crowds—and the cash.