Chapter 85: Chapter 72: Street Nova

“Don’t cause trouble, buddy. This place is complicated.”

John ignored the warning and didn’t reply, just stood behind the worn-out white paint line, gazing into the distance.

The iron cage sizzled with smoke.

The surroundings reeked of tar, blood, sweat, fermentation, and some industrial mixed with a glue smell.

Brokers were arguing at the edge of the venue.

He carried back his utterly beaten Boxer, which was as much as he could do, even if the dream failed, at least he got a life back in the process.

Some Boxers had it worse, with no backup team.

Madmen already plunged into the abyss, trying to bounce back but ended up shattered, wrapped carelessly by the corpse sorting team through the corridors.

The stretchers were stained with blood.

The bodies were left with the Gambler’s saliva and tickets.

This was the stage Black Gold Gang arranged for John’s debut:

Only by collecting enough points and knocking down enough Boxers could you start to make a name for yourself on the streets and qualify for the tournaments with big prizes up for grabs.

Macao blatantly walked over with a vial.

He asked John if he wanted an injection.

The rules of the underground fighting matches were looser than imagined, after all, even an Alloy Skeleton and destructive arms could be equipped.

John suspected:

That banning certain devices was merely to extend the match time, enhancing entertainment while hooking the Gambler’s emotions.

There were newcomer matches every month.

The betting odds weren’t so exaggerated. It’s said that for famous fighters, the odds were higher, after all, the records are transparent, lacking suspense, and prone to upsets and fixed games.

“I suddenly feel it’s meaningless.”

John shrugged his shoulders, casually spitting out a joke.

Macao gave a few awkward laughs, thinking he understood. “You feel the underlying rules and limitations are too troublesome, right? It’s like a gamble with life performance, with a feeling of helplessness of a trapped beast in a cage…”

“Yeah, I’d rather randomly find someone on the street, throw out some money or a few guns, or unopened spoils, or even the right to date some girl, and then both beat each other up by a burning oil barrel until someone concedes.”

John patted his shoulder. “Now that’s freedom.”

Macao sighed.

“If you really find it boring, why not place a bet? Give yourself some extra punching motivation.”

John didn’t object, pushing over some money.

As he passed through the corridor, a muscle-bound shirt-stretching guy towered over him.

“Boring, huh, whether you’re rattled or not, it’s best to keep a proper attitude, or the ring will eat you alive.”

“Better to fall and admit defeat; don’t touch the electric grid, or you’ll scream louder than a Sex Doll.”

They crossed their arms, skin wrinkled like sandpaper tortured to the limit, veins visible, tightened, like a three-dimensional spider web worn on them.

Eden City loved imposing security.

John ignored the two.

He walked through the gap flickering with electric arcs.

The internal space was larger than expected, with several doors around, each passageway leading to a similar waiting area behind.

John signed up for the match just to seek violent thrills.

In these matches, beyond honors and prizes, high-end tournaments offered special Prosthetic Bodies to fight for, but to get a ticket, you had to score enough points in today’s ring.

[Defeat Opponents 0/3 (Not Achieved)]

Gamblers sat on ascending steps, shouting and wielding bets, wishing they could pull out guns, as a Boxer from the Black Gold Gang jogged out amidst the roar engulfing the iron cage.

“John?”

“Sorry, pal, I can’t recall your name.”

“No matter, you killed that Hoffman son of a b*tch, I want to see how tough you are.”

He was eager, raising his arms to signal.

John focused, not attacking rashly, after all, this was his first time fighting someone head-on.

Whoosh!

The opponent’s fists gusted wind.

John almost instinctively leaned back, not seeing clearly, just felt a shadow flash past his eyes.

The speed was astonishingly fast.

His intuition told him…

If it skimmed his nose, at the very least, it would start with a fracture.

“F*ck.”

John cleared his mind, concentrating on the match before him.

Even if he didn’t like cage fighting, he had to maintain respect, after all, every guy who stepped into the electric grid was gambling life in combat.

John calmed down, exchanging a few punches with the opponent.

He tried to attack proactively.

The Alloy Skeleton coordinated with military combat techniques to advance continuously, but it was always blocked by the gang Boxer’s defensive stance.

Bang, bang, bang bang bang.

The hits felt heavy, like punching a slab of metal iron wrapped in hardened rubber.

John knew how strong his attacks were.

The gang Boxer’s skin surface started swelling and bleeding, but his gaze remained calm, as if it was nothing extraordinary.

Suddenly he launched a kick forward.

John retreated and dodged, yet in the next second, the opponent flipped half a circle in the air, sending a powerful hind leg flying towards his head.

Bang!

John urgently raised his arm.

He felt like he’d been hit by a car; his arm was in severe pain but managed to block the calf, although part of the opponent’s foot slammed into his head, causing a brief blackout.

“Oh~”

“That’s right, damn it, hit him!”

“Kill him, f*ck squid!”

“Capoeira! Capoeira!”

…

The gamblers burst into deafening cheers.

The gang fighter’s chip was flashing, the flying kick sequence of the Brazilian War Dance was extremely destructive, and the modified operating system with the alloy skeleton could shatter cement bricks.

According to past experience, he moved forward to finish the job.

John clutched his head, retreating continuously, a bit dazed, but fortunately, Messiah’s Eye was powerful enough, his vision quickly restored, allowing him to immediately see the opponent closing in.

He instinctively lowered his body, kicking fiercely forward.

The fighter’s calf was hit, causing his body to lose balance and fall.

John instantly grabbed the opponent’s arm, flipped backward, executing a deadly joint lock.

The audience’s cheering and cursing grew louder!

“Ah ah ah—”

“Kill him, b*tch!”

“Twist this beast’s arm off!”

…

John felt as though he was suppressing a bomb.

He adjusted his center of gravity, changed his position, rotating the fighter’s entire arm from the elbow.

Crunch, bang.

The sound of metal bending was particularly clear.

The artificial leather turned charred, and the internal mechanics burst open, with components jutting out from the crack.

The fighter begrudgingly conceded.

“Hoo, hoo~”

John relaxedly withdrew, then reached out to pull the opponent up.

The Black Gold Gang youth was a bit dejected but still expressed gratitude towards him—had John not shifted his focus, he could have torn off the entire hand or simply snapped his neck.

“True to your name, brother.”

He greeted John with his uninjured arm. “Don’t get complacent; there are all kinds of people in the qualifiers. There’s plenty of fighters from other gangs and reckless street kids.”

“Alright.”

John waved a hand, signaling the referee to continue.

Another muscle-bound guy entered the cage, with a fierce gaze, charging straight at him.

John dodged consecutively, using his agility advantage to probe.

He was now completely serious, his heart rate slightly accelerated, finding the feeling of battling Hoffman.

The muscle-bound guy’s subcutaneous armor and fiber bundles were fully engaged.

John’s punches had little effect, making it challenging to find opportunities to reapply grappling techniques.

He could only maintain patience and continue maneuvering.

This standoff was simpler than fighting Eden’s avatars: focus entirely on observing, seek a breakthrough, and slowly accumulate advantages.

John tangled with him for over ten minutes.

Stamina was almost depleted, but he managed to grasp a bit of leverage.

His chip was highly advanced, with more comprehensive technical moves, gradually adapting to control distance—not just evasion distance, but also the timing to avoid counterattacks.

The muscle-bound guy’s reaction speed was very fast, certainly due to the neural synapse-related implant, making it seem to the user as if the surrounding speed had been slowed multiple times, able to anticipate and act.

But this slowdown was relative.

He merely increased reaction time; the time taken by the body to act was the same as John’s.

Unless he equipped other prosthetic bodies, enabling the body to withstand higher intensity muscle movements, achieving a sort of “time stop” against opponents for unilateral output.

It was an entire set, rather than one or two independent prosthetic bodies.

John noticed the muscle-bound guy’s eyes were full of bloodshot veins.

The neural synapse implant load was immense, coupled with so many high-intensity prosthetics, the strain on stamina and heart was considerable.

Sure enough, after dragging for a few more minutes.

This brute suddenly became dazed, stumbling.

John rushed in, delivering a sequence of fighting moves to his face with several elbow strikes and knee kicks, forcibly knocking this mass of sandbags down.

He rubbed his shoulder, taking a few breaths.

The muscle-bound guy was immediately dragged away by the organizers.

A third person stepped up into the cage.

His strength was not as formidable; he discreetly slipped some money, intending to steal a victory point while John was weakened from continuous fighting.

John turned to stare at him.

Eyes like a wolf.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep