Slave of Fignters "Champion of the Black Star Part One

"What is this supposed to be?.." Emali said in confusion, barely holding back her irritation. "Why is the wool balaclava lying together with the leather skirt?"

"They're both skirts... so I put them together," Torque answered, not understanding the problem.

"You're not wrong, but sorting isn't done only by clothing type - you also sort by material. And things like this," Emali lifted a scaled skirt decorated with sapphire stones, "should be stored separately altogether as premium merchandise."

Squid placed one of his tentacles on Emali's shoulder and calmly said, "Relax, this is more my fault than his. I left Torque in charge of this job without properly explaining all the details of sorting. On the other hand, he at least separated the clothes by category correctly. All that's left for you is to finish the job and sort everything by material."

Then he motioned for Torque to come with him. "I'll talk to him for now. Once you're done, show the rookie the final result."

Emali let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine... but this is the first and last time."

Turning around, she went back to work.

Squid and Torque walked into the break room and sat down at the table.

"You do know why we're involved in trade, right?" Squid asked Torque.

Torque answered quickly and confidently, "Well, obviously... it's a cover so we can blend into the crowd."

Squid gave him an evaluating look. From that expression, Torque realized there was more to it.

"You're thinking in the right direction," Squid said, "but too straightforwardly. Trade in this place is a race for reputation. There's a reason it's divided into three levels."

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"Each level gives you more opportunities and freedom in business. The more valuable your merchandise is, the higher your chances of reaching the next level. And the higher the level, the more attention your goods attract and the greater the demand becomes."

Torque frowned. "What exactly are you getting at?"

Squid raised a tentacle, signaling him not to interrupt.

"Don't rush, hear me out. I'm not explaining the rules of this place for no reason."

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"As I said, the higher the quality of your merchandise, the greater your chances of reaching the second level and selling there. But to do that, you need permission from the people at the top who run this place. Without it, you can't move from the third level to the second as a merchant."

"The only thing available to residents of the third level is paying for access to the second floor as a customer or guest. Nothing more."

He leaned slightly forward.

"And from there, everything escalates."

Torque clarified, "So someone from the second level can't trade on the first? They can only be there as a guest or a buyer? And the first level is the elite one - the most expensive and highest-quality goods are sold there, meaning the people who operate there profit the most?"

"Good job, you understood perfectly," Squid replied. "And it just so happens that our target is hiding up there, on the top level. We can't simply walk in. Even getting a job there as a janitor requires earning trust, and that takes years. We don't have that kind of time. That's why we have to play by the rules of this place."

"And how exactly are you planning to move up through trade?" Torque asked.

"We aren't. That would also take too long," Squid answered calmly. "That's why I'm trying to establish connections with more influential pirate merchants so we can reach the second level faster. There's a reason I was buttering up our customer so much today - he's one of the major clothing dealers from the second level. If we're lucky, we'll secure a place there."

Torque thought for a moment before asking,

"Alright, let's say we make it to the second level... but that still doesn't get us any closer to the target. How are we supposed to reach the first level without drawing attention and get close to the Treasurer?"

"That's exactly why we need a large amount of (T) tickets," Squid answered. "To hire a fighter. And not just any fighter - one capable of competing in the upcoming tournament."

"A tournament?" Torque repeated in confusion. "What kind of tournament?"

"For the title of Black Star Champion," Squid said calmly. "Underground fights are an inseparable part of this asteroid. You could say it's the second traditional side of this place.

Everywhere you look, almost every fifth merchant owns an underground arena where they profit from bets. And here, it's an extremely lucrative business - both for the fighter and for the one who owns them."

Not understanding the connection, Torque asked, "I don't get it... what do tournaments have to do with trade? What's the connection?"

Squid answered calmly, "The connection is that this many underground arenas didn't appear on their own. When the most influential figures of the criminal underworld founded Black Star, they wanted to rule it together by dividing it into territories. But they quickly realized that was a terrible idea. In their world, equality doesn't exist - everyone always wants more."

He paused before continuing.

"To avoid endless bloody wars between themselves, they created a cycle system. Once every certain period, a ruler is chosen to govern Black Star until the end of the cycle."

Torque looked surprised. "And the way they choose the ruler... is through a tournament?"

"Exactly," Squid nodded. "Every influential participant puts forward their own fighter. And whoever's fighter reaches the end wins the tournament. Their owner becomes the ruler until the cycle ends."

He leaned slightly forward.

"And whoever holds the ruler's title can trade freely and manage their merchandise however they please. It's an enormous business advantage. That's exactly why our Treasurer decided to take the risk and participate in the tournament."

Torque frowned. "So he'll be able to spread Brevon's weapons even more... That would deal a massive blow to crime control efforts. If every other criminal gets access to Brevon's technology, the Coalition might not be able to handle it."

Squid let out a heavy sigh and nodded.

"That's exactly why we can't allow the Treasurer to win. He must either be eliminated or brought under control. Ideally, interrogated - because he may know where Brevon is hiding."

Torque stayed silent for a moment before asking, "So what's our plan to capture him?"

Squid clasped his tentacles together and rested his elbows on the table.

"There are two options. The first isn't ideal: relocate to the second level, buy or steal tickets to the tournament - preferably for the business sector. That would let us stay close to the action without drawing unnecessary attention."

He continued,

"The second option is to find and hire a fighter capable of reaching the finals. That would give us access to the best sections of the tournament and the opportunity to operate from within the elite circles themselves. But the odds of a fighter actually making it that far are extremely low."

Torque asked, "You mean participate ourselves? Are we - basically just low-level criminals - actually allowed to compete for the right to become temporary rulers?"

"We are," Squid replied. "But actually winning? No chance. Once, one of the mafia bosses who gained control over Black Star decided the tournament had become too closed-off and boring, so he passed a decree: from then on, anyone with a fighter could participate."

Torque frowned again.

"But wouldn't that make the tournament way too long and dragged out? And there's obviously a huge imbalance between the rich and the poor."

Squid nodded.

"Yes, you're right. That's why the tournament was divided into several stages to weed out the weak. Even a fighter from the first level, if they're strong enough, can defeat a second-level fighter and take their place. Rank isn't always a measure of strength."

"So you want to find a fighter capable of making it through most of the qualifying rounds?" Torque clarified.

"Yes," Squid answered. "But among the fighters on the third level, there are no worthy candidates. And fighters from the second level are still beyond our reach. That's why it's critical for us to reach the second level as quickly as possible, while there's still time to hire fighters before the tournament begins."

Emali suddenly rushed into the room. Her voice sounded worried.

"He came again."

Squid immediately became alert.

"Again? We already paid tribute... what else does he want?"

Emali sighed.

"He's demanding payment again. And... he wants to see you."

Squid abruptly rose from the table and headed toward the trading hall. Torque, unwilling to stay behind, followed after him.

------------------

At the entrance to the shop, whose sign bore the elegant cursive name "Galaxy of Beauty" written in the universal language, stood a Kamenite. He was dressed in a shirt with mesh-like patterns, dark trousers, and expensive leather shoes. He was waiting for Squid to come out and meet him.

"Kamenites are a race of beings with stone-like skin. Their bodies are covered in hard growths resembling rock. They usually possess a stocky build, and their faces have sharp, angular features."

Behind the Kamenite stood a crowd of people. Each of them carried a homemade club - on Black Star, all weapons were forbidden and confiscated at the entrance, but that hardly stopped anyone from building improvised weapons out of scrap.

Squid, Emali, and Torque stepped out of the store. Squid looked at the Kamenite and calmly said, "I don't want any trouble. Let's discuss this peacefully and without unnecessary noise."

The Kamenite stepped closer to Squid and replied, "Of course you don't want trouble. Just hand over half of those (T) tickets, and I'll leave."

Pretending not to understand, Squid asked, "What do you mean, half?"

The Kamenite answered in a rough, arrogant voice, "I mean exactly that. Three million tickets, and I won't touch either you or your friends."

Squid was stunned. And that was putting it mildly. He had no idea how this idiot found out about their six million, considering he was demanding exactly half.

Torque carefully scanned the crowd of thugs and suddenly noticed a familiar face. Among them stood Glatrin - the same exchange office worker who had issued their card. The bastard noticed Torque staring and started making disgusting gestures with his hands. He formed a ring with the fingers of his right hand, then shoved the index finger of his left hand back and forth through it while looking at Torque with a manic grin.

Torque immediately understood where the Kamenite got the information about the money.

Apparently, stealing five hundred thousand (T) tickets hadn't been enough for those scumbags - now they wanted to rob them completely.

Trying to talk his way out of it, Squid said, "Where would we even get that kind of money? We're just a small clothing store. If we're lucky, we might make five hundred thousand tickets at best, and you're talking about millions."

The Kamenite slowly walked closer to Torque, shaking his head.

"Squid, Squid, Squid... lying is a bad habit, especially in front of a crowd. I already know everything."

Stopping right in front of Torque, he placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and said, "So, kid, are you gonna tell us the truth? Do you really have six million tickets or not? Better answer honestly. Trust me, you'll stay in one piece that way."

Realizing there was no point denying it, Torque answered, "Yeah, we have the money. But why exactly should we give half of it to you?"

The Kamenite looked at Torque like he was a complete idiot.

"Because this is my territory."

He shifted his gaze toward Squid.

"Hey, seafood, what, you didn't explain the local rules to the rookie? Or do you want me to personally teach every piece of trash around here how things work?"

Squid tried once more to settle things peacefully.

"Alright, alright... my fault. We'll pay you the three million. Just leave after that."

Torque watched everything unfold in complete disbelief. How had things spiraled this far? Some low-level gangsters were destroying the Coalition's mission right in front of his eyes.

Kamenit suddenly clenched Torc's shoulder with all his strength. Torc let out a pained whimper.

Raising his voice, Kamenit barked: - Hey, mollusk, you think you can lie to me? Try to wriggle out of this and now you think you'll get away so easily? It would've been easy if you'd just handed over the three million right away. But no-you decided you could slip out of it.

He leaned closer: - This is my territory. If you want to trade here, you pay tribute. As long as you're here, you belong to me. And a servant cannot be richer than his master.

- But this... - Emali tried to object, but Squoid stopped her.

It was already too late to explain anything. The conflict had already reached boiling point.

Torc glared angrily at Kamenit and, grimacing from the pain in his shoulder, snapped: - And who are you anyway? Who made you the boss here? And what right do you have to do this?

Kamenit looked at Torc, then suddenly grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground: - Who am I? Fine, since your buddy didn't explain anything to you, I will.

With that, Kamenit slammed his forehead into Torc's nose. Blood sprayed from Torc's nostrils, sharp pain shooting through his face. But that was only the beginning. Kamenit immediately followed with a powerful punch to the solar plexus, cutting Torc's breath off instantly.

- Listen up, green worm, and remember this, - Kamenit growled.

- I am Petrion, one of the champion fighters of the second tier. I run all the nearby underground arenas in this territory. You want to know what right I have to do this? It's simple.

He began beating Torc in the face with his fists, shouting with every word: - Here... power... decides!

Squoid watched the scene in complete shock. He could intervene and try to save Torc, but how? If they got into a fight, they'd just get beaten.

"Do we really have to use force?.. No. That could expose us. One of the main problems of undercover work is that you're limited in your actions and forced to live by the rules of those you're embedded with. And we must not break that rule. Sorry, Torc... you'll have to endure it."

Petrion finally stopped beating Torc. Grabbing him by the collar, he smirked: - So, worm, want to fly?

Petrion looked toward the alley where a homeless man was lighting a fire in a steel barrel, then swung his arm and threw Torc like a paper airplane.

Torc flew at high speed toward the alley. He raised his arm to shield his face from the rushing air, and at that moment a man stepped out from around the corner-Torc crashed into him with full force.

It softened the fall a bit, but the impact was still painful.

Torc, coughing and trying to recover, couldn't help thinking about his powered armor. If he had it now, he would've quickly put Petrion in his place.

The man Torc had crashed into rushed toward the burning barrel, burning himself, desperately trying to grab something from the flames.

Petrion clicked his tongue: - What nonsense... Squoid, your boy will be fine, no burns.

- Please, stop, - Squoid rasped anxiously. - He's learned his lesson. We'll give you as much money as you want, just stop.

- No, my friend, - Petrion replied with a grin. - I won't take all the money. Four million-and I still beat him for his insolence. I told you: if you didn't teach him, I will.

He walked toward Torc.

Torc got up, and seeing Petrion approaching, staggered back. But he tripped over the curb and fell to the ground.

Petrion approached and grabbed Torc by the back of the head: - So, did you enjoy flying? Want to go again?

Torc dangled helplessly, trying to grab Petrion's arm and squeeze it, but it was useless.

Petrion pulled back his arm, preparing to throw him again-when suddenly a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. There was clear strength behind it, and the unexpected weight stopped his motion.

- You throw people around like that? - a stern voice came from behind.

Petrion flinched and spun around, intending to strike whoever had dared to stop him. But the man instantly ducked, leaning his torso back and slipping out of the punch's trajectory.

It was the same guy Torc had crashed into. His skin was pale, his face narrow with a small nose, his hair short. He was dressed simply: a red short-sleeved shirt, dark shorts, and sandals. A sports bag hung on his back, and his gaze was calm but alert.

The man looked at Petrion without emotion: - I'll ask again. Do you throw people around like that?

Petrion was irritated-some brat had not only dodged his surprise attack but was also calmly standing there asking questions.

Petrion straightened up: - Yeah, that's me. So what now? You want to fly too? I can arrange the same kind of "attraction" for you... of course, if you pay.

Petrion's men laughed: - Boss, that's actually brilliant-paying to get beaten up!

The man continued: - Because of you, I can't even pay. You threw him into me and knocked my (T) Tickets card out of my hands into the fire-

He pointed toward the overturned steel barrel where the homeless man's fire still burned.

Hearing this, Petrion and his men burst into laughter. Through his laughter, Petrion said: - Wow, you're really a loser then. Who even holds a card like that in their hands?

The man scratched the back of his head: - Well... I was going to eat, so I took it out.

- Going to eat where, by the homeless guy? - Petrion mocked.

- No, here! - the man said, pointing toward a street diner.

- Then you should've taken out your card at the diner, not on the way there, - Petrion said, then threw Torc toward the man and, turning to his men, added: - Alright, guys, have fun. I've got other business to take care of.

The man skillfully caught Torc and set him down by the wall. Looking him over and seeing how badly he was beaten, the man said: - Don't worry, I'll show this punk his place.

The crowd of thugs moved toward Torc and the man. But three stayed behind. These were Petrion's best fighters: Seroxas Arken, Glukloyd Pyrodes, and Exion Lapron.

"Glukloids are humanoids with flat faces and noses with protruding nostrils. Their eyes are like snails' eyes, located on elongated stalks that grow from their foreheads. Their skin is pale orange, sometimes covered in patches-each with unique patterns."

"Exions are humanoids with ant-like faces and segmented eyes. Their bodies look thin and fragile, but this is deceptive: in strength, they are no weaker than others."

Petrion walked up to the trio: - And what are you standing around for? - he asked irritably. These three were usually the first to jump into battle.

Lapron was the first to open his mandible-like mouth: - Well... we know that guy...

Pyrodes quickly added: - He's beaten each of us in a few seconds before.

Arken and Lapron immediately tried to shut his mouth so Pyrodes wouldn't say anything more, but it was too late-the truth was already out.

Petrion frowned: - Some punk beat each of you in seconds? Are you trying to humiliate me and my underground fighters? How many more of my men has he humiliated?

He was about to turn and look at the man, when at that moment one of his henchmen-a short, stocky brute-slammed into Petrion's face.

Petrion fell from the impact. Shaking the heavy man off his face, he scanned the area with an angry glare, trying to find where the attack came from.

There stood the man. His face shone with confidence and a slight smile. Petrion's men formed a semicircle, trying to corner him against the wall-but the man didn't flinch and looked at Petrion defiantly: - So, did you like that? - he said calmly.

Petrion twisted his face in rage and roared: - Attack him!

Petrion's men rushed him all at once. Under normal circumstances, one person couldn't handle that many. But not this man. He dodged their strikes effortlessly and landed precise counterattacks. Every movement was fast, like a hurricane wind-his blows landed before they could even surround him.

However, three of the faster thugs managed to get behind him and strike his back with spiked clubs. The sharpened spikes should have pierced his flesh-but on impact, the club spikes bounced off as if hitting a wall. The man didn't seem to feel it. With a sharp spinning kick, he swept them all down in a single motion.

The thugs were flung aside like confetti from a firecracker. Petrion couldn't hold back and shouted at his three subordinates: - Who the hell is he?!

Arken said in a trembling voice: - E-Edmmon... h-he's a level-three fighter.

- Speak properly, damn it, or I'll kill you myself, - Petrion growled, raising his fist threateningly at Arken.

Arken flinched and forced himself to speak clearly: - He's a fighter from the Wired Services (CET).

- So this brat belongs to Simpona. Damn... that tube-nosed bastard is going to get it. Why isn't he controlling his dog? - Petrion muttered.

Then Petrion looked at the trio and barked: - What are you still standing here for? Hurry up and beat the bastard's face in!

The three quickly moved toward Edmon. When they arrived, everyone else was already lying on the ground, and those still conscious were groaning in pain. They surrounded Edmon in a ring: - So, you little bitch, remember us? - Pyrodes shouted.

Edmon looked at them, scratching his head with his index finger: - Uh... no? Have we met somewhere?

This enraged all three of them.

- Listen here, bastard, you fought each of us in the arena! - Akler shouted angrily.

- You're disrespecting us. You'll pay for that in full! - Lapron growled.

And all three of them jumped at Edmon.

Pyrodes attacked head-on while Lapron and Akler moved in from the sides.

Edmon casually leaned his torso backward, dropping into a back bridge, and with a sharp upward kick struck Pyrodes under the jaw. Then he planted his hands on the ground, split his legs into a wide breakdance-like pose, and began spinning, sweeping Lapron and Akler away with his legs as if dancing.

Finishing the move, he flipped up, landed on his feet-and then Petrion charged in.

Edmon reacted instantly, crossing his arms to block the attack. The force was so strong that Edmon slid back across the sand for five meters.

"Wow... he's pretty strong," Edmon thought. Until now, no one had hit him that hard.

- Damn tough bastard, - Petrion muttered. He began taking off his checkered shirt. - Alright then, I'll handle this myself.

- Be proud, brat. I'll personally beat the nonsense out of you! - he shouted, then threw his shirt прямо into Torc's bloodied face, who was sitting exhausted by the wall. - Hold this, - Petrion said.

Edmon also took off his red shirt, assumed a fighting stance, and said: - Don't disappoint me, big guy.

Petrion rushed forward. Swinging his right hand, he threw a straight jab. Edmon easily leaned back, dodging it, then immediately returned to position and countered with a quick left jab followed by a right hook that hit Petrion in the cheek.

Petrion didn't expect the speed and stumbled backward, trying to regain balance. Almost falling face-first, he planted his foot, twisted his body sharply, and threw a powerful left uppercut.

Edmon stepped back, avoiding the blow. He assessed Petrion-strong attack, but mediocre speed and poor technique. Edmon decided to play along.

As Petrion finished his failed uppercut, Edmon instantly countered with a powerful right cross, striking Petrion in the face. Petrion's head snapped back and blood began flowing from his nose. But he quickly recovered and struck back. His punch landed cleanly on Edmon's cheek.

Meanwhile, Emali and Squoid ran up to Torc.

- Oh god, you look terrible... how are you feeling? - Emali asked anxiously.

Torc coughed: - Even on Avalis I've never felt this bad...

Squoid immediately cut him off: - Toreki, you're delirious! - irritation flashed on his face.

Torc instantly realized he had slipped. Of course, no one had noticed-but it was unacceptable. Right now, he was no longer Torc from Avalis, but Toreki, an illegal trader dealing in clothing made from rare animal skins.

- Can you stand? - Emali asked, offering her hand.

Torc, leaning slightly against the wall: - Yeah... I'm fine... just hurts under the left rib.

Meanwhile Squoid watched Petrion and Edmon fighting. They were exchanging blows head-on. Petrion struck Edmon's face, Edmon returned the same, sometimes their punches landed simultaneously. Blood sprayed everywhere, heads snapped back from impact, and their feet scraped the sand as they fought to stay upright.

But what puzzled Squoid wasn't that. At the beginning of the fight, Edmon had been technical, fast, clearly dominating. So why did he suddenly switch to a brute-force brawl? To Squoid, it made no sense.

After a short exchange of blows, Petrion made his move. He caught Edmon's arm mid-strike, yanked him in, and slammed a headbutt straight into his face. Then he drove his knee into Edmon's groin.

Edmon doubled over in unbearable pain, barely holding back a scream.

Petrion grabbed Edmon's head, forcing it even lower, and struck him again with a knee to the face-releasing him at the moment of impact so Edmon's head snapped backward. Blood poured from his nose like a fountain.

Without losing control, Petrion grabbed Edmon by the torso, spun around, and hurled him into the wall with full force.

The conscious members of Petrion's crew froze: - No way...

- The boss is going for his signature move!

Petrion sprinted forward and shouted: - "Two-legged Catapult Strike!" - then jumped at Edmon in a vertical position, both feet forward, using his full body weight and momentum to slam Edmon's head into the wall.

A crack echoed. The wall split, Edmon's head partially embedded into the concrete. Blood gushed out, leaving a red trail dripping down the surface.

Everyone froze, watching as Edmon's body went limp, his head slowly sliding down the wall. He slumped to the ground, legs bent at the knees, eyes empty-like consciousness had left his body.

Petrion's thugs erupted in cheers: - That's it, boss! Finish him!

- The boss is the real king here!

- Shut up! - Petrion barked sharply.

- Don't start sucking up to me. You all disappointed me today. You couldn't take down one brat as a group. You're not getting your season payout-that's your punishment for weakness.

He then turned to retrieve his shirt, which he had thrown onto Torc. But he noticed it lying on the ground, covered in dust and blood.

- What are you, mutants?! - Petrion shouted at Squoid, Emali, and Torc. - Have you stopped fearing me completely?!

- Boss...

- Why is my shirt in the dirt, soaked in blood?!

- Boss!

- Do you three have needle-stuffed brains or something?! - he yelled. - That's my favorite shirt!

- BOSS!

- FUCK! Who here bought immortality or what?! - he screamed.

He turned around-and saw that Edmon, whom he had just smashed into the wall, was standing back up.

His skin took on a deep crimson hue, his muscles bulging, veins pulsing across his entire body. His eyes turned dark red, his hair grew longer and became wild and disheveled. A terrifying, tense smile formed on his face.

- Wow... - Edmon muttered through clenched teeth. - So I finally found someone I can test my strength technique on.

Petrion staggered back: - W-what the hell... - he didn't even finish his sentence before Edmon closed the distance in a fraction of a second-five to six meters vanished instantly-and smashed a full-force punch into Petrion's stone-like face.

Petrion flew ten meters back, then slid another two across the ground on his back.

Everyone was in shock. Petrion's henchmen rushed forward: - Boss, no!

- How... how is this possible?!

Petrion lay motionless, his eyes rolled back, showing no sign of consciousness.

Seeing Edmon's face with that manic smile and bulging veins, the thugs panicked and scattered in fear. Only the most loyal ones grabbed Petrion and dragged him away across the ground as quickly as they could.

Edmon noticed everyone had fled and calmly turned toward his shirt and bag. His body gradually returned to normal-the veins disappeared, his skin regained its pale color. He put on his shirt, picked up his bag, and walked toward Squoid.

Squoid watched in shock. He had expected Edmon to demand money for helping them-especially after losing his card because of Torc. But instead, the man simply walked up and asked: - How is he? - Edmon said to Squoid.

- You mean who? My friend? - Squoid asked, confused.

- Yeah, the green one. Is he okay? - Edmon was genuinely concerned, which surprised Squoid.

- He'll live, - Squoid replied. - But he's been badly beaten.

- I see... then I'll be going, - Edmon said, preparing to leave.

But his stomach growled loudly. He placed a hand on it and looked sadly toward the place where he had lost his money earlier.

Squoid realized he also needed help: - You're clearly hungry. Come with us-we were just about to have dinner.

Edmon paused for a moment, and a hint of joy appeared in his eyes.

- Alright, - he said, and quickly headed toward the store "Galaxy of Beauty."

Squoid watched him. He saw nothing in Edmon that resembled a typical inhabitant of this place. Edmon was straightforward and sincere. He had clearly helped them even without losing his card because of Torc. But what interested Squoid even more was his strength. Yes, Petrion was a second-tier fighter-but he was not even among the strongest of them, more like one of the weaker ones. And yet this guy had defeated him. Although Squoid still had questions about that strange exchange of brute strikes earlier... it wasn't important for now. If Edmon was that strong, then he might stand a chance against other second-tier fighters.

And slowly, a plan began to form in Squoid's mind.