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Summary
A robe is shrugged off, pooling in the dusty floor to reveal that the tattoos scrawl over the whole of a compact body and Dazai is impressed (his skin aching in experienced sympathy for the number of hours the complex ink must have taken). Not an ounce of hesitation is present in Stormbringer's proud form as he waits patiently for the bell, like a predator promised a kill.
Dazai’s lungs squeeze behind his ribs, blood-lust fueled anticipation swelling behind his navel, as a forgotten vitality suddenly thunders to life in his empty chest. Adrenaline floods his body as if he himself was the one in the ring.
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Animals. At our base form humans are nothing but beasts made of blood and bone.
Dazai thought he'd been blacklisted from every cage in the underground. It surprised him greatly to find he hadn’t, but he's sure it wouldn't take him long to add another to the list.
Then there's a tattooed, compact, ginger he watches drop a man twice his size, and something changes.