~~INSPIRED BY CRYPTID_ZEPHYR~~ ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

THE UNDERGROUND MUTANT FIGHT CLUB – it's around midnight, and the moon shone down on the building that held these fights.

The air is thick with smoke and shouting. A massive metal cage, 60 feet wide and nearly 40 feet tall, dominates the center of the room. Sparks crackle along the walls—high-voltage fencing humming with deadly energy.

Inside the cage, is none other than Warren Worthington III, or known as Angel, who circled his opponent. His wings are scarred, feathers frayed and burned in places. His chest rises and falls, sweat clinging to bruised skin. His eyes don’t leave the mutant across from him.

A four-armed mutant, bulky and gray-skinned, snarls and stomps forward. Two upper arms flex. The two lower ones twitch with anticipation.

The bell clangs.

Warren lifts into the air with a powerful flap—not soaring, just hovering low, careful to stay centered, away from the electrified walls. His wings slice the air with purpose.

The four-armed mutant charges, two fists swinging. Warren twists midair, wings folding and flicking open to spin sideways, dodging each strike narrowly.

A fist clips his leg—he stumbles in the air, dipping low.

He recovers fast, wings spreading wide for balance, then dives, slashing across the mutant’s chest with the edge of his wing. Blood sprays.

The crowd roars.

Warren breathes hard, circling again. He’s not fighting to win. He’s fighting to last.

The brute growls and throws a metal pipe—Warren ducks. The pipe clangs against the wall, sparks flying as the electricity fries it instantly.

Warren glances at the sparking cage, eyes narrowing.

Warren, gritting his teeth, whispered to himself. “Touch the walls, and you’re done. Got it.” He warned to himself, and himself only.

He shifts back into the air again, timing his movements now. Calculated. He dives once more, using the tight space and his wingspan like a blade.

A cut. A dodge. A breath.

The four-armed mutant roars in frustration, swinging wildly.

Warren hovers above, chest heaving, wings twitching from strain.

No glory. No mercy.

Just survival.