Zelos walked queitly through the corridors of the bloodbox complex. People lulled around in the corridors, most not doing a lot. Some combatants strolled through, managers, spectators, gaurds and many more moved up and down attending to whatever important business they thought they had.
The young combatant was down here somewhere and he had a gift for him. Zelos was pleased to think that, for once, he wasn't looking for someone in order to 'debt collect' or murder them. He looked up at a small group of newbies, they met his gaze and, realising who he was, scattered.
Zelos, the champion of the bloodbox. He hadn't used that name for a long time, there were no challengers to try to take his throne. The ones who were of high enough rank to do so didn't dare. Zelos guessed that he probably hadn't actually had a proper fight in over five years.
He had finally resolved that in order to get a challenge, he must create one. This Nero, or whatever his name is, may just be that challenge. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his pistol. A wicked weapon, modified with a blade under the handle and a long thin needle that could extend from under the barrel when needed. It never had been for Zelos, as he had never missed.
The plan was, for Zelos, to give Nero the weapon and with it patronage, sponsorship and more. If he failed, then he would die. If he didn't pay Zelos back having succeded, he would die. Either way Zelos would win, he knew he would because he always had. This was a fact he enjoyed.
After a while Zelos found the room he was after, he scowled malevolently at the gaurd. The guard scuttled away like terrified spider who had just had its meager life spared. He dissapeared into the shadows as Zelos knocked on the door.
"Mr Nero?" A light, flowing but queitly vicious voice left the man. He stepped in without waiting for a reply. "I'm sure you know who I am, I have a proposition for you."