FFM31: Kindred Spirits

The few Fuhrai that had found their way to Earth by the beginning of the twenty-first century were remarkably adept at hiding their presence.  Like any effective predator, a Fuhrai warrior knew how to camouflage themselves and wait until the moment was right to strike.  Being fast and lethal was never enough, regardless of the planet or prey in question.  The Fuhrai had devised cunning disguises decades ago, and walked through the streets of busy cities unnoticed amidst the herds of humans.
It was only a matter of time before one stumbled into Los Abismo.

Caleb Cabal sat in his usual 'VIP Seating' on the second floor of the old ware-house, watching the arena and its frothing spectators through a gaping hole in the floor. A chain-link cage had been erected in the space directly beneath the floor, and a stone-skinned metahuman was finishing up his work on one of the city's numerous werebeast inhabitants.  The Danthan, as they called themselves, had come into the ring a wolf, but after a few good bashes to the face he was starting to more closely resemble a Pug.  A few more slams against the concrete floor, and the mangled canine tapped out.
The crowd disapproved, but that didn't concern Cabal.  The fight had been an upset, which meant more cash in his pocket from all the assholes making bets down on the floor.  And anyone that was boo'ing in the crowd at the moment would forget about it by the end of the next match.
It had been close to a year since Cabal stumbled upon the brutal fights that went down in the city's back alleys, and he had transformed it into a proper sport.  In that year under his wing, the unsanctioned "super-fights" had developed a devout following, and a robust stable of fighters had passed through the ring.  He'd witnessed some truly spectacular matches in that ring, but tonight would certainly take the cake.
"Now now, ladies and gentlemen," the MC was calling over a bullhorn, "There's no dishonor in a tap-out.  Let's hear it for a good clean match!"  A decent number of spectators cheered for that, but they were easily drowned out by the majority.  "For the rest of you," Phil continued, turning up the volume, "How about a little bit of blood?"
The man stepping into the ring wore a thin sheet of silk over his lower face, the top obscured in shadows by a hood.  His arms, though, were left bare except for an intricate network of scars old and new.  The crowd recognized the latticework of damaged flesh easier than his face anyway, and the warehouse was immediately alive with shrieks and catcalls.  
"MACE! MACE! MACE!"  a crowd of men, faces painted with blood, screamed, rattling the cage.  The fighter in question raised one fist over his head, extending half a dozen thick chunks of metallic bone through the skin of his forearms in a shower of red.  As though incited by the scent of it, the mob's shrieks and howls raised in pitch and intensity.
Cabal smiled at the uproar, nodding towards his pet telepath.  "Lux, if you could present our guest, please?"
The pale, bald-headed girl sitting in his shadow didn't open her eyes or respond, though she adjusted her focus.  Slowly, the bundle by her side rose from the floor and began to drift down through the hole into the ring.
"You've seen him slaughter countless men, whether Fleshy or Danthan, and regardless of how many come at once!"  Phil shouted into the bullhorn. "You've seen him paint this floor red while blindfolded or with hands bounded, whether against thugs, martial artists, and military personnel!  Surely, no creature in this world can challenge our champion!"
Lux eased the bundle slowly towards the floor, releasing the psychic sleep from the creature's bizarre mind.
"Well, then," Phil continued, "We present to you a creature too fierce even for Dar-Tek to house:  the scourge of the universe, and possibly the greatest predator known to man-kind!"
The moment that Lux relaxed her focus, the creature tore out of the burlap sack it had been tied in, shrieking in a voice unlike anything from this planet.  Freed, it stopped to evaluate its surroundings, and the crowd could utter nothing higher than a hushed murmur, staring at its bizarre leaf-shaped ears and saurian muzzle.
"KILL IT!" a voice shrieked from the crowd, and the creature spun, lunging in the direction of the sound faster than the human eye could follow.  The beast connected with the chain-link, shredding through it like fishnet with its talons and spiked tail.  The crowd barely had a chance to react, but Mace was quicker than all of that.
As the creature's head poked through the would-be containment, Mace seized the spines on its head with both hands and twisted, steering it back into the center of the ring.  One foot planted into the creatures back to push it down and launch himself backwards in a slow arc.  He landed graceful as a gymnast, his scarf fallen down enough to reveal an excited grin.
The Fuhrai locked eyes, and Mace's forearms exploded into a mess of twisted metal shards.  The creature looked again to the cage, and a low rattling growl rose in its chest as understanding filled those otherworldly eyes.
Slowly, the creature coiled, spines and scales rising as its claws began to extend.  Mace clenched his fists within the tight nest of blades growing from his arms.  Adrenaline exploded through his veins, and he wondered if aliens had adrenal glands, smelling the creature's exotic sweat in the air.
The tension built and swelled until the ring felt like a pressure-cooker.  The combatants maintained their eye-lock, each studying an unusual creature, both alien and yet kindred at the same time.  The beast nodded once, and Mace lunged forward.
Fists met leather, claws met steel, and blood spattered freely in both directions.
And the crowd continued to scream from beginning to end.