The underground boxing ring was alive with energy, the dim overhead lights casting a golden glow on the cracked concrete floor. The crowd pressed in from all sides, their cheers bouncing off the graffiti-covered walls. This wasn’t a place for the faint-hearted; this was where only the strongest thrived, and Pantha was at the top of the food chain.

Her latest opponent, a burly fighter with a reputation for breaking ribs, lay sprawled on the mat, clutching his chest and groaning in defeat. Pantha barely broke a sweat. She stood in the center of the ring, arms raised high as the referee called the match. The crowd’s roar was deafening, a cacophony of admiration and fear—a sound Pantha had grown to crave. She absorbed the energy like a predator basking in the thrill of a successful hunt.

Her crimson and black outfit, torn slightly from the fight, clung to her body, emphasizing her lean, muscular frame. Beads of sweat glistened on her fur, but she didn’t care. This was her domain, and no one could touch her here.

As the crowd chanted her name, Pantha turned slowly, her cat-like eyes scanning the sea of faces. This was her moment. She could feel it in her bones—the untouchable sensation of being the best. Her tail flicked once, a subtle display of her confidence.