Page 68 of Glutton for Punishment

At first glance, Plethora looks a lot like the little I’ve seen of Feastwell.

Tall buildings stretch into the sky, each one coated in gold and glass and competing with the next for spectacle—one spiraling upward in a helix of amber light, another shaped like a crown, its points disappearing into low cloud. One is wrapped in a cascading video of a banquet table that stretches the full height of the facade, food piled high and replenished on a loop.

Music spills from overhead speakers lining the streets, layered and overlapping, too many songs at once.The helicopter sets down on the helipad, and below us a massive fountain pulses in choreographed arcs, water catching the gold light and throwing it in every direction. A crowd has gathered at its edge, faces tilted up, watching it like it’s alive.

All of it hits at once, reminding me of the brief glimpse I got of Greed. So different from Wrath, I struggle to process everything. My feet stop moving. Maddox’s hand closes around mine and pulls.

It’s not long before the illusion cracks.

The contrast is paramount as we driver further away from the heart of the city.

The gold disappears. Buildings lose their shine, their edges less defined, lights dimming instead of dazzling. The music shifts too—same volume, harsher edge.

A few more miles and the streets change.

Clean sidewalks dissolve into clutter. Casinos with flickering signs lean into one another, paint peeling, windows cracked, some boarded, others just… gone.

Trash gathers in corners and spills into the streets.

We keep driving and it gets worse.

The road narrows, the pavement breaking apart beneath us. Structures stack on top of each other, patched together with scrap metal and warped wood. Instead of roofs, some of the small buildings have tarps. People crowd the dirt streets, looking bleak and worn down.

There’s no brightly colored hair or fancy suits here. Only a lot of patched up clothing and dirty faces. Even with the window up, the air smells rotten. Hollow eyes follow the car as we pass.

The poverty reminds me a bit of home... but the people here are stacked on top of each other so close to the excess of the city.

This isn’t just poverty. This is neglect.

“I’m sorry.” Maddox’s voice cuts through, catching me off guard. We have spoken little since the decision to come here.

One of his hands stays on the wheel, and the other reaches for mine. I let him take it, feeling steadier when his skin touches mine.

“Kael was supposed to be in Plethora proper,” he mutters, brows scrunched in annoyance. “Of course he decided last minute to take a trip to the blood markets.”

“Blood… markets?” I repeat.

He exhales through his nose. “It’s the fighting rings that make his territory so popular. It’s also the largest weapons dealership in Gluttony.”

Of course, it is. We couldn’t just meet up for a quick lunch, Universe?

“It draws the worst of Vail,” he continues. “Especially the fighting rings. Rich people who want to bet. People who want to fight and prove something. Or people who just want to watch.”

“Wraths?” I ask.

“Sometimes.” His grip on my hand tightens. “Sometimes other factions. But sometimes…” He hesitates, just for a second. “Sometimes it’s punishment.”

“Punishment? What the hell?” I ask, aghast.

“Hey,” Maddox says, glancing at me. “You wanted to come. I just want you to know what you’re walking into.”

I pull my hand out of his.

“You’re not scaring me off by bringing up fighting, of all things,” I shoot back. “Remember where I’m from?”

“I know you can handle your own, Arwen. I know that you're used to seeing violence. I just hate that you have to. When you're with me, I want things to be better, not worse.”

“You can’t hide the world from me, Maddox. And fighting is in my nature. It’s not only viewed as violence where I come from. But I think that forcing someone to fight as punishment is disgusting,” I add. “Especially the people your brother thinks deserve punishment. Your family isn’t exactly known for their sound moral judgment.”