Ryan shouted, his voice hoarse and filled with disbelief, "Don't tell me… you too?!" I chuckled, the sound low and steady, "Yeah. It’s on now." I drove my shoulder into him.. He skidded back slightly but didn’t stumble like he usually did. Instead, he pivoted gracefully, balancing on the balls of his feet, maintaining an aggressive posture that seemed sharper, more refined. His eyes took on the form of a dragon. I didn’t hesitate. My fist slammed into his face, the contact sharp and brutal, twisting his head to the side. He absorbed it without faltering, retaliating immediately with a swift side kick to my chest. The impact reverberated through my ribcage like the echo of a drumbeat. That’s... quite strong. Ryan spun on his heel, dropping low as he launched a leg sweep, his foot slicing through the air toward my ankles.

I reacted instinctively, lifting my leg and pushing his attempt away with the sole of my foot, the collision sending a shock through both of us. Ryan twisted his body, impossibly agile, and curled his leg over his shoulder, launching a kick from an angle that defied reason. His back arched like a bowstring, his body bending in a way that made him look like a bridge stretching toward the ground. What flexibility. I ducked under the kick and immediately went for a right straight, my fist shooting out like an arrow. Ryan is a true master, now, though. He flipped mid-motion, twisting with an acrobatic grace that would have impressed a dancer, and extended his right arm toward me. His fist was aimed directly at my jaw. I raised my forearm just in time, blocking the strike. I'm a master too. He’s never used his fist before. That’s... interesting.

I raised my fist, a confident smirk tugging at my lips. "How about you fall down already?" Without waiting for a response, I threw a sharp right jab, grazing him across the cheek. The impact wasn’t heavy. Whatever this evolution was, it changed us. My speed had increased, at least threefold compared to what it was back in Het. I could feel it coursing through me like electricity. Ryan retreated, his feet moving in quick, calculated steps as he backed away. I'm not about to let you off that easily. I pursued, my fists blurring into a relentless storm of punches, each strike faster than the last as I hit my rhythm. Ryan managed to dodge a few, his body twisting and turning as he sidestepped with precision. But not all of them. My fists were finding their mark, leaving bruises blooming across his torso like dark flowers.

I could see the strain on his face, the slight tremor in his limbs. I bet you’re feeling it now! He shifted tactics, using his shoulders to deflect my punches. He rolled his shoulders expertly, guiding my attacks off their intended course. Frustration simmered, but I kept my focus. Then, like a viper, Ryan slipped under one of my swings and drove his foot into my neck with startling precision. The impact was solid, aimed to stagger me. I cracked my neck, air inside my bones popping. "I spent years training my neck." His stomach was exposed. I swiveled on my heel, unleashing a heavy hook aimed directly at his midsection. My fist drove into his gut. Ryan coughed, saliva spraying from his lips as he doubled over, hunching forward.

Ryan collapsed his knee, and with a sudden burst of speed, he stamped his foot into my thigh. The force was precise, brutal, and I staggered back, the sharp jolt forcing me to recoil. I gritted my teeth, steadying myself as the ache radiated through my leg. My eyes flicked up, narrowing with realization. That’s how we’re playing? That move was banned in combat sports for good reason—it was designed to cripple.

I swiped the air with a feint, a quick motion to throw him off. Ryan instinctively shifted, his body reacting to the threat. That was the opening I needed. Lunging forward, I used both hands to grab his ankle, feeling the strength in his leg as it struggled against my grip. With a growl, I twisted, spinning in a wide circle with him in tow. My momentum increased, and soon the air around us whirled into a violent tornado, the sheer force of it pulling the sand into swirling chaos. I released him at the peak of the spin. Ryan’s body hurtled, skidding across the sand as he crashed to the ground. The gritty grains clung to his reopened wounds, turning dark crimson as blood mixed with dirt. His clothes tore under the strain, shredding further as he slammed into the wall with a bone-rattling impact, arms and legs splayed wide like a broken doll. For a moment, silence hung in the air, the sound of the wind dying down.

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Then, with feral hate, Ryan leapt off the wall. His body twisted, spinning like a human drill. The sheer force behind his spin was ascendant, creating a whirlwind of power that rivaled the strongest fighters in the world. His movements were a blur, each rotation faster, sharper, as if he were the embodiment of a storm. I quickly calculated his trajectory and velocity, tracking the rhythm of his spiraling descent. There! I leapt into the air, positioning myself just above the spinning drill, my body arching. He left himself wide open. His blind spots were obvious now, exposed in the frenzy of his attack. I tightened my middle finger, pressing it against my thumb. My most lethal technique divinely executed;

Needle Point.

I pierced his heart, driving my fingers downward. Ryan’s body convulsed, his legs twisting under him as the force of the blow sent shockwaves through his frame. We crumpled to the ground together, the impact sending dust swirling around us. I knelt over him, watching as blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. Ryan’s eyes locked onto mine, filled with pain and betrayal, as though I had wronged him in the worst way. He coughed, spitting out more blood, and his arm trembled, curling toward his chest. His jaw clenched tight, and with a raw, desperate yell, he roared, "Die!!" The punch he launched was fierce, mesmerizing in its intensity. It wasn’t just strength—it was his very life force. His fist, fueled by pure will, seemed to carry the weight of everything he had left. I braced myself, guarding instinctively, ready for the impact. Fortunately, his eyes closed mid-swing, and his fist faltered, whiffing through the air. The man known as Ryan collapsed, his fist falling to his side, still balled tightly, even in death.

For a moment, there was only silence. The announcer didn’t declare the fight’s end, as if the conclusion felt too bitter, too raw. The crowd shifted uncomfortably, their gazes filled with disapproval and confusion. Murmurs rippled through the stands, discontent simmering. I stood slowly, chest heaving, and turned to face them, raising my voice. "This is a warrior! A warrior who fought with everything he had!" My voice rang out, hoarse but defiant. "He used techniques that could’ve killed me if they had landed right! I could've died too. This arena is not a place for show—it is a place where death occurs daily!" I clenched my fist in frustration, trembling with emotion. "I will remember this man for the rest of my life. Will you? Look at his fist—it’s still balled! Do not disrespect his memory by desecrating the very thing he died for!"

My voice heaved as I shouted the final word, "Martial arts!"

A hush fell over the crowd until an old man’s voice, clear and steady, broke the silence. "Well said, son!" Heads turned as a short, bald man with a white beard leapt gracefully from the viewing stands, landing in the sand with an aura so powerful it seemed to weigh down the air around him. His presence was overwhelming, radiating authority and speed. He approached with measured steps, cradling Ryan’s lifeless body in his arms as though holding something precious. His voice was calm, yet commanding. "I am his master, Ryuha. I do not blame Vellin for giving him a warrior’s death." He lifted Ryan effortlessly, holding him as one would a fallen hero. As he turned to leave, he glanced back at me, his expression unreadable but respectful. "Thank you, Vellin, for giving me the battle data I needed." I watched him walk away, my muscles still tense, eyes wary.

I turned my gaze to Caleb, ready to challenge him. He reached for something from his special seating section. My eyes followed his movements, and my instincts were already primed for action. With a powerful grip, Caleb lifted a massive mallet, made of darksteel. He swung it effortlessly in a wide arc, the sound of the impact vibrating through walls as he struck a colossal gong adorned with a yellow sun symbol. The deep, resonant tone of the gong gave many hearing damage. Caleb’s roar followed, raw and commanding. "I’ve seen enough! I’m making an exception!" His voice carried over the stands, forcing the crowd to quiet.

He turned to me with a sly grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Vellin has won the Burnout Tournament, and is now the Fifth Flame—title: Piercing Serpent!"