"A whirlwind of emotion bellows out from Ryan!", the announcer said. The crowd roared in disbelief, their cheers mingling with astonished murmurs. “Look at all the damage he took! It’s amazing how he’s standing!” the announcer exclaimed. It’s more than amazing. It’s a miracle. Hal, the number-one mercenary in the country—revered, undefeated, and feared—is lying on the ground. And Ryan, someone whose only affiliation is with Grandmaster Ryuha, just bested him.

My fingers trembled slightly as I clenched my fists. If I win my fight, I’ll have to face him next. No. He's easier to beat than Lucas. My focus has to be here and now. Lucas is more than a mere beast. He’s a hunter, and I’m his prey. Even if I was able to use my full power, it'd still be tough. It’s clear to everyone that I’m the underdog in this fight. Needle Point could give me an edge. The precision, power, and speed of the technique is my only chance. But it comes with a cost. I winced, imagining the sharp snap of my finger breaking if I overused it. Lucas’ body is as unyielding as steel; too many strikes, and I’d cripple myself before the fight’s end. I’ll have to use it sparingly, only when absolutely necessary.

A groan from the arena caught my attention. My gaze shifted to see Hal being loaded onto a stretcher. The sight brought a dark satisfaction to the pit of my stomach. Serves him right. “And now… for the final fight of the day!” the announcer’s voice boomed. The crowd erupted in wild cheers as my name was called. “Vellin… versus Lucas!” The locker room door creaked open, and Ryan stepped in. His expression was unreadable, but his voice carried a surprising warmth as he said, “Good luck.” He closed the door and disappeared. Him, of all people, saying that? I slapped myself. I keep getting distracted.

"There he is! Vellin and Lucas are entering the arena now! This will decide who faces Ryan in the final round!" The crowd erupted into a cacophony of chants. My heart pounded like a war drum in my chest as I stepped into the arena, the sand crunching beneath my boots. I cracked my neck, trying to work out the tension. If Lucas lands even one kick or punch, it’s over. His power is undeniable. The only advantage I have is his speed, and even that feels tenuous in the face of his overwhelming strength. The announcer shuffled some papers, “The betting is oddly stacked in Vellin’s favor. Sixty to forty. We’re gonna make a lot of money tonight.” Lucas paid no attention to the announcer's remarks. His cold, unrelenting gaze was locked on me, and every step he took seemed to make the ground shudder. The referee stepped forward, raising his arms in an attempt to maintain some semblance of order. “Hey, Lucas, hold it! The match hasn’t even—”

Before he could finish, Lucas brushed past him with a forceful shove, sending the poor man stumbling to the side. The referee staggered but caught himself, muttering under his breath as he dusted off his uniform. “These cocky, rude… whatever.” He straightened up, raised his hand, and counted down quickly, clearly fed up with our antics. “Three… two… one… Begin!”

I angled my arm low, moving it in a deliberate, rhythmic motion, like the arc of a pendulum. The tension in my body must’ve been obvious because his guard is down. He could sense my unease, but that was fine—it played into my plan. I focused intently on his head, the one area he wouldn’t be able to reinforce. My guard stayed low, feet bouncing lightly on the balls of my toes. Lucas advanced. As soon as he stepped into range, I launched a roundhouse kick, aiming for his shoulder. The impact sent a shock up my leg. It was like kicking a wall. Lucas barely flinched, tanking the hit as if it were nothing more than an annoying breeze. My shin wavered from the recoil. He can reinforce nearly instantly! Or was that just his base durability?

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Lucas’s fist came hurtling toward me—a wide, brutal hook aimed squarely at my chin. I managed to duck, weaving back just in time to feel the air whistle past my face. I surged forward, taking advantage of the opening. My fist snapped out twice, lightning-fast strikes landing directly on his face. Lucas stumbled back slightly, blood trickling from his nose in a thin red line. His nostrils flared as he reached up to touch it, the first crack in his seemingly invincible armor. Perfect! He isn’t invincible!

I'm not thinking that.

I’ve just confirmed it—I’m can land easy hits on him. This is the perfect time to use Needle Point. My mind raced with focus as Lucas threw another haymaker, his powerful arm arcing toward me. I prepared my finger. My arm sliced through the air, barreling toward his chest in a blur. Lucas’s hand shot up with alarming precision, catching my wrist mid-strike. His grip was painfully firm. "My brother lives in Het." he said, his voice guttural, a growl that carried a chilling calmness. "He spoke of a man who pierced opponents with his fingers. I asked one of the gate guards about you." Shut up! I struggled to free myself. I swung a fist at his nose, putting every ounce of frustration into the strike, though his face didn’t even flinch. "When you entered the city," he continued, unfazed, "your clothes were bloody. It was only a suspicion… until you pierced that armor one of my favorite blacksmiths made." Was he following me this entire time? His lips curled into a cold, mocking grin as he quipped, "I’m clever too, on top of my strength." He released my wrist and stepped back, his posture shifting as he chambered an attack. The tension in the air became suffocating. His muscles bulged, the veins along his arms pulsing with a ferocity that dwarfed even Hal’s.

Then it came.

His fist drove into my gut with the force of a charging bull, the impact ripping through my body like a thunderclap. My feet left the ground, and for a split second, the world blurred into a haze of pain. My limbs went limp, the strength draining out of me like water from a cracked jar. My vision swam, dark edges creeping inward as my knees threatened to buckle. The sand beneath me seemed miles away, and my breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. Am I going to lose?!

Lucas, to my surprise, didn’t go for another strike. Instead, his massive hand steadied me as I crumpled, and with an uncharacteristic gentleness, he laid me onto the ground. The cool sand beneath me felt like the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control. His figure loomed over me as he turned to the referee and said, his tone devoid of malice, “Call it.” The referee hesitated, glancing at me briefly before raising his hand. But by then, my vision had already begun to fade, the vibrant chaos of the arena melting into a dim, muted haze. My heart pounded sluggishly in my chest, each beat slower and weaker than the last. My body wasn't responding to my will anymore. Just like that, it was over. I was defeated.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump..

Thump, thump, thump..

Thump, thump..

Thump, thump..

Thump..

Ba-dump!