The referee raised my hand high into the air, "Winner, Luca–" But before the final syllable left his lips, a ripple of gasps spread through the crowd. Vellin, battered and broken, rose, defying logic itself. His head tilted up, and his eyes locked onto mine with focus. The audience erupted, their cheers swelling with admiration for his unyielding resolve. A low tremor ran through the ground as he steadied himself, and the dust that clung to the air began to vibrate, circling him like a warning. His presence was suffocating, a cold weight that pressed against my chest. I clenched my fists and cracked my knuckles, the sound sharp and deliberate as it cut through the noise. "You should've just stayed down," I said. "I don't think I can win without killing you now."

He gave no response, no sign of acknowledgment. His face remained an emotionless mask, devoid of pain or hesitation, as though he were carved from stone. Does he think he's cool? That blank stare felt unnervingly hollow, as if his body moved on instinct alone. His form blurred. One moment, he lay crumpled on the ground; the next, he vanished in a streak of motion, his previous position now marked by a shallow imprint in the dirt.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the faintest flicker of movement. I raised my guard just in time to block a ferocious hook aimed at my temple. The force reverberated through my arms, and I had to reinforce my stance to stay grounded. His speed... it had increased even further?! My eyes darted to him, but the sharp sting in my arm made me realize too late—my bicep had been slashed, blood dripping down in crimson streaks. My gaze locked onto his hand, his fingers forming a sharp pointer. So, that finger trick wasn’t his only secret?

He seized my wrist with an iron grip and unleashed three rapid punches straight to my nose. I struggled to react, my reflexes lagging behind. If he kept targeting my face like this, I wouldn’t last much longer. Wait a moment. This isn’t bad—this is an opportunity. A grin spread across my face as I mirrored his grip, locking onto his wrist. My voice carried a mocking edge, "You shouldn't get up close with me!" I threw a feinted overhand, baiting him with what looked like a desperate strike. In truth, my real aim was an uppercut from below. As I shifted my weight to deliver the blow, a sudden, sharp prickle shot through my wrist tendon. The pain forced my grip to weaken, and I instinctively released him.

Vellin capitalized instantly, weaving past my interrupted uppercut with unnerving fluidity. He leapt onto my extended fist, balancing on his toes as if gravity had no claim on him. His movement was almost surreal. Then, with a snap of his body, his leg shot out, his foot crashing into my face with pinpoint accuracy. The impact sent a jolt through my skull, and I staggered back. My vision swam for a brief moment, and I clenched my teeth and planted my feet. I have to end this now.

I snapped my fist back, pulling it away just as Vellin lost his footing, the ground beneath him momentarily vanishing. Without hesitation, I reinforced my arm, putting every ounce of strength into a devastating overhand strike aimed to crush his defense. The force behind the punch was undeniable—but so was his reaction. Vellin caught my fist in his left palm. The sharp crack of bones echoed loudly. Got him! Or so I thought. He shifted unnaturally, balancing precariously on my extended arm. Suddenly, a searing pain tore through my forearm as his hand slashed across it. The cut was deep, and the white gleam of bone flashed beneath the torn flesh. My mind reeled.

How is he doing this? This wasn't ordinary movement—it was primal, you can't study this. The fluidity, the adaptability—it reminds me of Toda! He swung himself along my arm like a pendulum, his momentum building as he launched a brutal kick to my chin. My head snapped back violently, stars dancing in my vision. The sheer force left me staggering. I’m... getting overwhelmed. Every strike, every move—instinct elevated to a terrifying level! I swung my arm violently, dislodging him at last. He flipped through the air with unnatural grace, his body twisting mid-flight before landing silently. I flexed my torn forearm, the fibers knitting together just enough to restore some functionality.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

My vision blurred, the edges fading into a haze as exhaustion and blood loss began to take their toll. Vellin moved forward, unhurried and deliberate, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. The calmness in his approach.. is that even the right way? Guards should be up at all times! With this idiotic decision made, I can land a hit! Just one is needed! Clenching my teeth, I launched a desperate right straight, putting everything into the strike. Vellin twisted his head slightly, letting the blow slice harmlessly past him. I immediately followed with a wild, off-kilter left hook, hoping the unpredictability would catch him off guard. Yet again, he evaded effortlessly, leaning forward at just the right angle to make me miss. No... no, this just isn’t possible!

Out of options, I crouched low and hurled a handful of sand from the ground into his face. If nothing else, it would buy me time. But Vellin didn’t even blink. The grains scattered uselessly across his face as he continued his slow, relentless march toward me. Desperation turned into resolve as I tightened my fist harder than ever before. It hurts, but it's needed! This is it! This is the peak of Reinforcement! If I land this, it’s over. I’ll blow his head clean off. My body screamed in protest as I cocked my arm back, the muscles tearing further under the strain.

Vellin broke through the lingering dust cloud like a specter, faster than I could process. His leg snapped out, a precise kick to my cocked fist, deflecting it upward. My arm twisted painfully, revealing the exposed gash in my forearm, the raw sinew glaring back at me. For a brief, horrifying moment, I saw his eyes—completely red from the dust. His next movement blurred into a streak. I barely registered the motion until the searing pain erupted, sharper than anything I had ever felt. I staggered backward, numb and in shock, only to see it—the impossible, horrifying truth. My arm lay on the ground in front of me, severed cleanly. Blood pooled beneath it.

A blood-curdling scream tore from my throat as agony coursed through my body. My severed arm bled profusely, the reinforcement technique I had used now turning against me, amplifying the blood loss. Dropping to my knees, I clutched desperately at the gaping wound, my fingers slick with my own blood. I need to stop the bleeding... I have to stop it, or I'll... My vision swam as my strength waned. A shadow loomed over me. I looked up just in time to see Vellin’s foot, his expressionless face not about to show me mercy.

I shouted, "I surrender! I surrender, please!!" My voice cracked. The referee’s voice rang out, urgent. "This match has ended! Vellin, you won! Stop!" He sprinted toward us, an admirable attempt to intervene. But I knew—deep down, I knew—it wouldn’t matter. None of us could stop Vellin now. He wasn’t just fighting; he was consumed, driven by something, something that was just a part of him. Vellin raised his hand high, his fingers poised in that deadly spear-like form. The sunlight behind him bent and fractured, casting long shadows that made it seem as though the sun was cleaved in two. I froze, my body unable to move.

This is it. This is how I die?

A massive arm shot into Vellin's face with the speed and power of a transcended being. Wind ripped some spectators clothing. Vellin’s body was hurled downward like a meteor. His head smashed into the ground, the impact creating a massive crater that swallowed dust nearly reaching the concrete beneath. The rampage, as sudden as it had begun, was over in an instant. Standing over the destruction was... the Demon Buddha. His hand, still outstretched, retracted slowly as his gaze never moved away from Vellin.

He caressed his abs, which were cut, "So I was right... you're their kid."