Sorren's laughter only grew— sharper, more unhinged— as he rose to his feet, one hand still clutching his face. Both of his arms twisted, bones and flesh warping into long, glistening blades. His eyes, once dull and distant, snapped into razor focus.
Jhenga didn't run.
He planted his feet, jaw tight, spine straight, meeting the oncoming monster head-on.
The first clash kicked up dust.
The second tore loose chunks of stone.
The third shook the entire arena.
Jhenga's body—toughened, hardened through years of training—refused to give. He thought metal alone couldn't break his skin.
He was almost wrong.
His instincts yanked him aside a split second before Sorren's blade speared through where his skull had been, scraping a thin red line across his cheek.
"Blood." Sorren murmured, smiling wide.
Jhenga shot upward, punching the air so hard it detonated a compressed vacuum. The force snapped downward, slamming Sorren through the stadium tiles with a thunderous crack.
The First Step.
The Heavenly Cloud's toll became visible—thin cuts opened like paper tears across Jhenga's skin. Still, he dropped like a hammer, his fist driving into Sorren's gut and burying him even deeper into the ruined floor.
If the announcer didn't know better, he would have called the fight right there.
But the fight had only begun.
The dust trembled.
Then— the tendrils.
Dozens of them, translucent chi-made abominations with gnashing mouths at their tips, shot upward before plunging back into the cloud.
The crowd screamed— they'd seen this before. They knew what it meant.
Then came Jhenga's screams.
When the dust cleared, the tendrils were revealed, sprouting from Sorren's back. They held Jhenga aloft like prey, wrapping around him, gnawing at his chi, draining him dry. His body shriveled in seconds, the Heavenly Cloud fading from his fading limbs.
And on the ground below, Sorren began to change—color filling his skin, his sunken face swelling with stolen vitality.
Before the last drop was taken, Jhenga tore himself free with sheer will, unleashing a barrage of punches so fast his fists ignited with flame.
The Second Step.
Sorren was blasted backward, skidding across the arena like a ragdoll.
He lay still.
One moment.
Two.
Then he rose—slowly—tilting his head back to look at the sky.
A single tendril sprouted from his spine, thicker than the rest, opaque with condensed chi. Mouths bubbled across its surface, drooling, snapping hungrily at the air.
Jhenga staggered, breath ragged, clutching his arm— now thin, almost lifeless.
What the hell is up with this freak? He's actually going to kill me.
Regret pooled in his gut.
Sorren's right hand sharpened into a blade again as he took one slow step...
then another...
and another...
Stalking his prey.
"I won't die here!"
Jhenga roared it so loudly the arena itself seemed to flinch. His aura burst outward again—not as violently as before, but enough to distort the air around him. Chi ignited along his legs, white-hot, and he blitzed forward, faster than any of his previous charges.
He struck Sorren.
Then struck again.
And again.
Every blow landed.
None mattered.
Sorren stood perfectly still, letting Jhenga pummel him, smiling as if the hits were gentle taps. That smile— too calm, too entertained— sent something cold crawling up Jhenga's spine.
He clasped his hands together, preparing a point-blank blast meant to end the fight—
—and froze.
In the instant their chi touched, Jhenga saw it: his own death. His body split neatly in half. A vision so vivid he swore he felt the pain of it.
He leapt back in panic.
But Sorren's warped chi-tendril—now forming a thick, tail-like appendage—lashed after him. Mouths opened and closed along its length, snapping hungrily, each bite aimed to tear a chunk of flesh from him.
Jhenga darted left, then right, weaving between the snapping maws while Sorren chased him with a blade meant to cleave him in two.
A gap.
Jhenga took it—driving his heel into Sorren's temple with enough force to rattle his skull. Sorren's iris visibly wobbled inside his eye socket as his brain jostled.
Jhenga charged again.
His hands came together— thumbs up, pinkies outward. The air warped and rippled around him, pulled toward his palms. Chi converged, crushing inward until the pressure became unbearable.
Then it emerged.
A gigantic, roaring chi-avatar of a white shark manifested, jaws wide, swirling violently around Jhenga's frame. The crowd felt the wind of its presence. The proctors rose to their feet, unease tightening their faces.
Sorren's eyes went wide—not with fear, but with infatuation. A delighted shiver ran through him.
"Magnificent~"
"LAST RIDE!" Jhenga screamed.
The Final Step.
The shark lunged in a blinding flash of white light, its roar shaking the entire stadium. Dust exploded upward in a tidal wave. Debris slammed against the barrier protecting the audience. Every spectator shielded their ears, the sound shredding through the arena like the tearing of the sky.
Then—silence.
Dust swirled.
But the dust wasn't just dust.
It shimmered with a dark, unnatural purple chi— nature's chi, corrupted and hungry. The swirling mass was pulled inward, consumed by a force at the center.
As the haze thinned, the shape standing there became clear.
Sorren.
Unharmed.
Smiling.
His coat hung in shredded ribbons. The monstrous tail had retracted into his back. Beneath the tatters he wore only a clinging black shirt, torn at the seams, black sweats, and combat boots—yet he looked renewed.
The skeletal husk that entered the arena was gone.
In its place stood a man rebuilt—lean, cut, almost muscular. His violet eyes glowed with new vitality, wild and feverish. A single bead of blood rolled from his nostril.
And his smile...
Deranged. Ecstatic. Alive.
Jhenga stared down at his shriveled arm— withered, useless. With a snarl he tore it off in one brutal motion, blood misting the air as he roared in defiance. The crowd gasped; the arena felt like it was holding its breath.
Both fighters surged forward.
Sorren didn't bother reshaping his arm this time. He charged in with bare fists, but his whole body writhed unnaturally—muscles pulsing, bone-like spikes sprouting from random points without rhythm or purpose, like something inside him was evolving mid-fight.
Or trying to get out.
They met in a storm of blows.
Jhenga's strikes, refined through years of discipline, hammered against Sorren's raw, feral talent. But with every punch Jhenga threw, Sorren's responses sharpened. He was adjusting—adapting. Reading him. Reacting with inhuman precision.
Then Sorren abruptly hopped back, eyes glowing, grin widening.
"Ah, that's it," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "You can't manipulate chi anymore, can you? You're all out of juice."
Jhenga, bruised and barely able to catch his breath, wiped a streak of sweat from his brow.
"Shut it, demon. If this is your full power, I'll have your head."
Sorren laughed, almost offended. "Woah, mate—this is supposed to be a friendly tournament!"
His smile sharpened. His voice dropped.
"And you must be dumber than I thought... if you think this is my full power."