The air shimmered with the weight of the battle unfolding in the back alley. Streets lay ruined, people collapsed like puppets with their strings cut. Stalls had been torn apart by the sheer shockwaves—makeshift stands barely hanging on.
Yet the stars of the show were still going. Kitae Kim and Shuten-Doji were locked in a gruesome clash, their eyes like beasts fixated on prey. Their fists—unrelenting—kept smashing, kept destroying.
Shuten-Doji dodged by instinct alone, his hair barely grazed by an incoming punch. He glanced at Kitae, who had already pivoted for a rising knee strike. It moved fast—faster than it should have. And yet, Shuten-Doji remained calm.
The calm before a storm.
His body twisted for maximum torque, elbow sweeping down to deflect the knee just enough to misdirect it. The strike grazed off-course. His senses rang out, warning him again. His body twisted mid-motion, hair standing on end as another punch whooshed past—like a turret being fired.
He moved like a beast—an Oni made flesh. His knee surged forward, mirroring Kitae's own form, and crashed into the man's chest. A sickening crunch followed. Something had broken. Blood spattered, Kitae's body painted red, his hulking frame wrapped in shredded fabric barely clinging to him.
But tanking the knee was just a chance to strike.
Kitae's left hand smashed into the Oni's forehead, snapping his head back by inches. Without missing a beat, the air screamed past as Shuten-Doji transitioned into an overhand punch, his momentum carrying through. His dark green eyes gleamed beneath the sunlight. The pressure increased by the second.
Still, neither stopped. They exchanged punches, kicks, knees—strikes aimed at lethal zones. The Adam's apple. The back of the head.
The alley reeked of blood and gore. The concrete was painted black-red, like a corrupted canvas. These weren't fighters. They were monsters. Wounded beasts driven by destruction.
Kitae Kim burned with hatred. His endurance pushed past any peak he'd known. His narrowed eyes locked in, "Not against the one I once thought an insect..."Somewhere amidst the chaos, a twisted laugh echoed—a sharp, manic sound filled with pleasure. It took Kitae a moment to realize it was his own.
Blood pumped faster. He grinned like a madman, even as his body broke.
"To hell with your talents. I—Kitae Kim—will take away every ounce of pride you have!"
His fists rained down like thunder in a monsoon. Yet even now, Apollo—no, whatever Shuten-Doji truly was—tanked the hits. He too was growing. Kitae's eyes scanned the damage. Bruises. Bleeding. A dead hand. A shredded side.
"You're hanging on by threads… I need to target his weak side" he thought grimly.
His own body screamed in response. Sharp pain radiated from his brittle ribs. His once-imposing frame was now a fractured mess. Each breath was a gamble.
But destruction… that was Kitae's path. To destroy hope. Fire. The will to protect. All things worth breaking.
A punch landed square on his jaw. His skull cracked near the edge, vision spinning, head pounding. But still, his arms moved—driven by sheer hatred.
He threw another punch, shoving the Oni back.
Blood poured freely. His stance wavered, barely dodging a follow-up kick. His martial art—a brutal hybrid of Muay Thai and street fighting—twisted and grew with each move.
Vision blurred red. His eyes strained. But even through the haze, he locked onto those dark green eyes.
"It's time to end this," he decided.
Any more and his body would shut down. Using his palm to wipe away the blood, he stumbled back, creating distance.
A hulking mass of blood and muscle, he crouched—gathering strength for his final move. A roundhouse kick. Simple in concept. But with every ounce of his strength, every fracture in his body, he'd make it lethal.
He muttered, voice low and guttural, "Die, you monster."
Ironic.
For once, Kitae acknowledged that he wasn't the only monster.
Sensing the threat, Shuten-Doji shifted—guided by instinct. He prepared his sharpest technique: the 1080-degree kick.
The two monsters stood still for a heartbeat.
Then—swish—the air cracked.
The concrete beneath them ruptured, a crater forming at their feet. Kitae launched his kick. Shuten-Doji met it in mid-air, gravity aiding him as he spun downward—subconsciously tapping into a style he had yet to name.
The earth split. A shockwave exploded outward.
Both men collided midair—legs slamming into each other's flanks. Their bodies flung like ragdolls, silhouettes spiraling through the sky. They crashed into opposite sides of the alley, embedding into debris.
Kitae exhaled, body wracked with pain. He looked down—rubble, blood, and bone. He tried to stand, but his legs gave out, soaked with blood. He crashed down again.
"I... can't get up."
His final judgment.
Eyes locked onto the dust.
Waiting.
And then he saw it.
Not Shuten-Doji.
Apollo.
He was standing.
His eyes had returned to normal—human once more.
Apollo's steps echoed against the ground. Each thud told a story.
Kitae's figure slumped.
Despair seeped in like poison. "All this fighting... all this blood… and I lose? To talent, again?"
But as he looked up at Apollo, for a moment, he didn't see the young man.
He saw someone else.
Gapryoung Kim.
Just a silhouette, but enough to stir the memory.
Then came the laugh. Cold. Oppressive. It rang through the bloodied air.
Kitae laughed like a madman, even as blood poured from his eyes, nose, and mouth. His hatred burned hotter than any flame. His voice trembled with hysteria.
"No despair—no pain is greater than my hatred."
Apollo stood over him. Towering. Silent. Condescending.
But Kitae didn't flinch.
"Apollo," he shouted hoarsely, "no matter what—you either kill me today, or live to regret it."
Even as his voice cracked, even as his body failed him—
Kitae Kim held the darkness of the world in his heart.
And nothing could break the proud lion.