Ronin stood alone now.
Back straight, arms crossed. His eyes weren't moving from the screen ahead—just flicking, tracking, scanning. Coldly. Unbothered. Detached. Aurelia was gone—probably carted off to a healing facility somewhere. And good. If she couldn't take a punch, she had no business here.
Behind him, Rizzo's voice cut the silence like a knife dipped in sarcasm.
"Hope this match doesn't end in one hit. I'm starting to get bored."
Ronin didn't respond. His jaw clenched slightly. Not because of Rizzo. Not because of Aurelia. But because somewhere deep down, he agreed. That silence in his chest when Aurelia got kicked like a broken puppet? That stillness when Brock smiled like a sadistic bastard? That bothered him more than any of this violence.
He hated what he was turning into.
But no time to think about that. The screen flickered. Oren stepped into the ring.
Across from him stood a man Ronin hadn't paid much attention to until now—Harvin. Broad shoulders. Cocky half-smile. Thick arms crossed like he didn't have a care in the world. His red cloak danced with embers from the torches in the arena, and his crimson hair, tied back lazily, framed a face that looked like it belonged to a charming villain.
"You're Oren, right?" Harvin called out, loud enough for everyone in the stands to hear. "I heard your promise to Brock. Very noble. Touching stuff."
He cracked his knuckles, and fire licked around his fingertips lazily like a bored cat stretching.
"So, once I'm done knocking you out, I'll honor your promise in your place. That fair?"
Oren didn't say a word. His glare said enough. Eyes focused. Breathing calm. Arms hanging loose. Controlled. Measured.
The announcer gave a loud clap and voice.
"BEGIN!"
Oren blurred.
In an instant, the arena's dust kicked up as he launched himself like a bullet. But Harvin? He just smiled and spun in place, igniting his entire body in a flare of orange and gold.
A dome of flame bloomed outward like a shockwave. Oren skidded to a halt just before the heat wall hit him, raising his arms in a cross block. He retreated a step, peering through the smoke.
"Hold your horses!" Harvin's voice echoed from inside the blaze, casual and taunting. "We just got started, buddy."
Rocks erupted around Oren's arms and shoulders, coating him like plated gauntlets. Cracks spidered across his skin as his body hardened—stone replacing flesh. Even his legs bulged with rocky veins, giving his footfalls a heavy thud-thud now.
Ronin narrowed his eyes, finally registering their affinities. Earth and fire. Not the best matchup for Oren, considering.
The stone-skinned brawler charged again, this time not caring about the flames licking his arms. His armor cracked and sizzled, but it held. One solid punch—
CRACK.
Harvin didn't dodge.
That grin stayed locked on his face even as his body ragdolled backward from the force of the hit. He hit the ground, bounced once, and slid until his boots scraped the edge of the platform.
Oren was already moving again, fists raised. Another punch. Then another. Rock met bone. Flesh met agony.
WHAM. WHUD. THOK.
Blood splattered.
Back in the winners' lounge, Rizzo was laughing again, arms behind his head. "Brock's in trouble now. That kid's out for blood."
Brock didn't even flinch. Just scoffed. "That soft-ass punch wouldn't even tickle me."
Ronin remained silent.
In the ring, Harvin groaned. His arm bent at a wrong angle, blood dripping from his lip. But he was still smiling. Still smirking.
"You should've stayed on defense," Oren muttered, finally speaking.
Harvin coughed and leaned on one knee. "You're so… young."
Oren tensed.
"You think it's over after three punches and a nosebleed?" Harvin stood, bloody but upright. "Cute."
Then it began.
Without a gesture. Without a chant. Without any visible movement—Oren exploded.
BOOM.
A detonation ripped through his chestplate. His back arched as flames burst from his shoulder.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
One after the other, rapid like a drumline of napalm charges going off under his armor. Stone shattered. Smoke billowed. Oren screamed, his knees hitting the floor hard.
From the side, Harvin just stood there. Arms crossed. Not doing a damn thing.
"What the hell is happening?" one of the contestants muttered in the winners' room.
Nobody answered.
Nobody could.
Except Ronin, who leaned forward, expression shifting from blank to focused. He knew that technique. Not personally. Not yet. But he'd seen something like it before in old rogue mage recordings.
Rizzo tilted his head, still lounging. "Watch carefully, kids."
He pointed lazily at the screen. "That's not fire around the armor. That's fire in it. Harvin's been planting micro-explosives every time he got hit. Didn't dodge on purpose. Each punch? Left a surprise inside the cracks."
Ronin clenched his jaw. That level of control… that precision. He could learn from that.
Back in the ring, Oren collapsed, half his armor gone, his body charred and burned raw.
Harvin approached. Casual. Calm. Still smiling.
"Told you, didn't I? Too immature."
He walked past Oren's body, back turned. Ready for the win to be called.
But behind him—
Crunch.
Oren moved.
Smoke rolled off his back. His left eye was swollen shut. His knuckles were blackened. But his legs were under him. He stood like a dying beast—battered, but not done.
"Stay down," Harvin said, suddenly serious.
Oren didn't reply.
He launched.
No warning.
No scream.
Just one arm pulled back, encased in a boulder-sized rock now. Fused with iron veins. Harvin turned—
Too late.
BAM.
The stone-coated fist caved in Harvin's face. His head snapped back, blood spraying from his mouth. His feet left the ground. He hit the ring and bounced once, twitching.
Both fighters staggered.
But only one fell.
Harvin collapsed face-first.
Oren just stood there, barely. He swayed, chest heaving. Burned skin. Half-formed rocks still hanging from his arm. His breathing was ragged, but the defiance in his eyes hadn't dimmed.
The announcer was stunned silent for a second.
Then finally:
"WINNER: OREN VOSS!"
Back in the lounge, Rizzo clapped slowly.
"Now that was a match."
Ronin nodded slightly, arms crossed again. He didn't say it, but he agreed. This was a damn fight. And Oren had guts. Not clean. Not strategic. But gutsy.
Moments later, Oren stumbled back into the lounge, burnt and trembling.
Ronin moved toward him and caught him by the arm, supporting him back to their spot.
"You alive?" Ronin muttered.
Oren wheezed a laugh. "Barely. Just… need to rest."
Ronin didn't say anything, but in his head, he doubted that'd be enough. The next round was in one hour.
And Oren looked like he'd just crawled out of a volcano.