Keystone City, midnight.
Kairon D. Gale slipped between the shadows of the city, his new home for the next few days. Unlike Central, Keystone City had no flashy heroes or supervillains—just a veneer of normalcy stretched over a simmering underworld. He needed a place to stay, but he wasn't about to leave a trail.
The motel on the edge of downtown was perfect: cheap, rundown, and indifferent. The manager, a balding man with a perpetual frown, sat behind a counter cluttered with old newspapers and a half-empty coffee mug.
Kairon approached, his Sharingan pulsing softly beneath his hood. Even with a single tomoe, the Sharingan's hypnotic power was more than enough for normal, weak-willed people who had never faced life-or-death situations. The manager's eyes glazed over as the crimson tomoe spun.
"Room for a week, no registration," Kairon said, voice low.
"Sure, kid. Room 214. No questions," the manager muttered, his will utterly subdued.
Kairon took the key and disappeared upstairs.
_________________________________________
City Tour
[Sage: Keystone City is structured like Central, but without the overt presence of metahumans. The nightlife is vibrant, but the real power is underground. The city is a honeycomb of secrets, and the underworld is its beating heart.]
Kairon spent the next day walking the streets, letting Sage map the city. He memorized the locations of black-market dealers, pawn shops, and alleys where deals were made in whispers. He learned the rhythm of the city—the ebb and flow of its people, the places where eyes didn't linger, and the spots where trouble brewed.
By nightfall, he had a mental map of every place that could be useful: armories, apothecaries, and the dens of minor gangs. He wasn't here to make friends. He was here to get stronger.
_________________________________________
The Underground Fight club-
With Sage's help, Kairon located the underground fight club. It was hidden beneath a nondescript bar, accessible only to those who knew the right people or had the right skills.
The club was a maze of dimly lit corridors and roaring crowds. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and the metallic tang of blood. Kairon watched a few matches, studying the fighters, their styles, their weaknesses.
He signed up. He needed a recommendation, but he didn't have one. He'd have to prove himself in the preliminaries.
The preliminary round was held in a cramped basement, the walls stained with years of sweat and blood. Kairon stood across from five men, each a veteran of the underground, their muscles corded and their eyes sharp with experience.
No weapons. Just fists and will.
The bell rang.
Kairon moved.
He was a blur, his Amazonian strength and speed overwhelming the thugs. He didn't just beat them—he dominated them, his presence alone enough to cow the others before the first strike. The first man went down with a single strike to the solar plexus. The second, a kick to the knee. The third, a spinning elbow to the jaw. The fourth and fifth barely had time to react before they were on the ground, groaning.
The room fell silent.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. "Who is this guy?" "He's fast." "Too fast."
The selectors, hardened men with scarred faces, exchanged glances. "You're in," one said. "But the preliminaries aren't over. Tournament starts in five days. Wait for your match."
Kairon nodded and left, the eyes of the crowd following him out.
_________________________________________
Location -a run-down warehouse on the industrial outskirts of Keystone City,
Boredom gnawed at Kairon during the days before the tournament. He decided to experiment with his newfound abilities. Through Sage's guidance and Madara's memories, he learned two genjutsu techniques:
Bringer-of-Darkness Technique: The user places a hallucinatory darkness on a target's eyesight, causing them to see nothing but black; it's like being at the bottom of a deep hole. Because the target cannot see, they are very vulnerable to attack.
Demonic Illusion: Hell Viewing Technique: This technique subjects targets to visions of their greatest fear, regardless of whether or not they're aware that they're afraid of it. This "fear" can be something that the target is actually scared of.
Kairon targeted a minor gang, the Iron Fangs, known for smuggling weapons and drugs. Their warehouse was poorly guarded, the thugs inside more interested in their card game than their duties.
He slipped in through a side door, his Sharingan allowing him to move unseen. He decided to make the fight last longer, to test his genjutsu.
He cast the Bringer-of-Darkness Technique on the first thug. The man gasped, clutching at his eyes, screaming that he couldn't see. The others rushed him, but Kairon was already among them. He used the Hell Viewing Technique on the second, who collapsed, whimpering about some unseen terror. The rest panicked, swinging wildly, but Kairon moved through them like a shadow, striking with precision.
The fight lasted longer than it needed to, but Kairon wanted to see how they reacted. He beat them easily, but not before they were left confused, scared, and muttering about things they couldn't describe or understand.
Afterward, Kairon takes everything that could be useful to him. He removed all traces of his presence and planted evidence to blame a rival gang. No one saw him. The minor gang was left scared and confused, their words incoherent, their minds shattered by the experience.
_________________________________________
The five days before the tournament were long. Kairon spent them training, pushing his limits. He practiced enhancement magic, a spell that doubled his physical stats for five minutes—at the cost of draining his stamina twice as fast. The cooldown was twice as long, ten minutes, but the boost was worth it.
He also experimented with enhancing his equipment. His sword, already sharp, became as durable as diamond, its edge as keen as obsidian. He added a neurotoxin to the blade, activated at his command. His ANBU suit, reinforced to absorb damage and provide flexibility, was ready for the tournament.
He spent hours gathering information on the other fighters, the audience, and the organizers. He used his skills and Sage's analysis to find exploitable weaknesses, collecting proof of corruption and secrets that could be useful later.
_________________________________________
The Tournament – location unknown
The day of the tournament arrived. The venue was a massive, circular arena, surrounded by a steel cage and lit by harsh spotlights. The audience, all masked, sat in tiers above the ring, their anonymity complete. The atmosphere was electric, the air thick with anticipation.
The announcer, a burly man with a booming voice, stepped into the center of the ring.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Underground Tournament! Tonight, and for the next five days, you will witness the most brutal, the most skilled, and the most dangerous fighters in Keystone City!"
He paused, letting the crowd roar.
"Let me remind you of the rules. Thirty-two participants will enter the ring. Tonight, sixteen matches, one-on-one. The winners advance to the next stage. Each day, the field will be halved, until only two remain for the final match on the fifth day."
Kairon listened intently. Until now, he hadn't known the exact number of participants or the structure of the tournament.
"Costumes and masks are allowed, but no hidden weapons or abilities. Armor must be light—nothing that gives you an unfair advantage. Each fighter may choose one weapon of their own choosing, but no firearms or modern tech. Only cold weapons are permitted. Powers are allowed, and many of our fighters tonight are powered individuals."
The announcer gestured to the sides of the arena, where small, private rooms were set up for each participant.
"Each fighter will wait alone in their own room until it's their turn. No watching other matches. No outside interference. This is about skill, strength, and survival."
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Kairon changed his mask to a kitsune mask, its fox-like features hiding his identity completely.
Time Skip – Before Match No. 7
Kairon waited in his private room, the muffled sounds of the crowd and the announcer's voice filtering through the walls. He had watched the clock as the hours passed, each match marked by cheers, gasps, and the occasional roar of triumph or despair.
He stretched, flexing his fingers, feeling the weight of his enhanced sword at his side. His ANBU-style suit was snug and comfortable, the kitsune mask resting beside him. He had spent the time meditating, running through scenarios in his mind, and listening to Sage's quiet analysis of the fighters he had glimpsed earlier.
[Sage: You've observed six matches so far. Each opponent has their own style and strengths. Remain alert and adaptable.]
Kairon nodded to himself. He wasn't here for the money, or the fame, or even the thrill. He was here to become something more.
The door to his room opened, and a masked attendant gestured for him to follow.
"Your turn, Raze. Match number seven."
Kairon stood, slipping on his kitsune mask. The time had come.
Match No. 7 –
Kairon stepped into the tunnel leading to the arena, the crowd's roar growing louder with each step. The spotlight found him as he emerged, the fox mask gleaming in the harsh light. His every movement was deliberate, exuding confidence and mystery. The audience's energy surged, their excitement building as they wondered who would face this enigmatic newcomer.
He stood in the center of the ring, absorbing the crowd's roar. The tension mounted, the spotlight burning.
The announcer let the suspense linger, then turned to the opposite entrance.
"And his opponent… will be announced… in just a moment!"
The crowd buzzed with anticipation, their voices a rising tide of speculation and excitement. The spotlight swung to the other side of the ring, where the door remained shut, the identity of Kairon's opponent still a mystery.
Kairon remained still, his mask hiding any hint of emotion. The crowd's energy was electric, the air thick with the promise of violence and spectacle.
The announcer let the moment stretch, then raised his microphone.
"Are you ready… for the fight of the night?"
The crowd erupted, their cheers shaking the arena.
The bell rang.
The door across the ring swung open.
A massive figure stepped into the ring—scars crisscrossing his arms, his eyes burning with the promise of violence. The crowd roared again, their excitement reaching a fever pitch.
Kairon stood in the ring, his opponent across from him, the crowd roaring. He wasn't here for the money, or the fame, or even the thrill.
He was here to become something more.
The air crackled with tension as the two fighters locked eyes, the crowd's roar a deafening wall of sound. The announcer's voice boomed, but Kairon barely heard it. All that mattered was the moment—the anticipation, the thrill, the promise of what was to come.
The bell rang again—a signal, not yet to fight, but to prepare. The crowd held its breath, the arena alive with suspense.
Kairon and his opponent stood ready, the spotlight burning down on them, the world waiting for the first move.
_________________________________________
Tournament Rules & Suit
Tournament Rules:
Masked and Costumed Fighters Allowed: As long as the costume doesn't provide hidden weapons or abilities, it's permitted. The quality or material of the costume doesn't matter.
Weapons Allowed: Only cold weapons. One weapon per fighter. No firearms or high-tech weapons.
Powers Allowed: Powered individuals are welcome.
Armor: Only light armor is allowed. Nothing that gives an unfair advantage.
No Watching Other Matches: Fighters are kept separate to maintain fairness and suspense.
Death is Common: The fights are brutal, and the audience expects blood.
Kairon's Suit:
Design: ANBU-style, black and form-fitting, reinforced for durability and flexibility.
Mask: Kitsune mask, fox-like features hiding his identity.
Weapon: Enhanced sword, as durable as diamond and as sharp as obsidian, with a neurotoxin that can be activated at will.