Orrin's head snapped sideways as he staggered back, spitting saliva mixed with blood onto the dirt.
Orrin: "Tch!"
Loma stepped forward, his voice cold and cutting.
Loma: "Fight me, you idiot. I'm Loma, No.1 of Crimson Eclipse."
Orrin's lips curled into a twisted grin.
Orrin: "I will be more than happy to devour you."
Narration:
Orrin, Fang's No.5. His tools of choice—two cold metal sticks, swung with precision and malice.
The clang of steel echoed as Orrin lunged, one stick sweeping upward in a deadly arc. Loma sidestepped, the strike slicing air just inches from his face. The second stick lashed out, but Loma's forearms snapped up like steel, catching it clean. The sound of the clash rang sharp—CLANG!
Orrin (thinking): What—?! He's holding both?
For a split second, his mind froze.
[Flashback]
Kael's voice echoed in his skull.
Kael: "Orrin, do you know why you're only No.5?"
Orrin: "…Why?"
Kael: "Because you can strike hard… but you can't take a hit."
[Back to present]
Loma's eyes sharpened. He released the sticks and stepped inside Orrin's guard with terrifying speed. His fist shot upward—CRACK!—an uppercut that snapped Orrin's head back, followed instantly by a savage hook that smashed across his jaw.
Orrin's body went limp as he collapsed to the ground, blood spraying as he hit the dirt.
Loma: "Tchh—"
The battlefield erupted—screams, roars, and the pounding of fists and feet filled the core of the Crimson Eclipse vs Fangs war.
[On Ryn and Sylven's front]
Ryn dropped another Fang with a sharp flurry, his knuckles bloody.
Ryn: "Is that all you've got!?"
From the shadows, a figure stepped forward—the chains in his hands rattling, glinting under the light.
Dalen: "No… you'll have me next."
Narration:
Dalen. Fang's No.4. A chain-wielder whose strikes coil and snap like a serpent.
Ryn's eyes locked onto him, a grin flashing.
Ryn: "Seems like a good opponent."
Dalen: "Yeah… I'll make sure to end it instantly."
The chain cracked like a whip as he lashed it forward, the sound slicing through the chaos—SNAP!
Sylven, on another side of the fight, stepped through the bodies with cold precision. His eyes found Taron.
Taron: "Sylven… you traitor."
Taron lunged with a vicious uppercut, but Sylven slipped it effortlessly, his movement too fast for the eye.
Taron (thinking): He's so fast…
Sylven's shin crashed into Taron's leg—THWACK! His knee buckled instantly.
Sylven: "Watch your legs."
Before Taron could recover, Sylven's cross smashed toward his face, only for Taron to fire back with a desperate counter-cross. Sylven slipped again, flowing like water, and SNAP!—his right hook crushed Taron's jaw sideways.
Sylven's voice cut through the air, cold and sharp:
Sylven: "There's a reason I was No.2."
Narration:
Taron. Fang's No.3. A pure boxer… but tonight, his fists are outmatched.