The air in the arena was thick enough to taste. Fredric's knuckles were split open, blood smearing his wrists, but the pain was a distant thing. His chest burned with every gulp of air, and his own heartbeat was a drum in his ears, drowning out the crowd.
Lyric stood opposite him, calm. Serene, almost. Like he already knew how this ended. That look made Fredric see red.
Lyric moved first—a blur. Fredric got an arm up, blocking the punch, but the follow-up kick slammed into his ribs. He wheezed, stumbling back. The crowd roared, but it was muffled, like hearing it from underwater.
He swung back wild, a haymaker that connected with Lyric's jaw with a wet crack. Lyric's head snapped sideways. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. But his expression didn't change. His eyes stayed cold, dead-fish cold.
They crashed into each other again, a tangle of limbs. No technique left, just animal instinct. A fist to Fredric's gut drove the air from his lungs. He answered by slamming his forehead forward—felt the sickening crunch of Lyric's nose breaking. Blood sprayed hot across Fredric's face. Both of them were swaying on their feet now, unsteady.
Fredric's vision swam in and out. Everything was pain. But he couldn't stop. He wouldn't.
Lyric lunged again. Fredric twisted, the punch grazing his temple, and he retaliated with a desperate, full-bodied shove and a punch that sent Lyric staggering back, off-balance. For a second, Lyric seemed to hang in the air before he crashed to the floor with a heavy, final thud.
They were both standing, barely, chests heaving. Two wrecked faces staring each other down.
Then they moved at the same time.
One last, messy collision. A thud. A gasp.
Then silence.
When it was over, they were both on the ground. Wrecked.
Chronos's voice cut the quiet. "Match over. Both fighters are down."
Fredric didn't move. The world faded to black.
His last thought was a fuzzy image of Rafael.
'Raf… hope you were paying attention.'
***
[ Rafael POV ]
Rafael blinked.
They were both down.
Just like that.
The crowd erupted—a wall of sound, screams folding into thunder. But Rafael barely heard it. His eyes locked on the stage, on Fredric's body sprawled across the metal floor, unmoving. Lyric lay beside him, equally broken.
He gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. Fredric wasn't moving.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath. He didn't know if it was awe, fear, or something else entirely. "You really went that far…"
Medics flooded the Cage, stretchers flashing through the chaos. The steel shimmered with the dull sheen of blood. Rafael couldn't look away. Fredric had been arrogant. Loud. Brutal. And he had proven every word true.
He'd done it.
Rafael's hands trembled. Still clean. Still untested. His heart hammered an uneven rhythm. His stomach twisted.
He wasn't there yet. Not even close.
A faint smile ghosted his lips. "One day," he whispered, not sure if he believed it.
The lights dimmed, drawing the noise to a sudden hush. Then, a voice boomed across the Cage:
"Next match—Rafael and Zack."
The words hit him like a physical blow. His breath hitched. Across the way, Zack was already swaggering toward the stage, that smirk of his looking meaner than usual. His Azure emblem caught the light, gleaming like fire against cold steel.
"Try not to make this pathetic," Zack said without turning. "I hate cleaning up weaklings."
Rafael didn't answer. His throat was dry, his palms slick. The crowd's murmurs buzzed like static around him, fading into one long, heavy hum. He stepped onto the platform, feeling the faint vibration under his boots. The Cage's metal floor thrummed like something alive—watching, waiting, judging.
The voice echoed - "Begin."
Zack didn't wait.
The first kick was a surprise. It thudded into Rafael's leg, high up. A jolt of pain lit up his nerves. His leg buckled, and he almost went down. He caught his balance by luck, stumbling to the side. He threw an elbow out wildly, without thinking. It smacked into Zack's side, not solid, but it was a hit.
For a second, Rafael felt a spark. He'd done something.
Zack just grinned. "Cute."
Then he was on him again.
A fist hooked into Rafael's ribs. He gasped, the air rushing out of him. Another hit landed on his shoulder, heavy and dull. Rafael tried to move, to block, but he was slow. Everything felt delayed. He ducked a swing, but another one caught him on the arm. It stung, a deep, throbbing kind of hurt. He was just taking hits.
Don't fall. Don't you dare fall.
He forced himself to watch Zack. The way his shoulder twitched before a punch. The little shift of his feet. The look in his eyes. He remembered stuff, bits and pieces from watching others fight.
Joe taught him to wait, to let the other guy wear himself out. Luna showed him how to move, to not just stand there. Fredric was all about taking it, about not breaking when it hurt.
Rafael wasn't great at any of it. But he tried. His body moved in a clumsy, broken way. He blocked a punch, then sort of tripped out of the way of another. He threw a jab back. It barely touched Zack's chin, but it was something.
Small wins. They added up.
He was starting to see it. A little inhale before Zack charged. A drop of the shoulder before the big right hand. He was still slower, still getting hit, but he wasn't completely blind anymore.
Then a hammer-like blow crashed into his collarbone. White light exploded behind his eyes. He cried out, staggering back. His knees went soft. The crowd's noise turned into a distant ring in his ears.
He blinked, swaying. The world came back into focus.
Zack wasn't smiling now. The cocky look was gone. His face was serious, his eyes narrowed. He was watching Rafael like he was actually something to worry about.
Rafael's body was one big ache. His lungs heaved. His vision was blurry at the corners. But the pain... it was different now. It was telling him things. Showing him what not to do next time. His body was learning, even if his brain was scrambled.
He wasn't trying to win a fight. He was trying to survive it. To learn from it. To prove he wasn't just some nobody.
He sucked in a ragged breath and got his feet under him.
Zack raised his hands again, his body coiled and ready.
Rafael settled into his sloppy stance. The shaking in his arms stopped. The fear was still there, but it was quieter now. Every bruise was a lesson.
They looked at each other across the space.
One second.
Then two.
Zack exploded forward. Way faster than last time.
Rafael saw the fist coming. A straight right. He knew it was coming.
But his body was just too tired, too slow. He tried to move his head.
He was a fraction of a second late.