The arena lights dimmed, and the crowd's energy reached a fever pitch.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Jamal's voice exploded through the speakers. "Round Two, Fight Three! This is the one you've been WAITING for!"
The Jumbotron flickered to life, splitting into two panels.
Left panel: A stern-faced man in simple martial artist clothing, head completely shaved, eyes closed in meditation. IRON CLAD WANG. 6'4". 240 LBS. FORMER WAR COMMANDER. SHAOLIN MONK.
Right panel: Disturbing security footage of something massive pacing in a reinforced cell, the image deliberately obscured but unmistakably inhuman. MONSTER. 7'0". 340 LBS. THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME.
"In the blue corner!" Haurang's professional voice cut through the noise. "Standing at six feet four inches, weighing two hundred forty pounds—former military commander turned Shaolin monk—IRON CLAD WANG!"
The blue entrance opened.
Iron Clad Wang emerged with the calm, measured steps of someone who had long since made peace with violence. His head was shaved clean, his face weathered but composed. Dark eyes held a depth that spoke of experience, of battles fought and left behind. He wore simple black baggy trousers and a loose gray martial arts shirt—no external adornments, no ceremony. Just function.
His build was impressive without being showy—broad shoulders, thick arms, the physique of someone who'd spent decades conditioning their body as both weapon and fortress. He moved with the fluidity of a master, each step perfectly balanced, breathing controlled.
The crowd gave respectful noise. This was a professional. A warrior.
Wang reached his starting position and stood perfectly still, hands clasped in front of him, posture upright. His eyes opened, and he looked across the arena with the same calm he'd entered with. No fear. No excitement. Just acceptance.
"And in the red corner..." Jamal's voice shifted, taking on that familiar dark edge. "You KNOW what's coming! The beast that can't be stopped! Ladies and gentlemen—MONSTER!"
A heavy alarm klaxon echoed through the arena—three sharp blasts that made the crowd quiet down, a warning that something dangerous was being transported.
Part of the red section of the arena floor began to descend, a massive platform lowering into the depths below. Mechanical sounds groaned from beneath, hydraulics hissing and chains rattling.
Then the platform began rising again.
What emerged made several people in the crowd inhale sharply.
A reinforced steel cage, the kind used for transporting the most dangerous NovaBreeds. Inside, restrained with what looked like enough equipment to contain a small army, was Monster.
Seven feet of twisted muscle and barely controlled rage. The body was covered in scars—surgical marks, burn tissue, old wounds layered on top of each other. The face had been deformed beyond human recognition, jaw extended with metal reinforcement, teeth filed into points, eyes that held something between animal intelligence and pure suffering.
Heavy restraints covered every part—industrial chains wrapped around torso, arms, and legs. A reinforced collar around the neck with blinking lights and what looked like injection ports. Even the hands were bound in specialized gauntlets.
Eight guards surrounded the cage, all carrying shock batons and maintaining careful distance. Their faces showed the kind of nervous tension that came from transporting something that had killed before and would kill again given the chance.
Monster shifted within the restraints, testing them. The chains groaned. That sound came from its throat—something between a roar and a keen that made instincts scream danger.
But this time there was something different in that sound. Something that hadn't been there in previous fights.
Pain. Clear and unmistakable.
"Now for our betting protocols!" Haurang announced. "Monster is under executive control. All restraints will be released at match start. Security maintains authorization for emergency tranquilization if necessary."
Jamal cuts in "Same as before, anyway skiping all that boring talk"
"Executives and authorized bettors! Betting is officially OPEN! Sixty seconds!"
Throughout the executive sections, tablets activated. Credential cards emerged.
In the fighter section, Lucius sat perfectly still, watching. Not the fighters. The executives.
His eyes found Mike Ross sitting in the executive area, flanked by two uncomfortable-looking assistants. The man was already holding a small remote control, turning it over in his hands with evident satisfaction.
Lucius watched Mike's lips move as he spoke to his assistants. The arena was loud, but Lucius could read lips perfectly.
"...experimental batch... see if the pain response increases combat effectiveness... previous iteration was too mindless..."
One of the assistants said something back. Mike laughed.
"...worst case we lose another one... plenty more where this came from..."
Lucius's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed fractionally.
The betting timer counted down.
:05 :04 :03 :02 :01
"BETTING CLOSED!" Jamal announced. "Let's get this BLOODBATH started!"
The guards worked quickly, using long poles with specialized tools to unlock the cage and remove the restraints. They worked from maximum distance, clearly not wanting to be within arm's reach when those chains came off.
In the arena, Wang shifted into a ready stance—left leg extended back, right leg forward, weight balanced perfectly. His hands came up in a guard position, relaxed but prepared. His breathing remained steady, controlled.
The last restraint fell away.
Mike pressed a button on his remote.
The collar around Monster's neck beeped once. Lights shifted from red to green. The device split open and clattered to the cage floor.
For one long moment, Monster stood perfectly still.
Then it moved.
CRASH!
The cage door exploded outward as Monster burst through it, the reinforced steel buckling like cardboard. The guards scattered, diving out of the way, runing out of the arena.
Monster's eyes locked onto Wang.
And it charged.
The distance closed in a heartbeat—seven feet of muscle and rage covering the arena floor with explosive speed, arms outstretched, mouth open.
Wang's response was immediate.
He stepped forward into the attack, left hand coming up in a deflecting parry that redirected Monster's momentum. His right fist drove forward in the same fluid motion, all his weight behind it.
BOOM!
The impact connected with Monster's abdomen like a sledgehammer. The sound echoed across the arena.
Monster's body launched backward, tumbling through the air, crashing into the sand ten feet away with an explosion of dust.
Wang returned to his stance, hands up, breathing unchanged.
Monster pushed itself up slowly, that pained sound coming from its throat again. It shook its head violently, then looked at Wang.
And charged again without hesitation.
Wang was ready. As Monster closed distance, his left leg swept up in a devastating arc, foot catching Monster under the jaw. The impact lifted the massive body completely off the ground.
While Monster was airborne, Wang's fists moved in perfect synchronization, striking simultaneously and slamming into Monster's chest.
The combined force sent Monster tumbling backward, body rolling across the sand.
But it didn't stop. Didn't pause.
Monster scrambled back to its feet and charged again, driven by something beyond reason.
Wang's eyes narrowed slightly. This creature was relentless. But there was something in the way it moved. The way it sounded.
Monster's right claw came down in a vicious arc.
Wang side-stepped with fluid grace, hands shooting out—left catching Monster's extended arm, right hand coming down in a devastating chop to the back of Monster's neck.
The impact flipped Monster forward. Its body went horizontal.
Wang followed immediately, right fist driving down toward Monster's face before it could hit the ground.
BOOM!
The punch drove Monster into the sand.
Wang pulled back for a second strike.
BOOM!
The sand cratered beneath Monster's head.
Wang pulled back for a third—
Monster's left hand shot up and caught Wang's descending fist. The grip was iron-tight.
Monster's right hand formed a spear, fingers pressed together rigid, driving toward Wang's stomach.
The instant before impact, Wang's entire body transformed. His skin took on a metallic sheen, gleaming like polished iron.
Monster's strike hit Wang's hardened abdomen.
CLANG!
Sparks exploded from the point of impact. The sound of metal on metal rang out.
But the force was tremendous. Even hardened, Wang felt himself being pushed backward, feet skidding across the sand.
Monster released and scrambled to its feet.
Then it started screaming.
Not roaring. Screaming.
Its right arm hung at a wrong angle. Bones visibly broken, the hand twisted. The impact against Wang's iron body had shattered the limb.
Monster grabbed its broken arm and slammed its head against the ground. Again. Again. Skull meeting sand with sickening thuds, that awful screaming mixing with the impacts.
The crowd's cheering faltered. This wasn't the mindless beast from before.
Wang stood in his iron state, watching. His expression shifted from combat focus to something else.
Confusion. Then realization.
"It can feel pain," Wang said quietly. "I thought it was just a mindless monster."
---
FLASHBACK - Thirty Years Ago
A younger Wang—hair still black, face unlined—stood in a command bunker. Tactical displays covered the walls. The organized chaos of war surrounded him.
An officer approached, saluting sharply. "Commander Wang. Intelligence indicates heavy enemy fortification at Grid Seven-Seven. High command requests your tactical assessment."
Wang studied the map. Red markers everywhere. Each one representing enemy forces. Each one representing targets.
"Acceptable casualty projections?" Wang asked, his voice already carrying the flatness of someone who'd stopped counting bodies.
"Command authorization allows up to sixty percent losses if objective is achieved."
Wang looked at the blue markers on his side. Each one a person under his command. People with families. Lives.
It didn't matter. Hadn't mattered for years.
"Understood. I'll lead the assault at dawn."
The officer saluted and left.
Wang stood alone, staring at the map. At all those markers that would be gone by tomorrow.
He felt nothing. That was the worst part. He'd learned to feel nothing.
Because weapons don't feel. They just kill.
---
PRESENT
Wang refocused on Monster, who had stopped slamming its head and was rising again despite the broken arm.
"Pitiful creature," Wang said, genuine sympathy in his voice. "You still suffer. Then I shall show you mercy."
His iron body gleamed as he shifted stance.
"Come. I will end this quickly."
He dashed forward, his right hand forming a blade with his fingers pressed together, aiming for Monster's neck. A clean strike. Quick death.
But Monster's left hand shot up and caught Wang's face mid-dash, wrapping around his head, trying to crush his skull.
Wang felt the pressure even through his iron state.
But his ability didn't just harden him. It made him heavy.
His body dropped like a stone, the sudden weight forcing Monster's arm down. Monster's knee buckled under the unexpected mass.
Wang's hands gripped Monster's wrist, prying the fingers open one by one. He twisted, pivoted, and swung Monster by the arm.
He released at the peak.
Monster flew across the arena, slamming into the barrier wall. The electromagnetic field flared where the body impacted.
Monster slid down and crumpled to the sand.
For a moment it didn't move.
Then slowly it began to rise.
The roaring started again—mixed with that awful pained sound.
Monster charged. The broken arm hung useless, but the left clawed at Wang desperately.
Wang's iron body absorbed the slash. Sparks flew. His shirt shredded, revealing his bare metallic torso.
Another slash. More sparks. The claws scraped across iron skin, cracking and breaking against the defense.
Again. Again. Blood flowing from Monster's own fingers.
Wang caught Monster's wrist mid-slash.
His right hand formed a specific shape—fist closed, middle knuckle slightly extended. He drove the strike forward, aiming for Monster's heart, the extended knuckle punching through skin and muscle.
Monster's eyes went wide.
But before the strike reached deep enough, Monster's leg came up in a desperate kick, catching Wang's chest and pushing him back.
Wang stumbled, his strike interrupted. Blood poured from the wound in Monster's chest, but the heart was intact.
Monster backed away, clutching the bleeding hole, eyes wide with something that looked like fear.
Wang straightened, blood on his knuckle.
"I can only imagine the pain you've endured," he said quietly. "The suffering forced upon you. I must do the right thing."
---
FLASHBACK - Ten Years Ago
Wang stood in a monastery courtyard, newly shaved head, wearing simple robes. The peace was almost overwhelming after decades of violence.
An elderly abbot approached with slow, measured steps.
"The weight you carry is heavy, Brother Wang," the abbot said gently.
"I was a weapon for so long," Wang replied, his voice rough with emotion he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. "I knew nothing but war. Nothing but killing. Can someone like me truly find peace?"
"Anyone can," the abbot said. "But you must choose it. Every day. Every moment. You must put down not just the physical sword, but the one you carry in your heart."
Wang looked at the tranquil monastery grounds. "I want to try."
"Then you have already begun," the abbot smiled. "Welcome home."
---
PRESENT
Wang stood facing Monster, his heart heavy.
He had found peace. Had learned to value life.
But sometimes mercy required violence.
"Forgive me," he whispered.
But in the executive section, Mike Ross was grinning, pressing another button.
In the arena, Monster went completely still.
Its head tilted back. Mouth opened. Then it began to scream—pure agony.
The body started changing. The broken arm snapped back into place with audible cracks, bones healing, flesh knitting together. The chest wound closed.
Muscles expanded further. Claws extended longer, sharper. Eyes lost any remaining awareness, replaced by pure rage.
Wang adjusted his stance.
Monster's head snapped down.
And charged.
The speed was different now. Faster. More feral.
Wang barely raised his guard before Monster was on him, claws slashing in a frenzy from every angle.
Wang blocked, deflected, stepped back. But these new claws were cutting through his iron defense.
A slash across his lower torso drew blood. The claws had pierced through.
Wang dropped to one knee, clutching the wound. Impossible.
Monster's arms came up, fingers interlocked, preparing a hammer blow.
BOOM!
Wang rolled at the last moment. Monster's strike cratered the sand.
Monster spun and launched into another flurry.
Wang dodged, blocked. Each movement precise, drawing on decades of training. But Monster was relentless, each attack more powerful than the last, claws extending further with each swipe.
Wang jumped, planting his foot on Monster's extended left arm, vaulting over its head.
But Monster twisted and grabbed Wang's leg mid-air.
Monster swung Wang like a club, slamming him into the ground. Then dragged him and hurled him toward the barrier.
Monster jumped, intercepting Wang mid-flight.
BOOM!
Both fists came down, driving Wang into the sand.
Dust exploded.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Each impact shook the arena as Monster pounded Wang into the crater.
Wang lay broken, his iron defense cracking. Blood ran from his mouth and nose. Ribs broken, grinding with each breath.
Monster's fists came down again.
Wang caught them, both hands gripping the wrists, straining. But they pressed closer. Closer.
Wang's arms trembled.
The fists pressed closer to his face.
Wang's right hand released, grabbing sand.
The left fist came down.
BOOM!
It smashed into Wang's face, blood spraying.
Monster raised both fists for another strike.
Wang threw the sand into Monster's eyes.
Monster recoiled, clawing at its own face, shredding its own skin trying to clear the sand. Blood poured from self-inflicted wounds.
Wang rolled away, gasping, clutching broken ribs. He forced himself up, staggering but standing.
His iron state flickered but held.
Monster thrashed blindly, blood streaming down its face.
Wang pulled back both hands, palms flat. He brought them together in front of his chest with tremendous force.
CLAP!
The sound was deafening—a shockwave of compressed air that exploded outward with physical force.
Even with the barrier, the crowd felt it. Hands went to ears. Some people cried out.
Monster, right in the center of it, took the full impact. Its hands flew to its ears, the sound destroying its hearing. Blood leaked from its ear canals.
Blind and deaf.
Wang didn't hesitate. His right hand formed that blade shape again, glowing with his iron state. He dashed forward, arm pulled back.
He drove the hand forward like a spear, aimed directly at Monster's heart.
This time the strike went deep. Punched through the chest cavity completely.
Wang's hand closed around Monster's heart.
He pulled.
The organ came free with a wet tearing sound, blood gushing.
Monster fell to its knees, then to the ground.
Wang stood there, holding the heart, breathing heavily.
"It's over," he said quietly.
He dropped the heart and turned to walk away.
Then Monster roared.
Impossibly, it was rising. The chest wound still gaping, blood pouring out, but rising anyway.
Mike Ross leaned forward in his seat, grinning. "Now let's see if this version works better."
Monster's body convulsed. The chest wound began regenerating—not healing, but flesh growing back at visible speed, ribs reforming, heart reconstructing itself.
Monster's body twisted in ways that should be impossible, bones cracking and reforming to accommodate the unnatural regeneration.
It lunged at Wang, trying to bite his neck.
Wang grabbed its upper and lower jaws with both hands, holding them apart.
STAB!
Monster's claws drove through Wang's iron defense and into his stomach.
Wang gasped, blood flowing.
Monster flung him aside and charged in, attacking without pause—claw, bite, claw, bite.
Wang gained his footing, fighting back with desperate precision. They exchanged blows, both landing hits, both bleeding, neither giving ground.
Monster's attacks were pure frenzy now. Wang's techniques were survival instinct mixed with lifelong training.
Finally Wang managed a solid strike that sent Monster flying backward, tumbling across the sand.
Monster scrambled up and charged again.
Wang planted his feet, his body fortifying to maximum. His palms came together in front of him. He began moving them back and forth—washing motion, building momentum, building friction, building heat.
His palms glowed dull red.
The motion continued, faster, the friction intensifying.
Brighter red. The sound of screaming metal filled the air.
Monster jumped, mid-air, claws extended for a final strike.
Wang's palms glowed bright red-hot, sparks flying from them.
He pulled both hands back to his right side, pressed together like a blade.
Then thrust forward.
His hands cut through the air horizontally.
They met Monster mid-flight and tore through flesh and bone, the super-heated strike cauterizing as it cut.
Monster's body split—upper torso separating from lower body in a clean horizontal slice.
Both halves tumbled past Wang and hit the sand on opposite sides.
The arena went silent.
Wang stood breathing heavily, his glowing hands slowly dimming. Blood covered his body—his own mixed with Monster's.
He turned, looking at the bisected corpse.
The upper half was still moving. Arms clawing at sand, dragging the torso forward. That sound still coming from its throat.
Still suffering.
Wang walked over slowly, movements heavy. His iron state dropped except for his hands.
He knelt beside the upper half.
"Although it was cruel," Wang said quietly, placing his left hand on the head, right on the chest, "you can finally rest now."
He closed his eyes, bowed his head slightly.
His hands tightened.
CRACK. CRACK.
Skull and chest shattered simultaneously, rupturing in a spray of blood and bone.
Wang held the position for a moment, head still bowed.
Then released, letting the destroyed remains fall to the sand.
He stood, his iron state dropping completely, turning away from the corpse.
"Amitabha," he whispered. "May you find peace in your next life."
But then he heard it.
A voice. Weak. Breaking. Barely human.
"Mother... is that you, mother...?"
Wang froze.
He turned slowly, eyes widening.
Monster's body was deteriorating.
Not decaying. Changing.
The massive frame shrinking. Twisted muscles smoothing. Deformed face reshaping, metal implants falling away as flesh reformed.
The process took less than thirty seconds.
When it finished, what remained was no monster.
It was a girl. No more than fifteen years old.
Small. Thin. Covered in scars and surgical marks. Young face beneath blood and grime. Dark hair matted with sweat. Her body split in half just as Monster's had been, but now clearly, undeniably human.
A child.
Her eyes—brown, human, aware—looked up at Wang with something like relief.
"We can finally be together now," she whispered, a small smile on her broken face.
Then the light left her eyes.
Wang stood frozen, unable to process what he was seeing.
A child. It had been a child all along.
"MEDIC!" Wang's voice exploded across the arena. "MEDIC! NOW!"
He dropped to his knees beside the body, hands hovering over the split torso, wanting to help but knowing there was nothing he could do.
"No," Wang breathed. "No, no, no. You're just a child. I didn't know—I couldn't have—"
His hands shook. His breathing came in ragged gasps.
Medical personnel rushed in but stopped when they saw the body. Their faces went pale.
"There's nothing we can do," one said quietly. "She's gone."
"DO SOMETHING!" Wang roared, tears streaming down his face. "She's just a child! DO SOMETHING!"
But they couldn't. Nobody could.
Wang knelt in the blood-soaked sand, staring at the girl's body, replaying every strike. Every technique. The way he'd killed her—efficiently, mercifully, completely.
He'd murdered a child.
The arena was silent. Even the bloodthirsty crowd seemed subdued.
---
In the fighter section, Lucius sat perfectly still.
But his face showed something rare.
Recognition. And fury.
His mind flashed back—three years ago. A mission report. A family murdered. A surviving child. Hero XB on the scene. The child pronounced dead shortly after.
Jessie Lin.
That was her name.
Powers manifested violently during trauma. Family killed in the chaos. Survivor taken by a trusted hero.
Who'd sold her. Sold a traumatized child to be turned into a weapon.
Lucius's hands clenched into fists. His jaw tightened. The careful mask slipped, his expression showing an edge of something dangerous.
A voice spoke in his mind.
"Don't get carried away. Remember why we're here."
Lucius closed his eyes, forcing his breathing steady. Forcing the rage down. Back under control.
He opened his eyes and turned, scanning the executive section.
He found Mike Ross.
The executive was standing, looking down at the arena with disappointment. He spoke to his assistants, completely unconcerned.
Lucius read his lips.
"Well, there goes another one. Looks like I'm going to have to find a new toy."
Mike laughed, then turned to leave.
As he turned, one of his assistants glanced toward Lucius. Their eyes met for just a moment.
The assistant saw something in Lucius's expression that made him go pale. He looked away immediately, grabbing Mike's arm and whispering urgently.
But Lucius had already turned away, expression returning to neutral.
In his mind, though, a decision had been made.
Mike Ross was marked.
Not just for him. For all of them.
Mike Ross would die.
It was just a matter of when.
---
In the arena, Wang was being led away by security. He didn't resist. Just walked, eyes empty, face streaked with tears and blood.
Medical personnel covered Jessie Lin's body with a white sheet—though it quickly soaked through with red.
Cleanup crew began their work. Just another day. Just another body.
In the executive section, betting payouts processed. Some celebrated wins. Others cursed losses.
Business as usual.
Jamal's voice came over the speakers, subdued even through his usual enthusiasm.
"Well folks, that was... that was something. Winner by complete obliteration—Iron Clad Wang."
Haurang followed, noticeably quieter. "Wang has been taken into custody pending review of the incident."
"Right," Jamal said. "We've got one more match in three hours! King versus Friday!"
The crowd filtered out, some talking excitedly, others disturbed.
Lucius sat in his seat, not moving, watching the cleanup crew.
Odd sat beside him, silent. Face pale, hands shaking.
"That was..." Odd started, then stopped.
"Wrong," Lucius said quietly. "That was wrong."
"The executive who owned her. He knew."
"He knew."
"And nobody's going to do anything about it."
Lucius was quiet for a long moment. Then stood.
"Someone will," he said simply.
He walked toward the exit, posture controlled, expression neutral.
But inside, the fury was a living thing.
Carefully contained. Carefully controlled.
But very much alive.
And Mike Ross had just moved to the top of a very short list.
TO BE CONTINUED