The entire arena trembled.
Dust fell like rain.
For a moment, everything stilled.
Draven stood pressed against the barrier, unmoving.
Then he straightened.
His crimson eyes lifted.
"…Gravity."
A figure stood ahead.
The green-eyed man.
Unmoved.
Already walking forward.
No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Before Draven could fully push off the barrier, the man was already there.
His fist came first.
Draven tilted his head.
The strike missed by inches and shattered the barrier behind him instead.
**BOOM.**
Shockwaves rippled outward.
Draven's eyes narrowed slightly.
Five-star mana user.
Three-star gravity rune.
The man moved again.
Faster.
The ground beneath his feet cracked—not from impact, but from weight alone.
Draven shifted to respond.
But his body felt slightly heavier.
Not obvious.
But enough.
The next punch landed.
**THUD.**
Draven was launched again, skidding across the arena before crashing into the ground.
Stone exploded outward on impact.
The man didn't hesitate.
He closed the distance instantly and struck again.
Draven rolled, narrowly avoiding the follow-up—
but not entirely.
The fist caught him and drove him into the ground.
**BOOOOOOM.**
The arena floor collapsed inward, cracks spreading in all directions.
Dust swallowed everything.
Silence followed.
For half a second.
Then the man's eyes widened.
Something was moving in the crater.
A hand rose.
Gripping his arm.
Tight. Unyielding.
Draven stood beneath the dust, blood at the corner of his mouth, eyes locked onto him.
The man reacted instantly, swinging his free arm.
Draven's leg shot upward and struck his stomach.
**THUD.**
Air burst from his lungs.
At the same time, Draven caught the incoming punch with his remaining hand.
The impact was brutal.
A sharp crack echoed.
His arm bent at an unnatural angle—bone breaking cleanly.
For a moment, it hung there.
Then—
it healed.
In real time.
The man's pupils shrank.
Draven didn't blink.
Didn't speak.
Just stared.
Holding him.
Unmoving.
Unshaken.
Around them, the battlefield went silent.
Not because the fight had stopped—
but because everyone felt it.
This was no longer a hunted man.
This was something refusing to fall.
The pressure shifted.
And tightened.
Because something in the air had changed.
Something wrong.
Above the battlefield, a voice returned.
Soft.
Mocking.
"…My, my… it looks like the demon king's son isn't doing too well."
A faint chuckle followed.
"…Struggling already?"
Below—
the answer came in violence.
The green-eyed man moved again, gravity compressing around him as his fist descended.
Draven met it head-on.
But the weight increased instantly.
Invisible pressure bore down, forcing his body half an inch into the stone.
Cracks spread beneath him.
The man twisted, grabbing Draven's arm with his other hand.
And ripped.
**RIP.**
Flesh tore. Bone separated.
Draven's arm was torn clean from his body.
Blood sprayed across the ground.
A sharp intake of breath echoed across the arena.
Lucien's eyes widened.
"…Sir—!"
Tharic staggered back.
"…That's—"
But Draven didn't scream.
Didn't react.
Instead, he shifted his stance and drove his leg upward into the man's side.
**THUD.**
The impact forced him back just enough.
Draven landed.
One arm gone. Blood streaming down his side.
And still—
standing.
The torn flesh writhed.
Regenerating.
Muscle reformed. Bone reconstructed. Skin sealed over in seconds.
The arm returned.
Whole.
The ground beneath him cracked further as gravity pressed down harder, trying to force him into submission.
Draven rolled his shoulder once.
Then exhaled.
"…Fuck this."
His voice was low.
But it carried.
Every eye locked onto him.
Because he moved again.
Not toward the enemy.
Toward himself.
His hand rose to his neck.
To the collar.
The same device that had ended others without hesitation.
The arena tensed instantly.
Someone whispered, "…Don't—"
But Draven didn't hesitate.
His fingers dug in.
Not at the clasp.
Through flesh.
Through skin.
Blood ran instantly.
He found it.
Then pulled.
**RIP.**
Metal tore free from his body, dragging blood with it as it was ripped loose entirely.
He dropped it.
It hit the ground with a dull, meaningless sound.
No explosion.
No punishment.
Just silence.
Complete silence.
Even the voice above stopped mid-sentence.
Because something had broken.
Or rather—
something had ended.
Power surged outward from Draven.
Not chaotic.
Not uncontrolled.
Condensed.
Controlled.
Dark crimson energy coiled around him, wrapping his body in layered strands that reinforced rather than expanded his form.
His presence shifted.
Not larger.
Not louder.
Heavier.
As if something had been released that should never have been contained.
The ground beneath him cracked again.
But this time, not from gravity.
From him.
The green-eyed man narrowed his eyes and moved instantly.
Faster than before.
His fist came forward, compressed by gravitational force meant to crush everything in its path.
A killing blow.
Draven stepped once.
And caught it.
Clean.
Perfect.
His hand closed around the attack and stopped it entirely.
Not deflected.
Not resisted.
Stopped.
The shockwave erupted outward, but Draven didn't move.
Didn't bend.
Didn't yield.
His other hand lifted slowly, wiping blood from his mouth.
Then his crimson eyes rose.
Locked onto the man.
And for the first time—
something changed in them.
Not calm.
Not restraint.
Awareness.
Something awake.
"…Now," Draven said quietly.
A faint chain at his side rattled softly.
"…Wanna try that again."
No one moved.
Because whatever this had been before—
it wasn't that anymore.
And everyone knew it.