Chapter 128: The Venom and the Fist
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"Begin!"
The word hit like a starting pistol, and the world narrowed to a tunnel of violence.
Perhaps because he was scared of what the "red-skinned demon of hell" was capable of, Zheng the Scorpion moved first. Six arms wove a blur of seals, fingers contorting into shapes that would snap a human wrist. The crowd leaned forward. They had seen Zheng fight before. They knew what came next.
Venom. Thick and glowing with sickly green chi, pooling in his palms.
He spat it forward. Although some might say he fired it, a pressurized stream of concentrated acid that cut through the air with a hiss like a welding torch. It left a trail of acrid vapor that made the air itself seem to tremble.
Four Arms didn't flinch nor did he make an attempt to dodge. He didn't even bother blinking.
The venom splashed across his chest with the sound of bacon hitting a hot pan. It sizzled. It screamed as it tried to eat through crimson alien hide. Smoke rose in greasy plumes, carrying a stench of burning meat and ozone that hit the front rows first, making hardened warriors gag.
The crowd erupted like a volcano. It was working! The big red demon could be hurt! Zheng had drawn first blood. Or at least, first burn. In the stands, bets were being frantically recalculated. Maybe the spider had a chance after all.
Zheng saw the smoke rising from his handiwork and his confidence, already inflated by a lifetime of being the biggest monster in his corner of reality, exploded. This was it. The validation hit hard.
He was Zheng the Scorpion, master of the Venom Arts, assassin of the Kingdom of Spiders! Yes, yes, I'm going to win this too! This demonic bastard was just another prey item that had wandered into his web. This lumbering brute, all muscle and no finesse, was going to be his food today.
Time to finish it.
He didn't give Four Arms time to recover. That was amateur hour. Professional killers pressed their advantages. Six arms moved in perfect synchronization, weaving not just venom but constructs. Solid shapes formed from hardened poison, masterworks of lethal artistry.
A spear here, gleaming with toxic chi. A net there, its strands sharp enough to cut steel. A trio of throwing stars that spun like tiny hurricanes, their edges weeping corrosive fluid.
The crowd was on its feet. This was a show of incredible technique and masterclass artistry. This was why they had come.
Zheng launched his arsenal. Not all at once, for that was crude. He fired in waves, forcing his opponent into defensive positions where the next attack would land. The spear came first, a green blur aimed at the alien's heart. When Four Arms moved to block it, the net would follow, wrapping around his arms. And when he tried to tear free, the throwing stars would find their mark.
It was a beautiful plan.
A song of violence he had composed and performed dozens of times, always to a fatal standing ovation. The key was patience and control. Making your enemy dance to your rhythm.
"That's it?"
Four Arms caught the spear in his upper right hand.
He caught it with no apparent pain. Like catching a baseball. The venom construct, woven with enough chi to pierce a vault door, crumpled in his grip like wet paper. Toxic green liquid oozed between his fingers and steamed as it hit the arena floor.
"Ugh…" Zheng blinked.
That… that wasn't supposed to happen.
His constructs were unbreakable. That was the whole point of weaving chi into them. They had structure and will. They weren't supposed to just… drip.
Four Arms examined his hand. The sizzling venom. Then he looked at Zheng, and the alien's mouth split into a grin so wide it showed rows of teeth that belonged on a shark.
"Nice trick," Four Arms said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the stone floor. He squeezed. The spear disintegrated completely, raining venom like broken glass. "But you're gonna need a bigger one."
He took a step forward. The arena shuddered.
A primal fear, something Zheng hadn't felt since years, pricked at the back of his neck. He suppressed it. After all, he was a master. He would not be intimidated by a brute!
He scuttled up the arena wall, six arms finding purchase on stone that should have been too smooth to climb. He moved like a spider on a hot stove, jittery and unpredictable.
From the wall, he wove more constructs.
A whip this time. It was a long and flexible thing that lashed out and wrapped around Four Arms' left ankle. The venom bit down, trying to paralyze.
Four Arms barely noticed. He grabbed the whip with his lower arms and pulled.
Physics took over. Zheng, for all his speed, weighed as much as a sack of flour. Four Arms weighed as much as a truck. The equation was simple and brutal. Zheng came flying off the wall like he'd been launched from a cannon, all six arms flailing.
Four Arms caught him mid-air. One hand on his torso, pinning two arms. Another on his left wrist. A third on his right ankle.
"Let me guess," Four Arms said, bringing Zheng closer to his face. "You've killed a lot of people with that venom trick, huh?"
Zheng writhed. He had three arms left free, and he used them. Chi-enhanced strikes pounded on Four Arms' forearms, blows that should have shattered bone. The sharp impacts echoed like a drum in the silent arena, and hairline fractures spider-webbed across crimson skin.
The crowd screamed. He's bleeding! The alien is bleeding!
Four Arms looked down at the cracks. Then back at Zheng. His grin widened. "Better luck next time."
He slammed Zheng into the ground.
The impact was an explosion made of sound and fury. The jade floor buckled. It cratered. The shockwave knocked the front-row spectators back a full step and sent cracks racing outward from the impact point. Dust and pulverized stone exploded upward in a mushroom cloud.
Zheng lay in the crater, blinking up at the arena ceiling. His neural network was short-circuited by sheer force. His beautiful plan, his symphony of violence, had just been smashed with a sledgehammer.
What? That was the only word his brain could produce. What happened?
Four Arms knelt down, his massive shadow falling over Zheng like a blanket. He leaned in close, alien face filling Zheng's vision.
"You think small," Four Arms said, his voice quiet now, almost conversational. "You think a bit too much like a spider. Trap, ensnare, and wait. Look up a guy named Spider-man, he's much better at this."
He stood up, leaving Zheng in the crater.
"You…" Zheng grumbled. "You think you're some big shot?"
"I don't know. But I'm not prey, friend. I'm a predator from a different food chain."
The venom constructs, no longer sustained by their master's fractured will, dissolved into harmless green mist.
The arena was silent again. Not the stunned silence of shock, but the deep, respectful silence that follows a masterclass in strength. Even the wind in the open-air stadium seemed to stop.
Four Arms turned to the crowd.
He spread all four arms wide, presenting the acid burns, the fractures, the places where Zheng had actually managed to wound him. He showed them the damage. Tetra-Man showed off that such damage meant nothing.
"Hell yeah!!" The roar that followed was seismic. A thousand warriors realizing they were up for a great show ahead. A creature that could be wounded, but couldn't be stopped.
The falcon-man announcer landed in the arena, beak clicking nervously. He looked at Zheng, broken and bleeding. He looked at Four Arms, standing victorious and pristine. He swallowed audibly.
"Winner!" he screeched, voice cracking like a teenager's. "Winner: Tetra-Man!"
Four Arms didn't roar in triumph. He just turned and walked toward the tunnel that led back to the fighters' wing. His massive feet cracked the already-broken floor with every step. The crowd's roar followed him, a wave of sound he wore like a cloak.
Well, the Ben Ten within thought. That was fun, even if I'm showing off a bit too much.
But subtle was for people who had to play by the rules.
****
In the front row, Fat Cobra stroked his beard. "Huh." His perpetual smile was replaced by deep, professional consideration.
He had seen champions come and go. He had fought men who could split mountains and women who could dance through lightning. What he saw didn't feel "demonic," however. What a strange creature.
And Fat Cobra knew, with the certainty of a man who'd not only survived by strength but by reading opponents like books, that the story of this "Tetra-Man" was not going to be a short one.
Up in the high gallery, Illyana Rasputina sat on her throne of carved bone and shadow. Her smile was small but satisfied.
I lucked out this time. She had sponsored a monster, and the monster was delivering. Her 'acquisition' was making a name for himself. By extension, making her look like a queen who knew how to pick her champions.
The minion that Ben replaced wasn't weak, but by any means he was not going to win this tournament. But with Ben here? Things might be different.
She caught Ben's eye as he reached this room. No, Tetra-Man's eye. She gave him the faintest of nods. A queen acknowledging a knight who had just won his first joust.
He was a good toy. A very, very good toy.
And he was hers.
…Hm? No he isn't.
Illyana mentally snapped the Darkchilde.
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