The storm was relentless, sheets of rain pelting the forest floor as I trudged through the muddy trails, drawn by that ominous presence. Each thunderclap reverberated through my chest, but it wasn't the storm that had my heart pounding—it was him.
Then I saw him.
A lone boy, no older than sixteen, stood in the clearing, rain cascading down his dark clothes. His posture was flawless, sharp eyes locked forward. With a calm breath, he moved.
His body cut through the storm like water. He wasn't just fighting imaginary enemies—his form was surgical. Every strike, every step, every pivot was calculated with unnerving precision. His feet landed without sound, his angles were perfect, his transitions smoother than anyone I'd ever seen in my life.
I crouched low in the bushes, breath steady but shallow.
"What the hell is this guy…?"
He shifted from a low stance into a spinning kick that sliced through the air with such speed that the rain parted around his leg, droplets scattering like diamonds. His hands followed seamlessly, fists striking forward in a blur, weaving patterns so tight and efficient that my eyes almost couldn't keep up.
"His trajectory… flawless. His strikes land exactly where the joints would be exposed. Zero wasted motion. It's like—"
I felt my jaw clench under my mask. "This guy fights like he's been trained by the god themselves."
Then came the part that shook me the most.
He leapt forward—not high, but far—and the force of his landing cracked the earth beneath him, yet he flowed right back into stance as if nothing happened. No hesitation. No overcorrection.
He wasn't fighting to show off. He was fighting to kill.
I felt a chill crawl down my spine that had nothing to do with the storm. This wasn't training for a tournament. This was training for war.
Then, mid-spin, he stopped.
His head turned slightly toward the bushes where I hid, his sharp blue eyes locking on my position like a predator spotting prey.
My breath hitched. He noticed me?
In a blur, he vanished.
BAM!
A force slammed into my chest, sending me flying back into the mud, my hood flying off and my mask skidding across the ground. Before I could react, the figure stepped through the curtain of rain, his footsteps silent despite the wet earth.
He smirked down at me, water dripping from his jet-black hair. "How long," he said with a voice smooth as silk but laced with quiet danger, "did you plan on spying on me?"
I pushed myself up, glaring at him. He was taller then me, his presence dwarfed mine entirely. His aura wasn't like Jay's icy dominance or Kuro's sharp intensity—it was calm, coiled power, like standing in the eye of a hurricane.
"I wasn't spying," I shot back, brushing mud off my clothes.
"Mm," he chuckled lowly, tilting his head. "Sure looked like it."
He crouched slightly, offering me a hand—not mockingly, but casually confident, like he knew I couldn't refuse. I hesitated, then took it. His grip was firm, grounding, but not overbearing.
"Name's Lucien," he said simply, releasing me. "And you are…?"
I hesitated. "Tarek," I replied under my alias.
Lucien's smirk widened slightly. "Tarek, huh? Not bad. You've got that look in your eyes… sharp, restless, like someone who's seen too much too fast."
He circled me, appraising me with a calm yet unsettling gaze. "Your stance… you've fought before. But your footwork needs work. Too heavy on the front leg. If someone swept you, you'd hit the ground before you could react."
I blinked. He read my posture in seconds.
I crossed my arms. "What are you, my teacher?"
He laughed lightly, the sound carrying oddly warm despite the storm. "Not yet." Then, in one fluid motion, he stepped closer, his index finger tapping my shoulder lightly. "Watch closely. I'll show you something interesting."
He stepped back and lowered into a stance.
Rain pooled around his feet. Then suddenly—he moved.
One instant, he was standing before me. The next, he blurred, and the rain itself seemed to twist, bending in his wake. He reappeared behind me, not even a sound marking his path.
I whipped around, wide-eyed. "How—?!"
Lucien smirked, hands resting lazily in his pockets. "Momentum redirection," he said casually. "Instead of fighting the ground, I let it fight for me. You ride the force, redirect it mid-step. Takes a few years to perfect."
Years. He said it so casually, like it was nothing.
I stared, soaking in every detail. "Show me again."
He grinned. "Oh? Hungry for knowledge? I like that."
He demonstrated once more, this time slower, explaining each pivot, each faint adjustment of weight. His voice was calm but precise, his eyes sharp and calculating even as he taught.
I tried to mimic it, but my steps were clumsy, my flow stiff. Lucien didn't laugh. Instead, he stepped closer, adjusting my foot placement with his hand and guiding my shoulder forward.
"Relax," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Don't force it. Let it happen."
I took a breath. This time, my body moved smoother, and for a split second—just a heartbeat—I felt it. The rain shifted around me unnaturally, almost like it resisted my movement.
Lucien grinned approvingly. "Not bad, Tarek. You've got potential."
I blinked. "Why are you teaching me this?"
He tilted his head, blue eyes sharp but strangely warm. "Because I can tell. You're the kind of guy who's going to need it. And because…" He smirked faintly. "I like you."
For some reason, my chest tightened at his words. There was something about him… something familiar I couldn't place.
We stood there in the rain for what felt like hours, him teaching, me listening. Then, without warning, he stepped back.
"That's enough for tonight," Lucien said, his smirk fading into something unreadable. "Next time we meet, you better be ready to keep up."
He turned, walking away into the storm.
"Wait—!" I called out. "Where do I find you again?"
He glanced back over his shoulder with a grin that carried both warmth and danger.
"You won't need to. I'll find you."
Then, like smoke, he vanished into the rain, leaving me standing there drenched, my heart pounding like thunder in my chest.
I picked up my mask slowly, staring into the storm where Lucien disappeared.
"Who the hell was that guy…?"
Even though I didn't know why, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just met someone who would change everything.
The rain still clung to my hoodie as I stepped through the hotel doors. My shoes left wet prints across the marble floor, each step heavier than the last. I couldn't stop thinking about him—the boy in the woods, his precision, his speed, and the way his body carved through the storm like it was alive. His name still echoed in my head: Lucien.
I reached my room and shut the door behind me, pressing my back against it. My chest rose and fell sharply.
"Lucien… who are you?"
I tossed my soaked hoodie onto the chair and sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at my trembling hands. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure if I could win against someone like that.
But something else gnawed at me. The voice I'd heard during my fight earlier—my mother's voice—still rang faintly in my ears. Son... It was more than a coincidence. Something was happening, something bigger than this tournament, and I was right in the middle of it.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, but no rest came. The storm outside rattled the windows, thunder booming like war drums in the distance.
And then—
Beneath the arena, deep in the shadows where no one dared tread, he moved.
??? wore a black hooded cloak , the hood pulled low over his head, casting his face in shadow. He knelt before a bloodstained altar, its surface slick with blood. A boy's body—lifeless, pale—lay atop it, his chest carved open with ritualistic precision. Dark glyphs pulsed on the stone walls, glowing faintly in time with the victim's fading life force.
The hooded man smiled, baring razor-sharp teeth that glinted in the torchlight. His voice slithered like venom through the cold chamber.
"Another offering… and the seal weakens."
He dipped his clawed fingers into the boy's blood and drew a sigil on the ground. As he completed the last stroke, the glyphs on the walls erupted in a sinister red glow.
"Just one more..." he whispered, licking the blood from his fingers. "One more child of power to break the chains…"
He rose, his hoodie shifting slightly as he tilted his head back, gazing upward through the cracks in the stone ceiling as if he could see the arena above.
"Kuro…" his voice dripped with twisted reverence. "The perfect vessel. The boy marked by fate, born to bleed for my king."
His laughter echoed through the underground chambers, sharp and manic.
"Soon, Demon King… soon you shall walk this earth again."
Above ground, lightning split the sky, and I jolted upright in bed, my chest tight.
A sudden chill ran down my spine, though my room was warm. I didn't know why—but somehow, in my gut, I felt it.
Something terrible was moving beneath our feet.