"BEGIN!"
The word barely left Jamal's mouth before Tact moved.
The air around Lucius suddenly became crushing weight. An invisible force slammed down on him with the power of a collapsing building, driving him to his knees and then flat against the sand. The impact kicked up a massive cloud of dust that obscured the entire center of the arena.
"BOOM!" Jamal's voice exploded with excitement. "And Tact comes out SWINGING! No hesitation, no feeling out his opponent—just straight into the attack!"
"Looks like Tact is not holding anything back," Haurang observed, his analytical tone cutting through. "He's using his full power right from the start. That's the difference between a veteran and a newcomer—veterans know not to waste time."
As the dust began to settle, the crowd got a clear view.
Lucius was pinned flat against the sand, unable to move. The force pressing down on him was immense, like the weight of the ocean concentrated into a single point. His body was pressed into an indentation in the ground, completely immobilized.
Tact stood several feet away, and the air around his right arm began to distort visibly. It wrapped and compressed, creating a blade-like edge that extended from his hand—not a physical blade, but a zone of concentrated force that could cut through steel. The weight blade hummed with barely contained power.
He began walking slowly toward Lucius, his earlier rage replaced by cold satisfaction. The air around him rippled and distorted with the power he was channeling. Every step was deliberate, theatrical.
"You know what your problem is, kid?" Tact said, his voice carrying clearly across the arena. "You've got a smart mouth, but no substance to back it up. All that disrespect, all that attitude—and look at you now. Can't even move."
Lucius struggled against the crushing force, but from the crowd's perspective, he was completely helpless.
"I'm not going to kill you," Tact continued, raising his blade-wrapped arm. "That would be too quick. Too merciful. No, I'm going to cripple you. Take your arms first, then your legs. Leave you alive but broken. So every day for the rest of your miserable life, you'll remember what happens when you disrespect your betters."
The crowd was eating it up. Some cheered, others jeered, all of them hungry for the violence to come.
But Lucius's mind wasn't focused on Tact at all.
He was thinking.
This was going to be boring if he just escaped and ended it immediately. He'd already made the decision not to use his abilities throughout the tournament—no hydrokinesis, no obvious displays of power. Just skill and tactics. But even without his powers, Tact wasn't really a threat. The man was predictable, overconfident, telegraphing every move.
So how could he make this interesting?
And there was something else bothering him. That presence he'd sensed during the first match—the one he was certain had orchestrated getting him into this tournament. He'd sensed the same presence too many times throughout his life for it to be coincidence. Different locations, different situations, but always that same distinct feeling. Someone watching. Someone manipulating events from the shadows.
During that first match, he'd felt it clearly somewhere in the executive sections. But now... nothing. Whoever it was, they weren't watching this fight. Or at least, Lucius couldn't sense them.
Why orchestrate his entry and then not watch?
But that wasn't important right now. What was important was this fight. Making it interesting. Making it memorable.
Tact raised his blade higher, preparing to slash down at the pinned Lucius. His laughter echoed through the arena, cruel and mocking.
And for just a brief moment—less than a heartbeat—the crushing weight lessened.
Tact needed to shift his focus, needed to prepare for the strike, and in that microsecond of divided attention, the force holding Lucius down flickered.
Lucius exploded into motion.
He rolled hard to his left side, the blade slash missing him by inches and carving a deep furrow in the sand where his arm had been a moment before.
"What—" Tact spun to face him, shock and anger flashing across his face.
The crushing force came down again, targeting where Lucius was rolling, but Lucius was already moving. He continued the roll, the force slamming into the ground behind him with a BOOM that kicked up another dust cloud.
Tact snarled and tried again. BOOM. Another miss. BOOM. Another.
Lucius rolled and weaved, his movements fluid and precise, staying just ahead of each crushing impact. It looked almost choreographed, like a dance—or like someone playing a video game, rolling through attacks with perfect timing.
The crowd was on their feet now, the dynamic of the fight completely reversed.
"Will you STAY IN ONE PLACE, you little shit?!" Tact roared, fury overtaking his earlier cold satisfaction.
But Lucius kept moving, circling around Tact now, forcing the veteran to constantly turn to keep him in view.
And that's when Lucius understood.
Tact's ability wasn't exactly gravity manipulation. It was more like an invisible hand trying to crush you from above. But more importantly—he could only use it if he had you in his direct line of sight. The attacks always came from the direction Tact was facing, never from behind or the sides.
Lucius let himself slow down slightly, just enough.
BOOM.
The crushing force slammed him flat again, driving him into the sand. The crowd gasped and then cheered—finally, the veteran had regained control.
Over in the fighter seating, Odd leaned forward, hands gripping the armrest. "Is he going to be okay?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Beside him—having found a seat nearby after placing his bet—Seung watched with narrowed eyes. He was on edge, yes, but not panicked. He'd seen what this kid could do, seen that analytical mind work. "He's definitely up to something," Seung said quietly.
In the arena, Tact grinned savagely. "FINALLY! Got you!"
He lunged forward, both hands shifting to blade form now, ready to slash Lucius to pieces while he was pinned—
Lucius rolled again and kicked out with both legs, catching Tact in the midsection just as he came within range.
The impact sent Tact stumbling backward, his attack completely disrupted. He recovered quickly, but his expression had shifted from satisfaction to confusion.
How? The kid was pinned. He was—
But Lucius was already on his feet, and now he understood completely.
Just before Tact could attack with the blades, he had to let up the crushing ability. The two powers couldn't be used simultaneously at full effectiveness. It was a limitation, a weakness in the ability's application that Tact probably didn't even realize he had.
Tact snarled and raised both hands, the crushing force building again.
But Lucius was already moving. He dashed backward, the force slamming into empty space where he'd been standing. BOOM. Another miss. BOOM. Another.
Lucius kept moving backward in a controlled retreat, studying the pattern, measuring distances. He moved all the way to the edge of the pit, his back nearly touching the electromagnetic barrier.
And Tact stopped using his ability. Instead, he started walking forward, closing the distance.
Interesting.
So the effective range was approximately forty meters. Once Lucius got beyond that distance, Tact had to physically close the gap rather than rely on his ability from afar.
Forty feet. Good to know.
Now Tact was really angry. The veins in his neck stood out, his face flushed red with rage. Both his hands distorted with power, dual blades forming. The air around them warped and shimmered.
"Are you just gonna keep RUNNING AWAY, you fucking COWARD?!" Tact roared, charging forward.
Lucius's expression didn't change. He simply shifted his stance and dashed forward to meet the charge head-on.
The gap closed rapidly.
Tact slashed with his right hand blade, a vicious horizontal cut aimed at Lucius's neck.
Lucius weaved, his head and upper body moving just enough to let the blade pass through empty air. Then—
POW.
A left hook caught Tact square in the jaw. The impact made a sound like a baseball bat hitting leather, and Tact's head snapped to the side. He staggered, his eyes losing focus for just a moment.
But he recovered quickly and slashed with his left blade, a diagonal cut from high to low.
Lucius weaved again, the blade missing by inches. Then another punch—right straight to the solar plexus.
The air exploded from Tact's lungs.
Despite the stagger, despite the obvious disorientation, Tact's strikes carried significant weight when they connected with Lucius's guard. Each blocked blow sent shockwaves up Lucius's arms. The man had power behind those attacks.
But Lucius wasn't giving him room to use it effectively.
In the crowd, Liu Yan leaned forward, his analytical mind engaged. The way King was fighting—it wasn't just skill. It was perfect distance management. He was staying too close for Tact to use the blades effectively, smothering the veteran's offense with constant pressure and precise striking.
It was masterful.
Blow after blow connected. Left jab. Right cross. Left hook. Another jab. Each one finding its mark, each one causing damage. Tact's face was already swelling, blood running from his nose and split lip.
Tact's hands suddenly returned to normal, the blade distortions vanishing.
Lucius saw it immediately—saw the air around Tact's entire body begin to shimmer.
He backflipped, his body arching through the air with gymnastic precision.
BOOM.
The crushing force slammed down where he'd been standing a heartbeat before, creating a crater in the sand.
Lucius landed smoothly and immediately started running, not away but circling, keeping his distance but maintaining visibility.
Tact tried to target him with the crushing ability, but Lucius was moving too unpredictably. BOOM. Miss. BOOM. Miss. Each impact came close but couldn't quite catch him.
Then Lucius changed direction.
He cut hard toward Tact, closing the distance at full speed—or at least, what looked like full speed to the crowd. In reality, he was holding back significantly, but his movements had the explosive quality of a sprinter leaving the blocks.
Before Tact could react or adjust his targeting, Lucius was already there.
His right hand shot out and grabbed Tact by the face, fingers digging into skull, and drove him backward and down.
SLAM.
Tact's back hit the sand hard enough to create a small crater, the impact forcing another grunt of pain from his lungs.
But Lucius didn't follow up. Instead, he dove forward into a roll, tucking and moving away from Tact.
And just as he'd expected—
BOOM.
The crushing force slammed down exactly where Lucius had been standing over Tact. The man's instinct when grabbed at close range was to use his ability defensively, even if it meant the attack would catch both of them.
Predictable.
Tact scrambled to his feet, spitting blood onto the sand. His professional demeanor was completely gone now, replaced by pure rage. "Now you've DONE IT, you little SHIT!"
The air around his hands distorted again, but this time the blades didn't stop at normal length. They extended—twenty feet, twenty-five feet, becoming massive arcs of compressed force that hummed with deadly intent.
Tact swung horizontally, both blades sweeping in from opposite sides to catch Lucius between them like scissors.
Lucius turned and dove forward, rolling under the attack. The blades passed through the space where his torso had been a fraction of a second before.
Tact immediately swung vertically with his left hand, bringing the massive blade down in a crushing overhead strike.
Lucius weaved left, the blade slamming into the sand beside him with enough force to spray debris in all directions.
Slice after slice came at him, each one powerful enough to cut him in half, each one missing by inches as Lucius moved with fluid precision. He didn't just dodge—he flowed, each movement minimal and perfectly efficient, never wasting motion, always moving forward through the attacks rather than away from them.
The gap closed again.
Tact brought both blades down in a cross pattern, trying to catch Lucius in an inescapable X.
Lucius moved between them, slipping through the narrow gap where they crossed, and was suddenly inside Tact's guard.
He threw a right punch—
And realized mid-strike that punching a blade was a terrible idea.
His body twisted mid-motion, converting the punch into a spinning backhand that caught Tact in the temple instead. The blow rocked Tact's head sideways.
Lucius followed with a left jab to the nose. Blood exploded. Then another left to the same spot.
He cocked his right hand for a cross—
The air around Tact shimmered.
Lucius dove away, but the crushing force caught his shoulder and leg, the glancing impact sending him tumbling hard to the right. He rolled with the momentum, using it rather than fighting it, and came to a stop near the edge of the pit close to the barrier wall.
As he pushed himself up to one knee, Tact was already moving.
The veteran lunged through the air, both blade-wrapped hands crossed in front of him, preparing to unleash a devastating double slash the moment he landed.
Lucius was cornered, his back to the barrier, no room to dodge backward or to the sides.
The crowd drew in a collective breath. This was it. The newcomer was done.
Odd's hands clenched on the armrest hard enough to hurt. "Come on, kid. Move. MOVE."
The cross slash came down, both blades sweeping inward to bisect Lucius at the waist.
And Lucius moved.
It was the most elegant weave anyone had ever seen. His legs barely seemed to shift, his feet staying planted, but his entire upper body tilted and rotated with perfect precision. The blades passed through empty air on either side of him, so close that they stirred his hair.
He moved to Tact's left side as the veteran's feet touched down, weight committed to the landing, completely unable to adjust.
And Lucius threw a single right straight punch.
The movement looked almost slow, so precise and controlled that it seemed to flow through the air rather than cut through it. Perfect form. Perfect timing. Perfect weight transfer from back foot to front, through the hips, through the shoulder, through the extended fist.
Tact's feet hit the sand.
And the punch connected with the left side of his face.
BAM.
The sound cracked across the arena like a gunshot. Blood and saliva sprayed from Tact's mouth in a fine mist. His head snapped violently to the right, his eyes rolling back for a moment.
His legs wobbled, balance completely destroyed.
But he tried to turn toward Lucius anyway, tried to bring his abilities to bear despite being on the edge of unconsciousness, his body running on pure instinct and muscle memory.
Before he could get his footing, before he could even fully process where Lucius was, the younger fighter moved in.
Lucius grabbed Tact by the head with both hands and jumped, bringing his right knee up in a devastating Muay Thai strike.
CRACK.
The knee connected with Tact's face, snapping his head back. More blood sprayed.
But Lucius didn't stop there.
Mid-air, with both of them still airborne from the jump, Lucius pulled Tact's head down and drove his own forehead forward.
THUD.
The headbutt was brutal and precise, catching Tact right between the eyes. The veteran's already-damaged nose shattered completely, blood exploding across both their faces.
Tact's body went completely limp, his consciousness flickering like a dying light.
As gravity began to reclaim them, Lucius swiftly rotated his body, moving behind Tact's falling form. His arms wrapped around the veteran's waist, locking in tight.
Then he arched backward and dropped.
The German Suplex was textbook perfect—lifting Tact's deadweight, arching back, and spiking him headfirst into the sand.
BOOM.
The impact was sickening. Tact's head and shoulders hit first, his body folding unnaturally, the force driving him into the ground. More blood sprayed from his mouth, mixed with saliva and possibly teeth.
Lucius rolled backward smoothly, like the professional wrestlers did, releasing Tact and coming up to his feet in one fluid motion.
Tact lay on his back, completely motionless. His eyes were closed, blood running from his nose and mouth, his breathing shallow but present. Alive, but completely unconscious. Finished.
Lucius stood over him, positioning himself above Tact's head. Slowly, deliberately, he cocked his right fist back, loading it with obvious intent.
The arena held its breath.
"IS HE GOING FOR THE FINISHING BLOW?!" Jamal screamed, his voice climbing to new heights. "FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM!"
The crowd took up the chant. "FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM!"
Odd's breath caught in his throat. No. No, don't. The bet said no kill. But something in that moment felt off, felt wrong, like Lucius might actually—
Lucius's fist drove down.
Straight toward Tact's face.
And slammed into the sand beside his head.
The impact was hard enough to crater the ground, close enough that sand sprayed across Tact's unconscious face. A warning. A message.
I could have ended you. But I didn't.
The arena went silent for a heartbeat, processing what they'd just seen.
Then the announcement came.
"WINNER—KING!"
The crowd erupted. Some cheered, others booed—they'd wanted the kill. But everyone was on their feet, everyone was talking, everyone had just witnessed something unexpected.
"And it's OVER!" Jamal shouted. "The fight finishes before we even got a drop! King didn't need any weapons, didn't need any help from above—just pure SKILL and BRUTALITY!"
"Remarkable," Haurang added. "The entire match was decided through hand-to-hand combat and tactical superiority. No item deployment necessary."
Odd released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, slumping back in his seat. Relief flooded through him. The kid had followed through. No kill. Just like the bet said.
Seung was grinning like a maniac, his tablet showing his winnings. The bet had been insane—but it had paid off. That kid. That impossible, brilliant, slightly insane kid.
In the fighter seating area, Liu Yan sat back with a thoughtful expression. No abilities. Not a single power displayed during the entire fight. Just pure skill, tactics, and an almost superhuman level of precision. But that was impossible—everyone manifested multiple abilities or at least one significant power. Being durable wasn't unheard of most genetic bound novabreeds could achive that with noting but pure training, but as a sole ability? That didn't make sense.
So what was King hiding?
The medical team rushed into the arena with their stretcher and equipment. They loaded Tact's unconscious form carefully, checking vitals, stabilizing his neck. He was alive—barely—but he'd need extensive treatment.
Jamal's voice boomed again. "What a DEBUT, ladies and gentlemen! The newcomer King takes down the veteran Tact with PURE HANDS! No abilities, no powers, just SKILL and TECHNIQUE! I don't know about you folks, but I want to see MORE of this guy!"
"Absolutely dominant performance," Haurang added, his analytical tone impressed. "King demonstrated superior tactical awareness, perfect distance management, and exceptional striking technique. But the question everyone's asking now is—what are his actual abilities? Enhanced durability seems likely given how he withstood those crushing attacks, but a NovaBreed with only one power is extremely rare. He must have other abilities he chose not to display."
Throughout the crowd, that became the dominant question. What were King's powers? Why hadn't he used them? Was he that confident, or did he have something to hide?
In the executive boxes, conversations buzzed. Bets had been won and lost. New odds were being calculated for King's next match.
Lucius was directed toward the exit tunnel, heading back to the medical area for his post-fight examination as required.
The walk through the corridor was quiet, the arena noise fading behind him. His face was spattered with Tact's blood, his clothes dirty from the sand, but he showed no signs of injury or exhaustion.
He reached the medical area and was directed to the same examination room as before.
Lois looked up when he entered, and her eyes widened slightly.
"Well," she said, setting down her tablet. "That was quite the show. Have a seat."
Lucius sat on the examination table as she approached with her usual efficiency.
She began the post-fight examination, checking his vitals, looking for injuries, running through the standard protocol. But as she worked, her ability fed her information, and what she sensed made her pause internally.
He was practically unscathed.
Oh, there were minor impacts—some bruising forming on his shoulder and leg from that glancing hit at the end—but nothing serious. Nothing that reflected the multiple times he'd been slammed into the ground by crushing force.
Her fingers moved to his left arm during the examination, and she felt it again—that strange quality she'd noticed during the initial screening. The left arm from the elbow down wasn't quite right. The cellular structure was different. Not prosthetic in the traditional sense, but not entirely biological either.
She'd suspected during the first examination, and now she was certain. But she said nothing. Whatever King's secret was, it wasn't her place to expose it.
"Well," she said, stepping back and removing her gloves. "You're in remarkable condition for someone who just survived being crushed into the ground repeatedly. Whatever your abilities are, they're clearly doing their job."
"Thanks," Lucius said simply.
She studied him for a moment, those knowing eyes searching his face. "You didn't use your powers in that fight. Everyone's talking about it. Why?"
"Didn't need to," Lucius said, his tone making it clear that was the only explanation she'd get.
Lois smiled slightly. "Fair enough. You're cleared. Try not to make a habit of letting people use you as a punching bag, even if you can take it. Eventually, luck runs out."
"Noted," Lucius said, standing.
He left the examination room and made his way toward the exit of the medical area.
And found Odd waiting for him in the corridor.
The older man looked like a worried older brother, his expression a mix of relief and residual concern. He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against as Lucius approached.
"Hey," Odd said. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Lucius replied.
"That was..." Odd struggled for words. "Man, you had me worried there for a second. When you cocked your fist at the end, I thought—"
"I wasn't going to kill him," Lucius said simply. "That wasn't the plan."
"Yeah, I know. I mean, you told me as much with the bet instructions. But still." Odd shook his head. "Why didn't you use your powers tough?"
Lucius glanced at him, expression flat. "Didn't feel like it."
The response was so casual, so unbothered, that Odd couldn't help but laugh. "Didn't feel like it. Right. Of course."
"I'm going to get something to eat," Lucius said. "The mess hall should have something edible."
"Alright, man. I'll catch you later." Odd hesitated, then added, "Good fight. Really. You're something else."
Lucius nodded once and headed off toward the mess hall, leaving Odd shaking his head in bemused amazement.
The younger fighter moved through the corridors with his usual unhurried pace, mind already moving on to the next phase. The fight had served its purpose—established him as skilled but mysterious, someone worth watching without revealing his actual capabilities.
Now came the more important work.
The work that would actually matter when the auction came.
He reached the mess hall, grabbed some food without really paying attention to what it was, and found a quiet corner table. As he ate mechanically, his mind was already planning.
The rats were spreading as intended. Soon the complaints would become loud enough that exterminators would be called. And when they came, Lucius would need to be ready with the device. Something small, something that could be hidden inside one of his scouts, something that would emit a signal Amber could detect.
The technical requirements weren't complicated, but they'd require parts. Specific components that existed somewhere in this facility, just waiting to be... repurposed.
He'd already identified several potential sources through his rats' explorations. Electronic equipment in storage areas, old communication devices in maintenance rooms, security hardware that had been replaced but not properly disposed of.
Getting those parts would require careful timing and perfect execution.
But that was fine.
Lucius had never been one to shy away from complicated plans.
He finished his meal, deposited his tray, and headed back to his quarters. The rest of the day stretched before him—more fights would happen, but none that required his attention immediately.
Which meant time to work.
Time to move the pieces into position.
The tournament was just the cover story. This—all of this—was about the auction. About infiltrating the Big Boys' operation from the inside. About gathering the intelligence they'd need to bring the whole rotten structure down.
One step at a time.
One calculated move at a time.
And it all started with a signal.
TO BE CONTINUED