I stood at the window of my apartment, staring out over the city as the morning sun burned away the last traces of night. The question echoed in my mind: What now?
I was no longer just a stranger in Daniel's body. I was someone forged in loss and hope, tempered by pain and the relentless drive to find meaning. The city was a maze, but the path had become clearer. Three days to prepare. Three days to become worthy of the answers I sought. Three days to decide not just who Daniel was, but who I would become.
I picked up my phone and dialed Samuel. He answered on the first ring.
"Samuel. I need your help."
He didn't ask why. He only said, "Come. Your training isn't finished."
The future was uncertain, but for the first time, I welcomed it. Whatever happened next, I would meet it head-on, no longer running from my past or my doubts. It was time to fight—for Chloe, for truth, for myself. And for whatever came after, I was ready.
Samuel waited for me in the dawn haze, eyes sharper than ever. This time, his tone was different—a single nod, a brief gesture, and with barely a word, he led me from the polished floors of the dojo into the city's abandoned lots. There, with broken glass crunching beneath our feet and stray dogs slinking through the shadows, Samuel's training changed.
He stripped away the formality—no more stances, no more drills. "A tournament is not a dance," he said, voice low. "It's a hunt. Sometimes, you must be the predator."
He attacked suddenly, wild and unpredictable. I barely blocked a sweeping kick before he swept my legs out, sending me sprawling in the dirt. "Stop thinking. Stop relying on what you've been taught. When the rules break down, so must you."
I scrambled up, breath ragged. Samuel's next attack was even more feral—a flurry of elbows, knees, a headbutt aimed at my chin. My instincts took over. I ducked, lashed out, grabbing a handful of gravel and flinging it at his eyes. He laughed, dodging. "Good. Survive. Use everything."
He forced me to adapt, to bite, to claw, to fight like an animal. There were no boundaries—only the drive to win. When Samuel pinned me, I twisted, sank my teeth into his forearm, just enough to shock him into letting go. I rolled free, grabbing a broken length of pipe from the ground, swinging with abandon. The clang rang out, wild and brutal.
"This is what the Old Gods will respect," Samuel said, panting, a wild light in his eyes. "Not a man who fights pretty. A man who fights to win."
Days blurred together. Each session left me bloodied, caked with dirt. Samuel hurled me through piles of trash, forced me to climb chain-link fences to evade his attacks. He threw objects—bottles, bricks, old tires—forcing me to dodge, deflect, improvise. "Anything can become a weapon," he barked. "Anything can become armor."
I learned to fight dirty. To gouge eyes, stomp feet, strike at joints. To howl when pain threatened to drown me, to channel it into rage and momentum. Some nights, I brawled with the strays behind the lot, learning how to move low, to snarl, to become a thing that could not be bullied or broken.
At first, I hated it—the loss of control, the shame of fighting like a cornered beast. But soon, I felt something raw awaken in me. A piece of myself I'd never known—untamed, hungry, desperate not just to survive, but to dominate.
The final day, Samuel pressed a knife into my palm. "You must not only fight like an animal," he said, "but be willing to become one, if that's what it takes. When you step into that arena, you leave your conscience at the door. You win. Or you are forgotten."
We sparred one last time—no rules, no mercy. When Samuel finally called a halt, blood running from a split lip, he smiled. "That's it. That's Daniel. That's the man who can beat the Old Gods."
I limped home, hands raw, heart pounding, mind alight with a new clarity. I would use everything—cunning, strength, fury, instinct. I would fight wild, fight dirty, fight to win.
The tournament was coming…and I…was fully prepared…
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[2 CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY!!!!]
[HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!!]