As the mysterious man vanished into the shadows, the oppressive weight that had pinned everyone to the earth slowly began to lift. The air, once frozen and still, started to flow again, carrying with it the sounds of ragged breathing and shifting dirt.
Confused and shaken, the thugs started to move, their hands trembling as they realized their weapons were truly gone. For a long time, no one spoke. A single, haunting question burned in everyone's mind: Who was that man, and what kind of terrifying power did he possess?
Takey pushed himself off the ground, his movements heavy and slow. Ayelen saw him move and immediately tensed up, stepping in front of Miyara. His heart hammered against his ribs as he prepared for another round of violence.
But this time, it was different.
Takey didn't reach for a weapon or clench his fists. He walked straight toward Arnold. There was no anger left in his face, no trace of the burning rage that had driven him into the forest. He stopped just inches away and reached out, taking Arnold's hand in his own.
"I'm sorry," Takey whispered. His voice was thick, cracking under the weight of his emotions. "I did all of this... I did it for my little brother."
He tried to say more, to explain the desperation that had led him down this dark path, but his voice finally broke. Tears began to track through the dirt on his face. It was a sight no one expected—the fierce, aggressive fighter standing broken and weeping in the middle of a forest.
Arnold remained silent. He didn't pull away immediately. He just watched Takey, his eyes unreadable. Then, something seemed to click deep in his mind.
"Finalist," Arnold muttered under his breath, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second.
He pulled his hand back, his expression turning sharp and urgent. Without another word of explanation, he turned toward the trees.
"I have to go somewhere," he said quickly, his voice tight. "You all go home safely. Don't wait for me."
Before Ayelen or Miyara could ask a single question, he disappeared into the darkness, moving with a speed that left them staring at the empty space he had occupied.
The walk back was quiet. Takey, Ayelen, and Miyara moved together through the outskirts of the town. The life-and-death tension of the forest had faded, replaced by a strange, hollowed-out feeling. Everything felt different now, as if a veil had been pulled back and they were seeing the world for the first time.
When they finally reached the house, the door creaked open to reveal Mrs. Reanie. She looked at the three of them and then at Takey, a warm, welcoming smile spreading across her face.
"Oh," she said softly. "You brought a guest?"
Takey hesitated, his shoulders hunched. He wasn't used to this kind of kindness, especially not from the mother of a boy he had tried to break.
Inside, the house was a sanctuary. It felt safe, the air smelling of home and cooked food. Takey sat at the small table, his head bowed as Mrs. Reanie moved around the kitchen. He couldn't stop the guilt from gnawing at him. He had sought to hurt her son, yet here she was, treating him like he belonged.
"I'm... I'm really sorry," Takey said again, his voice barely audible as he stared at his hands.
Mrs. Reanie paused and looked at him, her eyes gentle and full of a wisdom that seemed to settle the air.
"If someone realizes they were wrong," she said softly, "it means they are changing. That matters more than the mistake itself."
She placed a steaming plate of food in front of him. Takey didn't find the words to thank her, but the way his eyes shimmered as he looked at the meal said enough. That night, they all sat together. For the first time in a long time, there was no fighting, no hidden agendas—just a quiet, warm dinner shared in the heart of the home.
Far away from the warmth of the house, the atmosphere was much colder.
Deep inside a jagged cave where the wind whistled through the cracks, the mysterious man stepped into the shadows. He wasn't alone. Another figure stood in the gloom, waiting.
"You were right," the man said, his voice stripped of the playful tone he had used in the forest. "Someone has entered this planet."
He didn't look relaxed. His jaw was set, his brow furrowed with a rare seriousness. "Be careful. Things are getting complicated. I can't track the intruder anymore."
The other man frowned, his voice echoing off the damp stone walls. "Why? How can you lose them?"
"Because," the mysterious man replied quietly, "he activated the Nyloxin Core."
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the cave. The gravity of those words seemed to chill the air even further.
"And Yuhika..." she added, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He is out of contact."
The next day, the world felt entirely different.
The stadium was packed to the rafters. The roar of the crowd was a physical force, a wall of sound that vibrated through the floorboards. Energy surged through the air like electricity.
Ayelen and Miyara stood among the thousands of spectators, their eyes fixed on the bright lights of the arena.
"Today's final match!" the announcer's voice boomed over the speakers, drowning out the chatter. "Arnold versus Maisen!"
The cheers reached a deafening pitch.
"And we also have a special guest joining us today," the announcer continued. There was a dramatic pause that made the hair on Ayelen's neck stand up. "FLAUGE."
A man walked into the VIP section with a calm, effortless grace. He took his seat, seemingly indifferent to the thousands of eyes on him. Arnold, standing in the tunnel ready to enter, looked up.
He froze.
His gaze stayed locked on Flauge for a heartbeat too long. There was a nagging sense of familiarity, a feeling that he had seen this man before, perhaps in a dream or a life he couldn't quite grasp. But the memory remained just out of reach, a ghost in the back of his mind.
The match began. Arnold and Maisen stood face to face, the tension between them sharper than any blade.
As the referee signaled the start, Arnold's mind momentarily drifted. A voice—his own voice, but older and colder—echoed in his head.
You have only one chance. If you miss it... you lose.
The bell rang.
The two fighters circled each other cautiously. They weren't rushing. They were watching, analyzing, and trying to understand the rhythm of their opponent. Maisen was the first to strike. He unleashed a flurry of fast punches and quick, darting moves.
Arnold didn't counter. He moved like water, dodging every strike with a fraction of an inch to spare. Again and again, Maisen's fists hit nothing but air.
Round one ended in a tie.
As round two began, Maisen shifted gears. He increased his speed, putting more pressure on Arnold, forcing him toward the edge of the ring. Every move was backed by a heavy, focused force.
Still, Arnold avoided everything. He seemed untouchable.
Maisen stepped back for a second, his chest heaving as he observed his opponent. He remembered a younger boy standing in front of him—his little brother.
When someone attacks, don't rush. Dodge first. Wait for their hand to return. And then—hit.
Maisen focused. He watched the way Arnold swayed, the way his eyes tracked the movement. He attacked again, leaning into a punch.
Arnold dodged, just as Maisen expected.
Maisen didn't overextend. He waited. Just for a fraction of a second.
Thud.
The punch landed. It wasn't a knockout blow, but it caught Arnold on the shoulder, sending him back a step. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Arnold's eyes.
Maisen didn't let up. He used the same calculated rhythm, feinting and waiting for the dodge. But as he lunged forward again, Arnold's eyes shifted.
For a split second, Arnold's gaze drifted back to the VIP section. Back to Flauge. That face. That unsettling feeling of a lost memory. It was almost there—the truth was right on the tip of his tongue.
It was only a distraction of a few milliseconds, but in a high-level fight, that was an eternity.
THUD.
The punch landed clean against Arnold's jaw. The stadium went momentarily silent as Arnold's head snapped back.
The fight was no longer one-sided. The predator had finally been bitten.
• CHAPTER 6 ENDS •