The makeshift arena was a testament to brutality—a pit carved out of concrete and steel, lit by hanging bulbs that swayed with the ambient vibrations of the underground facility. The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and the charged anticipation of the gathered audience. It was nothing like the sterile, controlled arenas of organized combat. This was raw. This was primal. A place where blood would stain the floor before the night was over.
Vincent Giovanni and his entourage sat at the front, occupying the best seats just beside the ring. My operations team flanked him, their eyes locked on the pit like seasoned gamblers at a high-stakes table. Though I could tell that Milan and Anthony were slightly anxious. Beside them, I sat as Mr. Beetle, my mask concealing everything but my calculating gaze. The girls sat nearby, their masquerade masks blending them into the decadent crowd, but I could feel their tension. Sienna's fingers curled slightly on her lap, Camille leaned back with an easy, unreadable smile, and Alexis sat stiff, absorbing everything like a scientist examining a volatile experiment.
A buzzer blared. The first match was about to begin.
Leo "The Ghost" Choi vs. Ragnar "The Beast" Wulf.
Leo stepped onto the battlefield first. He was wiry but composed, his footfalls light and purposeful. He moved like a phantom, slipping past obstacles that only he could see. His hooded gaze betrayed nothing as he rolled his shoulders and took his stance. His job title flickered into view as I activated Scan:
Name: Leo "The Ghost" Cho
Job: Assassin (A-Rank)
Silent Footwork (Lv. 7): Reduces noise and increases movement efficiency, making it difficult for opponents to read his positioning.
Edge Instinct (Lv. 6): Heightened ability to detect and react to the slightest shifts in an opponent's stance.
Vital Targeting (Lv. 7): Enhances the precision of attacks toward vulnerable areas without relying on brute force.
Pain Mitigation (Lv. 6): Allows the body to dull pain response temporarily, extending endurance.
Then came Ragnar. He loomed over Leo, his frame impossibly broad, his presence like a wall of unmovable flesh. Where Leo was a flickering shadow, Ragnar was an avalanche, a force of nature. The moment he set foot inside the ring, the air seemed to thicken with something primal. His Scan results appeared before me:
Name: Ragnar "The Beast" Wulf
Job: Soldier (A-rank)
Iron Body (Lv. 8): Reduces damage taken from physical attacks, making him extremely resilient.
Predator's Focus (Lv. 8): Heightens reaction speed when an opponent shows weakness.
Relentless Advance (Lv. 7): Grants the ability to keep attacking despite fatigue, making his offense nearly ceaseless.
Intimidation (Lv. 6): Weak-willed opponents struggle to maintain composure in his presence.
The match started without a bell—only the collective breath of the audience holding still before chaos erupted.
Leo moved first, his speed uncanny. He weaved through Ragnar's opening advance like water slipping through fingers, darting in and out of range, landing sharp strikes that should have made anyone stumble. Ragnar barely reacted. His body absorbed the hits like they were nothing but a drizzle against stone.
Leo adjusted, shifting to vital points—strikes aimed at the throat, the ribs, the inside of the elbow where the nerves were vulnerable. Ragnar grunted, acknowledging the effectiveness, but he didn't slow down. Instead, he smirked.
The soldier swung an arm wide, and Leo barely ducked in time, the sheer force of the attack sending a gust of air through the pit. He retaliated with a vicious elbow to Ragnar's ribs, then rolled away before a counterattack could land. The crowd murmured. This was a match of contrasts—precision against power, agility against endurance.
For several minutes, it was a stalemate. Ragnar's strength was undeniable, but Leo's evasiveness kept him from taking serious damage. The audience leaned in, invested in the clash, whispers of bets shifting hands as the fight seemed evenly matched.
"This is getting boring."
He moved before the words even settled in the air. It was a shift so sudden that even Leo's heightened instincts couldn't fully prepare him. Ragnar lunged, no longer just swinging with force, but with intention.
A knee slammed into Leo's stomach, lifting him off the ground before he could twist away. The impact was sickening, like bone rattling against bone. The moment he landed, Ragnar was already there, gripping his wrist and twisting it at an unnatural angle before throwing him like a ragdoll into the steel fencing of the pit.
Leo gritted his teeth, rolling to his feet, but he wasn't as quick this time. Ragnar closed in, fists like hammers crashing down. Leo dodged, barely, but not without cost. One grazing blow sent him skidding across the floor, his forearm bruising instantly. The crowd roared.
No more subtle movements. No more flickering in and out. Ragnar had forced him into a corner.
Leo tried to counter, launching himself forward with a desperate strike aimed at Ragnar's throat. But Ragnar let him get close. He caught the attack mid-air, twisting Leo's entire body and slamming him down onto his back. A strangled gasp left Leo's lips as he tried to rise.
Ragnar didn't let him.
He pressed a massive boot onto Leo's chest, pinning him to the ground. "Stay down," he muttered, almost disappointed.
Leo spat blood onto the floor and growled, "Not a chance."
Ragnar grinned. "Wrong answer."
He lifted his foot, only to bring it crashing down.
The impact was deafening.
I sat forward in my seat, my eyes locked onto the scene, waiting for movement—any sign that Leo was still conscious, still breathing. But there was nothing. Just silence.
The referee hesitated, then raised Ragnar's arm.
"Winner—Ragnar 'The Beast' Wulf!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, but I barely heard them. My gaze remained fixed on Leo's unmoving form.
Or had he just been crushed into the afterlife?
Ragnar dusted off his hands and stepped back, not even sparing his opponent a second glance.
The first match was over.
And the tournament had only just begun.