The crowd in the colosseum was utterly stunned. The roar of cheers from before now mixed with gasps of awe and hysterical screams. They could hardly believe what they had just witnessed—in the ten years Trek had held the title of Champion, not a single opponent had ever forced him to unleash his ultimate technique. Yet tonight, a foreign newcor who didn’t even bother to disguise himself had pushed the living legend to get truly serious.
Trek stood tall, his body shrouded in a blazing red glow. His muscles were tense like heated steel, every vein along his arms standing out, pulsing in rhythm with a heartbeat gone wild. This was the Beast Heart Technique—a secret art of high-ranking beastn, in which they drive their hearts to their extre limit, pumping boiling blood until their entire bodies are filled with brutal strength. Very few could use it, as the risk of damaging vital organs was far too great.
DUUUMMM!!!
The blast from their clash was deafening. The shockwave swept across the entire arena, hurling sand, stone, and even several spectators sitting too close. The torch pillars shook violently, their flas whipping wildly as if caught in a storm.
Both Ren and Trek were thrown in opposite directions, slamming into the stone walls of the colosseum with bone-rattling force. Wide cracks spread from the points of impact, chunks of stone scattering to the ground.
Ren let out a low groan, fighting through the sharp pain spreading from his shoulder. He pushed himself up, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
Across the arena, Trek rose as well, this ti with an even wider grin. "You... are definitely no ordinary opponent," he said, rolling his shoulders as if warming up for his next strike.
The crowd’s cheers erupted again—not rely in support of Trek, but in sheer awe at Ren’s courage, at how he could stand on equal ground with the undefeated champion.
UOOOOOH!
The atmosphere grew hotter still. Cheers, hysterical screams, and the stomping of feet thundered from every corner of the colosseum, roaring like waves crashing onto a shore. This was the spectacle they truly craved—a display of blood and power, a life-and-death duel that lit a fire in the hearts of every spectator. They weren’t just watching; they were witnessing a legend being forged right before their eyes.
Ren stood in the middle of the arena, his body leaning forward slightly. He wiped the blood at the corner of his lips with the back of his hand, then rolled his shoulders slowly, trying to shake off the tingling sensation running from his arm to his back. The aftermath of that last clash still lingered, as if his very bones were vibrating.
Without a word, he pressed a chanism on his gauntlet. A click was followed by a hiss of steam, and from between the tal plates, thin wisps of white smoke curled upward. Several armor plates detached and slid aside, replaced by a sleeker, denser reinforcent module—built to maximize punching power while reducing muscle strain.
Ren drew a deep breath. (Two more tis...) he thought. (Two more tis I can take a hit like that. After that, my arm might not function for a while. I’d better make them count.)
He shifted his stance. Both hands ca up, elbows tucked close to his sides, knees bent slightly—a solid yet flexible Muay Thai guard. The spectators who recognized the martial art imdiately roared louder.
Trek, standing across from him with his chest puffed and eyes blazing, watched the change in stance with keen interest. "Heh... so this human still has tricks left," he muttered, stomping both feet into the ground, producing a heavy sound like a hamr striking iron.
The sand beneath their feet quivered. The tension in the air grew thicker still. The crowd’s cheers warped into a wild, uneven countdown, as if they all knew that the next clash would be the decisive one.
Ren tilted his head slightly, gauging distance and angle. He would no longer et Trek’s strength head-on like before—this ti, he would rely on speed, agility, and precision strikes.
Trek grinned, stepping forward with a heavy thud. Each stride was like the beat of a war drum.
Ren stared straight ahead without blinking. "Co," he whispered softly, just loud enough for himself.
Thin steam still curled from his gauntlets, wrapping him in a cold aura that stood in stark contrast to the blazing heat radiating from his opponent’s body. The cheers reached their peak, the air vibrating... and when only a few steps remained between them, both moved at the sa ti.
Trek charged first, his massive feet pounding the sand, sending grains flying like a miniature storm. His upright horns caught the torchlight, and every muscle in his body tensed, ready to smash into Ren with full force.
Ren didn’t et him head-on. Just before contact, he pivoted to the side—a motion like a leaf caught in the wind—catching Trek’s arm with his gauntlet while driving his elbow into the beastman’s ribs. Thok! The sharp impact drew a growl from Trek, who answered with a sweeping strike from his massive arm.
Ren hopped back, using the space to twist his gauntlet and switch on the micro-thruster mode. Blue steam hissed from the wrist vents, giving extra force to his next strike. He darted left, then suddenly cut right—a zigzag that threw Trek’s eyes off for a mont.
When the opening appeared, Ren slipped in and hooked his left arm around Trek’s neck. The clinch locked tight. Before Trek could break free, Ren hamred his midsection with a barrage of knee strikes—thud! thud! thud!—each one forcing the champion’s breath to hitch.
But Trek was no passive opponent. With brute strength, he hoisted Ren half a ter off the ground, aiming to slam him into the sand. Ren reacted fast—pushing his weight backward, planting both feet against Trek’s chest, and twisting midair to land cleanly.
Trek ca forward again, swinging a massive fist like an iron block. Ren ducked under it, letting the strike sail overhead, then spun to kick the back of Trek’s knee. The beastman staggered slightly but refused to fall.
(He’s stubborn... It’s going to take more than just direct hits.) Ren thought.
Lowering his center of gravity, he began circling Trek, forcing the beastman to keep turning to face him. Each ti Trek pivoted, Ren snapped off a quick punch or kick to vulnerable points—inner thigh, flank, ribs—whittling away at his stamina piece by piece.
A frustrated growl rumbled from Trek’s chest. His breathing grew heavier. Then he went for a final gambit—leaping forward with both fists raised like colossal hamrs. Ren stepped in to et him, but at the last instant slid under Trek’s arms, shifting behind him, hooking one ankle, and shoving him hard between the shoulders.
Trek’s massive fra lurched forward, knees dipping, though pure instinct kept him from falling outright. He shook his head, trying to clear the dizzying spin from his vision. Ren, seeing the opening, didn’t hesitate. In a single burst, he closed the distance, palm of his gauntlet raised, channeling power into the strike.
The palm strike landed flush against the side of Trek’s head. Bwoosh! A blast of blue steam erupted from the gauntlet’s joints, followed by the tallic crack of steel eting flesh. The impact’s vibration rippled across the entire arena, making the sand at their feet tremble.
Trek’s head snapped to the side, his shoulders jolting as his body stumbled back two steps. Fresh blood welled along the side of his face, trailing from jaw to chest. Several spectators gaped at the sight of the champion wounded so badly.
But instead of anger or fear, Trek tilted his head back—and laughed. It was low, heavy, and filled with a wild joy. "Hah... hahahaha! FINALLY!" His voice bood across the arena, his eyes burning like embers, hot breath escaping in thick clouds.
Ren exhaled sharply. He knew that kind of laughter wasn’t surrender... it was a sign his opponent was about to fight even more ferociously.
Trek raised both arms, muscles swelling as though ready to burst through his skin. "Now... it’s my turn!"
Before Ren could react, Trek lunged forward. The speed of that massive body was unreal—like a bull released from the pen. His right fist shot out, Ren ducked, but the left ca swinging up from below. The blow crashed into Ren’s gut with bone-jarring force, blasting the air from his lungs.
BRUGH! Ren’s body lifted slightly off the ground before bouncing back. He tried to brace with his heels, but Trek was already on him again.
A relentless flurry ca from every angle. Ren blocked one punch, caught a knee, but another fist slipped through and smashed into his right shoulder. Pain shot through to the joint, montarily weakening his gauntlet’s grip.
The crowd roared in hysteria, riveted by the rare sight: the newcor who had fought so fiercely now being driven back under the champion’s onslaught. Trek advanced like a wild beast, every step carrying lethal threat, every swing like a warhamr ant to crush anything it touched.
Ren could feel the air itself shudder with each punch. One strike slamd into his gauntlet, sparking a spray of blue energy in the air. The integrated energy shield absorbed part of the blow, but Trek’s raw strength still left his arm numb.
(It won’t be long before my defenses break...) Ren thought.
He knew that relying on raw strength against a monster nearly eight feet tall would only end in defeat. His advantage lay in agility and brains—two things that had saved him more tis than he could count.
With quick, fluid movent, Ren began shifting the rhythm of his footwork. He no longer tried to block every strike; instead, he evaded, baiting Trek into overextending his swings. Every step of his opponent’s feet, every rotation of his shoulders, Ren calculated in split seconds, feeding it into the ntal algorithm he had honed over years.
To the crowd, it might have looked like nothing more than two blurs—an enraged giant and a man dancing on the edge of destruction. But inside Ren’s head, he was already setting up the final move.
Frustrated by his constant misses, Trek unleashed his Beast Heart technique once more. His body flushed crimson, hot steam pouring from his pores, and the ground cracked beneath his feet. He charged, his right fist a blazing teor set to end it all.
Ren’s lips curled into a faint smile. "It’s ti..." he whispered.
His fingers tapped a hidden switch along the side of his gauntlet. The inner chanisms whirred to life—graviton circuits spinning up. The indicator light on his wrist flared a fierce red as dense, compressed energy flooded the weapon’s core.
Trek’s punch ca down. Ren shifted half an inch to the left, slipping past the attack’s path, and twisted his waist. His counterpunch shot upward, aid squarely for the champion’s jaw.
But this ti... it was different.
The mont the gauntlet connected, artificial gravity spiked a thousandfold at the exact point of impact. The sound wasn’t just a BANG—it was like the deep, resonant crack of an underground explosion. The ground beneath them split, sand and dust sucked into a miniature tornado swirling at the arena’s center.
Trek’s massive body lifted clear off the ground, hurled several ters back before crashing into the earth with enough force to send a plu of dust billowing high. A rumble rolled through the colosseum, followed by a sudden, heavy silence.
When the haze began to clear, Trek lay flat on his back, the tip of one horn cracked, eyes shut tight. Unconscious. Motionless.
The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, so still in disbelief at what they had just witnessed. The undefeated champion... had fallen.
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