The crimson sky above the Colosseum of Dread burned with otherworldly hues as the final qualification round of the tournament hurtled toward its climax. The stadium roared like a beast unchained, its tens of thousands of underworld denizens—mutants, augmented beings, black-market mercenaries, rogue hunters, and criminal lords—howling and cheering, locked in bloodlust and disbelief.
The arena floor, a wide stretch of fractured obsidian and glowing sigil-etched stones, was stained with battle. The scent of scorched earth, ozone, and blood lingered like incense offered to forgotten gods. Blazing arcane pylons flickered at the corners of the arena, projecting a translucent barrier to prevent the combat from spilling into the crowd—a necessary precaution when gods and monsters fought in human skin.
A guttural voice erupted from the central announcement dais, carried by dungeon-forged speakers amplified by arcane runes.
> "The Spiral Fangs… have fallen!"
The words dropped like a warhammer. The Spiral Fangs—once feared for their ferocity and unrivaled ambush tactics—lay crumpled and broken across the battlefield, their symbols scorched, their pride shattered.
And at the heart of the chaos stood Renji Kuroya's team.
Renji himself loomed near the center of the arena, blood-slicked and breathing heavily, yet eerily composed. His eyes no longer held the hesitant flickers of humanity—they burned with something deeper. Not rage. Not vengeance.
Evolution.
Beside him, his team stood in a loose semicircle, panting and worn, yet standing tall amidst the ash and ruin.
Mika Ishida, her palms still glowing faintly with residual energy, had created an enormous crater mid-match—her kinetic blast ripping through enemy defenses like paper. Her blonde hair clung to her sweat-drenched face, her expression calm and controlled, yet her lips twitched with satisfaction. She had landed the opening strike, a wide-range concussive wave that scattered the Spiral Fangs like rats under artillery fire.
Takeshi Mori was a living engine of destruction. Cracks laced the obsidian ground where his feet had driven his enemies down. Enhanced muscle fibers rippled beneath his armored skin, veins bulging from the excess of biomechanical strength. Three Spiral Fang warriors had ganged up on him mid-match. They didn't last a minute. His strikes shattered weapons, broke bones, and left behind nothing but moans and blood.
Yumi Takahashi, quiet and enigmatic, had danced like a whisper among shadows. She moved through darkness itself, vanishing from the sight of her enemies, only to reappear behind them with ghostly blades formed of shadow essence. When one Spiral Fang lieutenant tried to flank her, he screamed only once before his shadow strangled him—his body twitching as Yumi watched from above, expression unreadable.
And then there was Kaito Nakamura. Crackling with electric charge, he had launched himself into battle like a storm incarnate. His punches landed with thunderclaps—jolts of compressed lightning exploding into armor and flesh alike. At one point, he'd charged through a trio of heavily armored enemies, his fist melting steel into slag. Sparks still leapt across his shoulders as he exhaled slowly, high on adrenaline.
But all eyes were now on Renji.
The final blow had been his.
He hadn't moved much throughout the fight—only stepping in at the climax, just as the Spiral Fangs tried to unleash their mutated berserker unit. A juggernaut fused with dungeon essence, snarling and oozing crimson mist. The crowd had expected blood.
Instead, they got silence.
Renji moved like a specter—no wasted movement, no excessive force. He evaded with uncanny precision, then struck once—just once—with a clawed hand that had formed along his forearm without warning.
The berserker's body had split from neck to pelvis before it even understood what happened.
The crowd had gone eerily silent for a moment. The Spiral Fangs panicked. And the battle ended shortly after.
> "A clean sweep by Renji Kuroya's unit. Victory awarded. Spiral Fangs—disqualified from the tournament."
As the glowing sigils around the arena dimmed, the protective barrier dropped, and the announcer's voice returned, this time laced with a smirk.
> "Let it be declared—a day of rest and preparation shall follow. Tomorrow, the elimination stage begins. Let the surviving factions pray their warriors are ready."
The roar that followed was a volatile mix of admiration, disbelief, and fear. Underworld factions from across the globe—observers from the Crimson Pact, the Smiling Rats, The Black Crow, Forgotten Dawn, and more—whispered among themselves.
Who was Renji Kuroya?
How did a nobody with a scrapped past and a cursed evolution tear through an elite faction with a hand behind his back?
Bets were already being rewritten. Political favors were being reconsidered. Secret assassins were likely already being paid. But one fact lingered above all:
Renji's team had set a new standard.
Inside the inner chambers reserved for resting warriors, the team gathered in the resting quarters assigned to them—a stark obsidian hall with embedded healing glyphs and auto-sealing security.
Renji sat apart from the others, eyes half-lidded as he studied the thin black mark crawling further up his left arm. A faint pulse radiated from it—rhythmic, like a second heartbeat.
It was growing.
"Renji," Mika said softly as she sat beside him, still toweling off sweat. "That last move… you didn't show us that one."
Renji didn't look at her. "It wasn't meant to be shown."
Takeshi cracked his neck from the corner. "Whatever it was, you scared the hell out of them. Even those freaks from the Crimson Pact looked rattled."
Yumi's shadow flickered as she emerged from the dim-lit corridor. "They're scared… but also interested."
Renji exhaled. "Let them be. This is just the beginning."
Kaito laughed, flopping onto a padded seat and throwing his arm over his face. "Damn straight. Let 'em keep watching. I've got more volts where that came from."
Outside the resting hall, the entire underworld trembled with whispers.
Some wanted Renji recruited. Others wanted him killed.
But one thing was now certain.
He wasn't just a contender.
He was a storm. And the eye of that storm had just opened.
Tomorrow, the elimination would begin.
But tonight…
The factions feared the name Renji Kuroya.
And rightfully so.
---
The murky stillness of the underworld night pressed down like an unseen weight, the artificial glow of arc-lamps casting shadows along the walls of the Hollow Spine and its surrounding territories. The tournament grounds were momentarily silent, the roaring crowds now gone, leaving only scattered guards and medics tending to bloodied participants and battered infrastructure.
The Spiral Fangs' territory, located in the rusted eastern sector of the Hollow Spine, echoed with furious shouting. Inside a broken-down railway station converted into their headquarters, Abe Hikari paced like a wild animal. His once-impeccable hair was disheveled, and his eyes glowed with furious resentment.
"They humiliated us!" he roared, slamming his fists against the metal table. "That bastard Renji and his circus crew—!"
A lower-ranked lieutenant, his face bruised and patched, spoke meekly, "We underestimated them… but they fought like monsters. The girl with the kinetic blasts… she shattered our front line in seconds."
"Excuses!" Abe snapped, spitting on the floor. "We should've broken them before the first round even ended."
Some of his senior members glanced at each other uneasily. Even they knew Renji's team hadn't just been strong—they had been strategic, disciplined, and terrifyingly calm under pressure.
---
Meanwhile, in the deep catacombs beneath the Hollow Spine…
Kiyoshi Takeda, leader of the Forgotten Dawn, sat cross-legged inside a chamber lit by soulstones, his lean form draped in golden robes. His followers gathered in silence, sitting in concentric circles like monks awaiting a sermon.
"They're not just participants," Kiyoshi said softly. "They are variables… unmeasured, unpredictable. Especially that man—Renji. I saw it in his eyes. He's hiding something deeper than strength."
His second-in-command, a gaunt woman with smoke-like tattoos, asked, "Do we adjust the plan?"
Kiyoshi's fingers flexed. "We wait. The elimination round will reveal more than blood—it will expose truth."
---
In the Black Crow inner sanctum…
A towering underground palace carved from volcanic rock stood ominously lit with crimson torches. Asano, dressed in sleek black armor, sat at the head of a long table surrounded by his top lieutenants. His eyes glimmered with amusement.
"So," he began, voice smooth like oiled steel, "they survived."
The others remained silent until a muscular lieutenant smirked, "They're good. Too good."
Asano chuckled. "Good. That's what we need. Blood that bites back. Let them rise. The higher they climb, the better they'll bleed in the end."
---
Elsewhere in the Smiling Rats hideout…
A twisted lounge filled with flickering neon signs and drug-fogged air, Vera Corbin spun her knives idly, lounging atop a bar counter. Her underlings buzzed like nervous wasps.
"They're becoming stars down here," one of her captains muttered. "Even the spectators are chanting their names."
Vera licked her lips. "Good. The underworld hasn't had a spectacle like this in ages. Let the world watch. Stars shine brightest before they burn out."
---
At the Crimson Pact citadel…
Dante Varek sat alone in a throne of bone and steel, his mind clouded by silence. Unlike the others, he wasn't furious or excited. He was intrigued. Renji's team had fought like hunters… not just to win, but to survive.
"Those who fight to survive," he murmured, "are always the hardest to kill."
He pressed a blood-soaked seal into a message scroll and handed it to a hooded courier.
"Watch them. Every breath. Every wound. Report back."
---
Back at the Tournament Grounds…
As Renji and his teammates rested in the inn provided by the Black Crow faction, whispers spread like wildfire across the underworld. The name "Renji" had become more than just a name—it had become a warning.
And in the deep silence of the Hollow Spine, the stage was already being rebuilt for the elimination rounds. The blood had barely dried, and yet, the hunger for more had already taken hold.
Tomorrow, the real war would begin.
---