Battles were erupting in every corner of the park, each one more intense than the last. A cold breeze whispered through the trees, brushing against the skin like a silent reminder of the tension in the air. The ground trembled with footsteps, the clash of fists, and the roar of determination.
Everyone was fighting for the same reason—to earn a future, to carve their name into the path of an adventurer.
And among all those clashes, there was one battle that stood out. One that drew every eye, silenced every voice. Spectators pressed closer, hearts pounding, breath held. It wasn't just a fight—it was a storm contained within two bodies. Every move sent goosebumps rippling through the crowd.
This was the one they had all come to see
One of them—tall, broad-shouldered, and brimming with confidence—was Josè, in his mid-twenties. He rolled his neck, fists raised casually. Across from him stood a child no older than eight. Barefoot, dressed in Shaolin Monk Uniform, and completely composed.
Huang Qi didn't move.
Josè snorted. "What is this? Some kind of joke?"
The boy simply bowed.
It wasn't mocking. It was real—formal, respectful, and precise. When he rose, his stance changed: feet apart, knees slightly bent, one hand extended like a crane's beak, the other chambered near his waist.
Josè scoffed and lunged, throwing a right hook straight for the kid's face.
But the boy was gone.
Josè felt the wind of his own punch whip past him, and then—thock—a tiny palm landed against his ribs. Not hard. Not fast. But perfectly placed.
He staggered back a step.
"Lucky shot," he muttered.
He came again—this time faster, more aggressive. Jab, jab, kick. The boy slipped between them like water slipping through cracks in stone. He didn't retreat. He flowed. Huang Qi dropped low, spinning into a sweep that caught Josè's ankle with surgical precision.
The grown man hit the ground with a grunt.
For a second, he just stared up at the sky, stunned.
"You're fast..." he muttered, pushing himself up.
"No," Huang Qi said softly, "you're predictable."
Josè's pride snapped like a twig. "Alright, kid. No more games."
He rushed in with a roar, fists flying, body lunging with his full weight. Huang Qi's eyes didn't even blink. He leaned back just enough to let a punch graze past his cheek, then planted his foot and twisted into a shoulder throw.
But Josè didn't fall.
Not this time.
He twisted mid-motion, breaking Huang's grip and stepping back with surprising control. His eyes flared with something new—focus. The cockiness had vanished. Now, he moved like a real fighter.
"Alright, monk-boy," he growled, wiping a bead of blood from his lip. "Let's see how you handle someone who's actually trying."
Huang Qi's expression didn't change. He shifted his weight, body lowering into a different stance—tiger. His fingers curled, muscles relaxed yet ready to spring.
The wind picked up.
Leaves scattered across the stone.
Both of them moved—
Meanwhile, something else was going on with Lucas and Lucian.
Lucas and Lucian crouched behind a tree, trying to recover as much stamina as they could. Midnight blanketed the forest, and a cold breeze whispered through the leaves. Both were breathing heavily, exhausted from the relentless chase.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from the other side of the tree—light but deliberate.
And then, a voice drifted down from above.
"Yo!"
Both boys instinctively looked up.
Perched high in the branches, a teenage boy sat with one leg dangling and an unsettling smile stretched across his face. His shoulder-length red hair shimmered under the moonlight, matching the crimson of his eyes. He wore a red t-shirt and white sweatpants, casual as if he didn't belong in a place like this. His skin was pale, and his build was neither skinny nor muscular—just... unnervingly normal.
Lucas and Lucian stepped away from the tree, muscles tensed.
The boy dropped down, landing silently on the grass. That same smile still played on his lips.
"Don't be scared. What are your names?" he asked, voice light, almost playful.
Neither of them responded. Instead, they focused on restoring their strength, staying alert—ready for whatever came next.
The boy chuckled lightly and took a step forward.
"Hey, don't be scared of me. Think of me as a friend," he said casually.
But that smile—twisted and lingering on his lips—told a very different story. There was nothing friendly about it. It was the kind of smile that made your skin crawl, the kind that hinted at chaos barely hidden beneath the surface.
Lucian and Lucas felt a cold sweat break across their brows. Their bodies remained still, but their hearts were racing.
The boy tilted his head, eyes gleaming like blood in the moonlight.
"Ah," he said, as if remembering something. "Maybe I should introduce myself first."
His voice was smooth, almost too relaxed—like a predator that enjoyed the silence before the strike.
The boy grinned wider, his red eyes glinting in the moonlight. With a deliberate pace, he stepped forward, his voice smooth as he introduced himself.
"My name is Cyrus Thron. I'm sixteen. I prefer older girls, and my hobby... well, it's torturing people," he said, his tone casual, yet laced with an unsettling excitement.
The way he spoke, with that sick smile still etched across his face, made the air grow colder. Then, as if the words weren't enough, he let out a laugh—a twisted, almost maniacal sound that seemed to freeze the very atmosphere around them.
He tilted his head, eyes locked on the two of them.
"Now, tell me your names," he asked, a playful tone masking the danger lurking behind his words.
Lucian and Lucas remained silent, standing motionless. Cyrus's presence was overwhelming—like the pressure of a storm just before it broke. His aura radiated pure bloodlust, making the air feel thick with tension. Every instinct in their bodies screamed to move, to escape—but they remained focused.
Cyrus, unfazed by their silence, continued. His smile only grew wider as he stepped closer, his voice a soft, mocking whisper. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But, whether you tell me or not, I'm still going to eliminate you. After this quest... you can be my servants. I have no problem keeping failed adventurers as my little pets."
Another laugh escaped him, cold and cruel. He dashed toward them, quick as a shadow, the smile never leaving his face.
Lucas, already having regained some of his stamina, watched Cyrus's every move. The boy's speed wasn't unexpected, but Lucas had prepared. He planted his feet firmly into the ground and activated his ability—Paralyze Terrain. A pulse of energy surged through the area, and within a 2-meter radius of Cyrus, the world seemed to stop.
Cyrus's movement slowed for just a moment, his body stiffening as the paralyzing wave hit him. Lucas held his breath, focusing on the moment. It wasn't perfect—he didn't have enough stamina for a full 5 seconds—but for now, it was enough.
Lucian, who had been recovering his stamina with every passing second, felt the surge of energy coursing through him. His right arm crackled with blue sparks, a rapid charge of power ready to be unleashed. He stepped forward, his body already in motion, and threw a punch toward Cyrus, hoping to capitalize on the moment of weakness.
The punch was fast, propelled by the blue energy crackling around Lucian's fist. It was precise, aimed straight for Cyrus's chest.
But just as the punch was about to land, Cyrus's body jerked back, breaking free of the paralysis. The 2-second window Lucas had created was already closing, and Cyrus's twisted grin never wavered. He wasn't paralyzed anymore.
"Nice try," Cyrus whispered, barely dodging the punch.
Cyrus grabbed Lucian's hand with a swift, almost effortless motion, his grip like iron. Before Lucian could react, Cyrus swung him through the air and hurled him toward the nearby tree. Lucian crashed into the trunk with a sickening thud, the impact rattling his spine. Pain shot up his back, and everything he had just regained in stamina evaporated in an instant. He lay there for a moment, his body screaming in agony, unable to push through the pain.
Meanwhile, a distant memory surfaced in Lucas's mind, one from when he was just five years old. He had been training in judo and karate, learning the basics with his father's guidance. His reflexes had been sharp back then, and his instincts had been his strength. But that was years ago, and his training had grown rusty. The memories were there, buried deep inside, but he had no confidence in his skills anymore. Still, he had no choice. He couldn't back down now.
Cyrus began to move toward Lucas, the malicious grin still plastered across his face. His red eyes glinted with the promise of pain. He raised his right fist and swung it toward Lucas with a speed that left little room to react. Lucas barely managed to dodge, his body twisting out of the way just in time. The punch grazed past his face, and if he had been even a fraction of a second slower, it would've connected squarely with his jaw.
"My skills are rough, but I'll manage," Lucas thought, gritting his teeth.
Cyrus wasn't finished. With a low, mocking laugh, he followed up with another punch, this one coming even faster. Lucas blocked it with his left hand, but the force of the blow nearly knocked him off his feet. Before he could recover, Cyrus twisted his body and leapt into the air, delivering a powerful left kick aimed squarely at Lucas's chest.
Lucas instinctively raised both hands in defense, bracing for impact. The kick slammed into his forearms with brutal force, but the shockwave of the hit rattled through his body, almost knocking him off balance. The pain was intense, but Lucas refused to give in.
With determination, Lucas grabbed Cyrus's left leg as it swung back for another strike. He pulled with all his might, using his body's momentum to try and throw the 16-year-old aside. He strained, but Cyrus wasn't light, and Lucas didn't have enough strength to send him flying. Despite his efforts, he managed to push Cyrus back just a few steps—around 0.4 to 0.5 meters—before his arms began to give out.
Cyrus staggered but quickly regained his balance, a twisted grin on his face. He wasn't surprised, only entertained.
"You'll have to do better than that, kid," Cyrus taunted, his voice dripping with malice.
The cold air around them seemed to thicken as the tension built. Cyrus's eyes glinted with malicious amusement as he slowly circled Lucas, his red eyes never leaving the young fighter's movements. Lucas, breathing heavily, kept his eyes trained on his opponent, trying to ignore the pulsing pain that radiated through his limbs.
Cyrus was fast, faster than Lucas had anticipated. Every movement from the teenager seemed calculated, deliberate, a cruel dance that toyed with his opponent. Lucas clenched his fists, trying to control his breathing, while Cyrus continued his methodical pace, clearly savoring the moment.
Without warning, Cyrus lunged, his fist aimed straight for Lucas's chest. The punch came so quickly that Lucas barely had time to react. He sidestepped, but not fast enough. The edge of the blow grazed his side, sending a jolt of pain through his ribs. He staggered, his balance momentarily disrupted.
Before he could recover, Cyrus was already on him again, not giving him a moment's respite. He struck with a right hook, forcing Lucas to raise his arms to block it. The force of the blow slammed into his forearms, reverberating through his body like a shockwave. The impact was enough to send a sharp pain through his limbs.
Lucas barely had time to process before Cyrus spun, using his momentum to bring his knee up toward Lucas's stomach. Lucas, his instincts taking over, managed to catch Cyrus's knee with both hands. The pressure was immense, but he managed to hold it for a moment, keeping it away from his gut. Sweat trickled down his face as he tried to push Cyrus back, but the older fighter's strength was overwhelming.
With a grunt, Cyrus kicked with his free leg, the blow landing squarely on Lucas's chest, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled backward, his feet catching on the rough terrain of the park.
"Not bad for someone with no real training," Cyrus taunted, his voice laced with mockery.
Lucas's breath came in ragged gasps, but he stood his ground. His muscles screamed in protest, but he couldn't afford to show weakness. He had to fight back. His body ached, his stamina waning, but there was no choice. He couldn't back down. Not now. Not when it mattered.
Cyrus didn't wait. With a swift movement, he closed the distance, aiming a series of punches toward Lucas's face. Lucas dodged the first blow by a hair's breadth, but the second one clipped his jaw. His head snapped back, and a burst of dizziness clouded his vision.
He shook his head to clear the fog, but before he could react, Cyrus's fist slammed into his stomach, sending him doubling over. The breath left his lungs in a painful rush. He gasped for air, his knees buckling beneath him, but he refused to fall.
Cyrus stood over him, his red eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "You're slow, Kid. You're weak," he sneered. "But I'm sure you'll last a little longer before you break."
Lucas gritted his teeth, refusing to give in. As Cyrus reared back for another punch, Lucas's instincts screamed at him. His left hand shot out, grabbing Cyrus's wrist mid-air, while his right fist shot toward the teenager's exposed side. The blow landed with a sickening thud, but it wasn't enough to put Cyrus off balance.
Cyrus's grip tightened, and with a swift twist, he threw Lucas aside, sending him tumbling to the ground. Lucas's body scraped across the grass, his vision blurring with the effort. Pain surged through his back, and his body screamed for him to stop. But he couldn't. Not yet.
With an animalistic growl, Cyrus lunged again, but Lucas, driven by sheer will, rolled to the side just in time. The dirt beneath him was rough and unforgiving, but it gave him just enough room to spring back to his feet.
Cyrus stopped in his tracks, a slight frown crossing his face. Lucas wasn't going to go down easily, and that irritated him. He would enjoy breaking him, bit by bit.
"I'll give you credit for staying on your feet this long," Cyrus mocked, his voice low and dangerous. "But don't expect it to last."
The fight raged on, a brutal exchange of punches and kicks, each moment pushing Lucas to his limits. Despite the mounting exhaustion, despite the bleeding wounds and aching muscles, Lucas refused to relent. He knew the fight wasn't over—Cyrus's confidence would be his undoing. But for now, he just needed to survive.
[Time Left: 1:25 minutes]