55. James v/s Daren
The moment Daren Hale heard the signal that the battle had begun, his instincts took over—swift, sharp, and merciless.
With zero hesitation, he lunged forward, slamming a heavy, coiled punch into James's abdomen. The impact echoed across the arena like a drumbeat. James's body arched unnaturally, bent forward like a strung bow, breath forcibly stolen from his lungs.
Before James could even drop, Daren's arms coiled around his head like iron snakes—both elbows locked tight around his skull. He twisted violently and drove James's face down into the arena floor, the stone cracking beneath the blow. A small cloud of dust puffed up from the impact as the audience gasped.
And yet—Daren wasn't done.
He pulled back his arm, ready to hammer another devastating strike to James's skull—
—
Up in the coliseum seating, Steve Lee and Sam Lee flinched in unison.
Their faces stiffened. Breaths hitched.
They exchanged a sharp glance, and though neither spoke, the same bitter thought thundered through both their minds:
> "I warned him. I told this damn slacker to take his training seriously…
This is not Aegis Academy—nor some kiddie dojo."
—
On the battlefield, the ground trembled softly beneath the fighters' feet. The dust hadn't even settled from the last slam, but Daren's sharp senses flared.
His brows narrowed.
Something was off.
Through the haze, he could feel it—a grip, weak but oddly placed, forming around his waist. Not a normal hold. It was low. Calculated.
Behind him, despite the pain, James's fingers were locking onto his opponent's hip bones—clumsily, but with sheer stubbornness.
His inner voice echoed, low and focused:
> "Moon's ssireum… That grip… if I can just lock it in…"
His breathing was ragged, but his intention was steel.
He twisted his hips, planting his heels, ready to lift and slam Daren into the earth like a mountain throw.
But—
Daren slipped out just in time, his experience allowing him to rotate and break the grip with practiced movement.
—
James cursed internally.
> "Damn it. My grip still isn't anywhere near Moon hyung's…"
Daren flipped mid-air and landed in a crouch, 10 meters away. His boots skidded slightly on the polished arena tiles.
Just as he straightened, readying his stance—
James was already there.
In a blink, James appeared right in front of his face. His voice was hoarse, but resolute:
> "You're strong, no doubt…
But I'm not the same James you beat before."
Daren narrowed his eyes—and smirked.
Then without a word, he slammed a fist straight into James's face, sending him flying backward.
> "Not the same James?"
"My foot."
And just like that, the storm resumed.
He launched into a blur of motion—feet slicing through the air like twin blades.
Daren's rapid barrage of kicks came from all angles—low sweeps, rising crescents, and diagonal arcs meant to snap bones. James staggered back, barely managing to dodge one, block the second, then sidestep a third. Each kick was faster than the last.
But he didn't panic.
As the fourth kick came hurtling toward his side, James narrowed his eyes and pivoted his wrist—a tight spiral, timed perfectly.
Click.
It wasn't a block. It was a technique—an elegant, brutal redirect. He caught Daren's shin just enough to spin the momentum back into him.
And then—his hands snapped upward.
One caught the attacking leg.
The other gripped Daren's upper torso.
With a twist like wringing out a soaked towel, he spun Daren's leg and chest in opposite directions. The torque sent the man twirling mid-air, limbs flailing for balance.
A mist of blood flared from Daren's lips before he even hit the ground.
BOOM.
He slammed into the earth like a meteor, leaving a shallow crater beneath him. The crowd let out a synchronized gasp, the echo of the impact rippling across the battlefield.
Daren writhed in pain, blood dripping in thick beads from his mouth to the soil, but he wasn't out.
James stepped forward—measured, precise.
His voice, calm yet electric with an undercurrent of newfound power, sliced through the tense air:
> "I'm training under someone now."
He didn't name names—but in his mind, two shadows loomed large.
Moon.
Kai.
That brutal, chaotic battle against the Obscure Octopus had sparked something in him. He'd watched those two defy logic, tear through terror, and survive with raw will. Something in that fight had awakened him.
But just as his thoughts narrowed into focus—
A sudden ripple.
Daren's body jerked unnaturally. Faster than expected. Too fast.
Too late.
He surged forward, rising like a striking snake. With a sharp breath, he wrapped his arms around James's torso and legs in one explosive motion—like a wrestler locking in a death throw.
Then he twisted his hips mid-lift, spinning one leg outward like a pendulum.
The throw was perfect.
WHAM!
James was driven into the ground so hard the dirt cracked like fractured stone. Dust exploded upward, clouding the moment in a choking haze.
For a heartbeat, it was still.
Then—
A twitch.
James's fingers flexed.
He pushed himself off the ground slowly, his limbs trembling, but his gaze still locked on Daren.
A thin trail of blood trickled from his temple, carving a red line across his cheek and vanishing into his tangled hair.
He didn't wipe it.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even flinch.
He stood.
Daren's eyes widened—but only for a second.
With a roar, he launched himself into the air, legs pulled up, ready to deliver a flying kick straight to James's chest.
But James moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
He didn't dodge.
He stepped into the kick.
His arms raised, he caught Daren mid-air—fingers closing around the boy's ribcage like claws gripping prey.
The force of the kick pushed him back a step—but he didn't let go.
James exhaled, dug his heels into the ground, and began to twist Daren's airborne body sideways, gearing up for a brutal slam—
—but Daren wasn't done.
With a desperate, reflexive motion, he wriggled, spun, and twisted inside James's grip. In a flash, he slipped free.
Before James could even react, Daren flipped upward and landed on James's back—balancing precariously with one leg while using a single hand pressed against James's shoulder to stabilize.
It was acrobatic madness.
Daren stood like a predator ready to strike from above, breathing heavily, blood trailing from his mouth, but still poised.
The dust swirled around them.
Both bloodied.
Both breathing fire.
Both refusing to fall.
> "What are you trying to do? Grab my bones?" Daren mocked.
"You can't even grip properly. You'd have better luck holding onto my clothes!"
But James spun with precision and caught Daren's leg mid-motion, flinging him hard across the arena. The moment Daren crashed into the ground, James closed in and launched a rapid series of kicks.
Daren blocked and dodged effortlessly.
Then—counter.
Daren spun mid-air with flawless technique—his heel arcing like a scythe of vengeance.
CRACK!
The kick struck James's temple dead-on. The sound alone drew gasps from the audience.
His body flew like a ragdoll, hurling across the arena until—
BOOM!
He crashed into the Coliseum wall. A cloud of dust erupted around him, obscuring his body.
For a long second, there was no movement.
Then—James staggered forward, emerging from the dust cloud with a slow, staggering limp. His head lolled slightly, blood streaking down the side of his skull.
His breath was ragged. His fingers trembled.
Why the hell can't I grip properly…?
He clenched his hands into fists, trying to force control back into them.
His mind was reeling.
Then—Moon's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and calm like a blade through silk:
> "You won't be able to grip cleanly in the beginning. Especially where muscle and fat are abundant."
James's breath caught.
He stood straighter.
His vision refocused.
His gaze locked onto Daren's body—studying it like a machine, calculating angles and structure.
Too much muscle on the chest. Too much density in the limbs.
But the face…
Less padding. More bone. More leverage.
That's where he'd strike.
That's where he'd finish this.
Daren was already closing in—his stance wide, strikes fast and aggressive, ready to put an end to the fight.
James feinted left, ducked under a high hook, then pivoted hard.
WHAM!
A punch slammed into Daren's chest—not to knock him back, but to disrupt the rhythm of his heart.
The effect was subtle—but Daren visibly slowed. His limbs felt heavier, response time just a hair too late.
James didn't let it go to waste.
He surged forward with a burst of speed—like a blade honed to its purpose.
Crack!
A vicious kick slammed into the side of Daren's right knee.
Crack!
Then the left.
His stance crumbled.
Daren buckled.
Before he could react, James lunged in and grappled—his hands snapping forward, bypassing the shoulders, the neck, the arms—
—straight for the face.
His thumb locked beneath Daren's jawbone, fingers clawed into the ridge of the eye socket.
Perfect leverage point.
Daren tried to pull back, but James had already moved—
SLAM!
He drove Daren's head downward, gravity and rage lending him terrifying strength.
The earth cracked open beneath the impact, a sharp thunderclap splitting the air as Daren's skull collided with the hard-packed ground.
Then—silence.
Daren's body twitched once.
Then went limp.
Blood pooled beneath him slowly, dark and thick.
One eye… grotesquely ruptured. The other glazed in shock.
The crowd was stunned.
James didn't roar in victory.
He didn't pose.
He simply stood there—bleeding, breathless, the storm in his chest finally quieting.
He looked down at his hand.
Still trembling.
But this time, it had gripped perfectly.
James stepped back, breathing hard, blood still trailing from his own scalp. He walked calmly back to his seat, certain the match was over.
The referee rushed in, immediately casting healing spells over Daren—restoring torn tissues, resetting bones, even regenerating the damaged eye.
Daren's body looked whole again.
But his aura? Faded.
He looked like a different person now… if you ignored the blood and dirt still clinging to his uniform.
In the high observation gallery, Xiao Zhenyu turned to Rovan Hale.
> "What do you think of this generation's performance? Do any of them even stand a chance against that monster's successor? Honestly, it feels like they're all just stepping stones waiting to be crushed."
Rovan Hale was silent for a few seconds.
Then quietly replied,
> "I don't know. But the chances are slim."
A memory from the past flickered in his mind.
A man stood surrounded by countless unconscious bodies. Among the fallen were all the elders of the Xiao and Hale Clans—Lucien Hale, Rovan Hale, Xiao Zhenyu.
But the man's face...
remained hidden beneath a deep shadow.
To be continued…