"BEGIN!"
Both fighters moved into ready positions.
But immediately, something was wrong.
Iron Clad Wang's stance was defensive, protective, but he wasn't advancing. Wasn't initiating. Just standing there, waiting, his expression showing clear internal conflict.
Lucius circled slowly, his eyes studying every detail of Wang's posture, breathing, micro-expressions.
Five seconds of observation.
Lucius could tell immediately. This man didn't want to fight.
Normally, he wouldn't hesitate to take an easy win. But this time was different. Two reasons.
One: it wouldn't be entertaining. And more importantly—
Two: he'd seen Wang's reaction after realizing Monster was just a child. Devastation. Horror. Genuine humanity in a place where most had none.
This man was different.
Lucius moved first, testing the waters. A quick jab aimed at Wang's shoulder.
Wang blocked it—barely. Minimal effort. No counter.
Lucius threw a combination. Left hook, right cross, low kick.
Wang defended each one with textbook precision, but his counters were weak. Half-hearted. Almost like he wanted to lose.
Lucius pulled back, then exploded forward with a low kick aimed at Wang's abdomen—but didn't commit. Instead, he pulled out just before impact and swiftly repositioned himself, launching into a flying spinning kick from Wang's left side.
Wang's arms came up, blocking, but the impact shifted him backward several feet. His iron-skin hadn't even activated.
Lucius landed gracefully and spit on the sand.
"Oi," he called out, loud enough for the audience to hear. "Why aren't you fighting back?"
Wang turned to face him fully, and the reluctance was clear in his eyes.
Lucius pressed forward with another combination, forcing Wang to defend. "It's about that girl, isn't it?"
Wang's jaw clenched. He blocked another strike, still not countering with any real intent.
Lucius kept the pressure on, throwing strikes from different angles, forcing Wang to stay engaged. "The one from your last match. Monster."
"She was just a child," Wang said quietly, his voice carrying pain despite the volume. He activated his iron-skin partially, forearms taking on metallic sheen as he blocked a heavier strike. "I killed a child. Tore her apart thinking she was—"
"She was suffering," Lucius interrupted, throwing a feint that made Wang react, then coming in with a real strike to his midsection. "You saw what they'd done to her. The modifications. The torture. You think she even understood what was happening anymore?"
Wang's counter came slightly faster this time. Lucius weaved past it.
"You gave her mercy," Lucius continued, his tone matter-of-fact despite the intensity of their exchange. "She was in constant pain. Being used as a weapon. Forced to kill. That wasn't living. What you did—ending it quickly—that was the kindest thing anyone had done for her in years."
"Kind?" Wang's voice broke slightly. "I murdered a child."
"You ended her suffering," Lucius corrected, landing another hit to Wang's ribs. Still no full iron-skin activation. "There's a difference."
They separated briefly. Wang's expression showed conflict—wanting to believe it, unable to forgive himself.
"The person who deserves your anger," Lucius said quietly, "isn't you."
Wang's eyes met his. Understanding flickered there—Wang already knew who was responsible. Had seen the man with the remote control, smiling while a child suffered.
"I know," Wang said quietly. "But knowing and accepting are different things."
"Then accept it," Lucius pressed, throwing another combination that Wang defended more actively now. "What happened to her wasn't your fault. What you did was mercy. And standing here refusing to fight because you feel guilty? That's just self-indulgent."
Wang's expression shifted—surprise, then something that might have been anger.
Good. Anger was better than guilt.
"You're here for a reason," Lucius continued, his strikes becoming heavier. "If you weren't fighting for something, you would've forfeited already. So what is it? What made you agree to enter this tournament?"
Wang's defense became more solid, more committed. His iron-skin activated more fully.
"The monastery," Wang said, his voice strengthening. "After the war, I was... broken. Lost. A weapon without a target. The monks took me in when I had nothing. No purpose, no peace, no future. They gave me all of that."
He threw a real combination now—precise, powerful, decades of training behind each movement.
Lucius defended, feeling the weight behind the strikes increase.
"They showed me that violence could end," Wang continued, his stance becoming more aggressive. "That I could be more than what the war made me. The temple, the monks, the orphans we care for—it became everything. A chance to build instead of destroy. To protect instead of kill."
Lucius landed a hit to Wang's abdomen—the same spot he'd been subtly targeting. Wang grunted but pressed forward.
"But the local government wants the land," Wang said, his attacks intensifying. "They're tearing down the temple. Building something modern, profitable. The monks, the children—nowhere to go. I tried everything. Legal challenges, negotiations, appeals. Nothing worked."
He caught Lucius's kick and pushed him back, following immediately with a precise strike that Lucius barely deflected.
"Then I received an offer," Wang continued. "Fight in this tournament. Win enough matches. And the temple would be saved. The children protected. Everything I'd built, everything they'd given me—it could continue."
Lucius understood immediately.
"So you made a deal," Lucius said, his tone neutral.
"I made a deal," Wang confirmed. "With someone I now realize I should have refused. But if I walk away now, the temple falls. The children suffer. And everything those monks gave me—all that peace, all that purpose—it was for nothing."
They exchanged several more strikes, both fighters more committed now.
"Then stop wasting time feeling sorry for yourself," Lucius said bluntly. "You're here. You've got something worth fighting for. So fight for it. Honor what those monks gave you by actually trying to protect it."
Wang's next strike came fast and hard—a straight punch that Lucius barely slipped past.
"And that child—Monster—Jessie Lin," Lucius continued, using the name deliberately. "You want to honor her memory? Then win. Protect those other children. Make sure what happened to her doesn't happen to them. That's how you make it mean something."
Wang's entire demeanor changed. The reluctance, the self-loathing, the hesitation—it all burned away, replaced by clarity. Purpose.
POW!
Wang's fist connected solidly with Lucius's face, snapping his head back.
The impact was tremendous—like being hit with a steel bar wrapped in concrete.
Lucius stumbled backward, tasting blood, vision swimming for a moment.
When it cleared, he was grinning.
"Thank you, young man," Wang said quietly, his stance shifting into something more traditional, more centered. "I needed that."
Lucius allowed the small grin to spread slightly wider as he wiped blood from his lip. "You planning to keep talking, or are we actually fighting now?"
Wang's body began to change. The partial iron-skin covering his arms and torso spread completely, flowing across his entire form. His skin took on that metallic sheen, gleaming under the arena lights like polished steel.
"I'll give it everything I have," Wang said, his voice carrying absolute conviction now. "Or else I dishonor everything you've said. Everything I'm fighting for."
He launched himself forward with explosive speed.
Lucius cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and charged to meet him.
They collided in the center of the arena.
Wang threw a straight punch—textbook perfect, decades of training compressed into a single strike.
Lucius sidestepped, his movement fluid and precise, and threw a low hook aimed at Wang's lower ribs.
His fist bounced off. The iron-skin was solid, unyielding.
Wang spun with the momentum, his hand coming up in a knife-edge chop aimed at Lucius's neck.
Lucius backed away, the strike missing by inches.
Wang immediately followed up, his right leg rising with surprising flexibility for someone his size. Vertical. Straight up like an axe kick.
The leg came down aimed directly at Lucius's head.
Lucius weaved sideways, the kick missing, Wang's heel cratering the sand where Lucius had been standing.
Lucius countered immediately with another punch to Wang's abdomen—the same spot he'd been targeting. This time his fist didn't bounce off, but there was still no visible damage. The iron-skin held firm.
Wang pivoted, attempting a spinning backfist.
Lucius ducked under it and created distance, his mind already analyzing, calculating.
The iron-skin was comprehensive. No obvious weak points. But defenses had limits. Everything had limits.
Target the same spot repeatedly. Micro-fractures. Cumulative damage. Break through eventually.
Wang pressed forward with a combination that showcased his martial arts mastery—palm strikes, knife-hands, precise kicks, each one flowing into the next with practiced efficiency.
Lucius defended, blocked, redirected. Each impact against his guard sent shockwaves up his arms. Wang's strength combined with the iron-skin made every strike dangerous.
But Lucius was faster. His technique was different—not traditional martial arts, more adaptive. Taking elements from everything he'd learned, blending them, using what worked in the moment.
He slipped past Wang's guard and delivered three rapid strikes to the abdomen. Same spot. Building damage.
Wang grunted, the impacts registering despite the iron-skin.
They separated briefly, circling.
"You're targeting the same location repeatedly," Wang observed, his tone almost approving. "Smart. Concentrated force on a single point."
"You noticed."
"I was a military commander for twenty years. Tactics are second nature."
"Then you know what I'm doing."
"Yes." Wang shifted his stance slightly, protecting his abdomen more carefully. "But knowing and stopping it are different things."
They engaged again.
This time Wang varied his attacks more, mixing high and low, forcing Lucius to defend multiple angles, making it harder to consistently target the weakened spot.
But Lucius adapted. Every time an opening appeared—even for a fraction of a second—his fist found that same location on Wang's abdomen.
Punch. Punch. Punch.
The cumulative damage was building. Wang's movements around that area became slightly more cautious. Slightly more protective.
The fight continued, both fighters fully committed now.
Wang's iron-skin gave him tremendous defensive advantage, but it wasn't absolute. Lucius could see the strain—maintaining that level of hardening across his entire body required constant focus and energy.
And Lucius was patient. Persistent.
He'd wait for openings. Create them when necessary. And every single time, target that same spot.
12 minutes into the real fight, the drop spinner did its thing.
Both fighters continued their exchange, neither slowing.
"NO DROP THIS MATCH!" Jamal announced. "These fighters are ON THEIR OWN!"
Wang and Lucius didn't react. Didn't slow down.
The fight intensified without interruption.
Wang came in with a powerful combination—more aggressive now, trying to end it before his stamina depleted maintaining the iron-skin.
Lucius defended, weathered the assault, then countered with his own barrage targeting that same weakening point on Wang's abdomen.
The fight became more intense. More desperate.
Wang threw a palm strike that Lucius barely avoided. The follow-up kick caught Lucius in the ribs, sending him stumbling.
Lucius recovered, came back with a spinning kick that connected with Wang's head—barely moving him, but forcing him to defend high, exposing the abdomen.
Lucius's fist drove into that spot again.
Wang grunted, the iron-skin flickering slightly around that location.
They separated, both breathing harder now.
Wang raised his fists and slammed them into the ground with tremendous force.
BOOM!
The impact created a minor tremor, sand exploding upward, disrupting Lucius's footing.
Wang charged through the dust cloud, coming in fast and low.
His iron-hardened fist drove into Lucius's stomach with pile-driver force, lifting him completely off his feet.
The impact was devastating. Lucius felt ribs crack, air exploding from his lungs.
But mid-air, as his body lifted, Lucius twisted.
His hands caught Wang's shoulders. His legs wrapped around Wang's neck.
Then he pulled himself up onto Wang's shoulders and began raining down punches directly onto the monk's head.
POW! POW! POW! POW!
The strikes came rapid-fire, targeting the top of Wang's skull with everything Lucius had.
Wang reached up, grabbed Lucius by the torso, and flung him off with tremendous strength.
Lucius's body hit the sand hard, landing on his back, the impact driving remaining air from his damaged lungs.
Wang advanced immediately, raising his leg for a finishing axe kick.
Lucius's own leg shot up, foot catching Wang square in the face, stopping the attack.
He pushed off, using the momentum to flip backward onto his feet, gasping for air, ribs screaming in protest.
Wang shook off the hit to his face and pressed forward without pause.
They re-engaged.
But something had shifted.
Both fighters stopped defending as much. Stopped trying to avoid damage.
They just started catching each other with fists.
Blow after blow.
Wang's iron-hardened fist slammed into Lucius's shoulder. Lucius's counter connected with Wang's jaw.
Wang's knee drove into Lucius's ribs. Lucius's elbow cracked against Wang's temple.
Back and forth. Pure exchange. No defense. Just power against power.
The crowd was on their feet.
Lucius was somehow tanking Wang's heavy hits—his body taking punishment that should drop most fighters, but his conditioning, his training, his sheer refusal to go down keeping him standing.
And his own strikes were carrying equal weight. Each punch delivered with perfect technique, all his body weight behind it, targeting either the weakened abdomen spot or vulnerable points on Wang's iron-skin covered body.
They circled, struck, absorbed, countered.
Minutes passed in pure brutal exchange.
Then Wang created sudden distance with a powerful tiger kick—a rising kick that caught Lucius under the chin, snapping his head back violently.
Lucius stumbled but stayed upright.
Wang brought his palms together with explosive force.
CLAP!
The shockwave erupted from his hands, a visible ripple in the air that slammed into Lucius's chest and sent him flying backward.
Lucius hit the sand hard, rolling, gasping.
Wang didn't stop. He began rubbing his iron-hardened hands together rapidly, building friction, building heat.
The metal-on-metal sound was ear-splitting. Sparks began flying from his palms as they heated up, glowing dull red, then brighter.
He charged forward, hands separating, preparing to bring them together in a vertical slicing motion—the same finishing move he'd used against Monster.
"You better not die, young warrior!" Wang shouted, genuine concern in his voice despite the violence.
His glowing hands came together, aiming to cut downward through Lucius's torso.
But Lucius moved.
Not backward. Not to the side.
Forward. Directly into the attack's path.
Wang's eyes widened in shock as Lucius got too close—inside the strike's effective range, where the slicing motion couldn't reach him properly.
The superheated hands came down, missing Lucius by inches as he pressed into Wang's guard.
Lucius's right fist was already cocked back, every muscle in his body tensing, coiling like a spring.
Then he released.
POW!
The punch drove into Wang's abdomen—that same spot Lucius had been targeting throughout the entire fight.
The cumulative damage, the micro-fractures, the weakened iron-skin—it all gave way at once.
The punch broke through.
The impact was deep. Devastating. Wang's iron-skin cracked around the strike point, fragments of metallic coating falling away as the force penetrated into his core.
Wang gasped, his body beginning to drop to one knee, his hands clutching the left side of his abdomen where the damage was concentrated.
But Lucius was already moving.
His left fist came up in a brutal uppercut, catching Wang under the jaw with tremendous force.
Wang's head snapped back violently, blood spraying from his mouth.
Before Wang's head could return to neutral position, Lucius was already repositioning.
He moved behind the falling monk with fluid speed, his right arm wrapping around Wang's neck, locking in a chokehold.
His left hand gripped his right wrist, securing the hold. His legs wrapped around Wang's torso for leverage.
Then he pulled with everything he had.
Wang's iron-skin was flickering now, his concentration shattered by pain and oxygen deprivation. His hands came up, trying to pry Lucius's arm away, but the strength was fading.
"It's over," Lucius said quietly, directly into Wang's ear. "You fought well."
Wang struggled for a few more seconds, his body fighting on instinct even as consciousness began to slip.
Then his hands dropped.
His body went limp.
Lucius held the choke for three more seconds—making sure, not risking Wang recovering—then released.
Wang's body slumped forward, unconscious before fully hitting the sand.
Lucius let go and tried to stand.
His legs gave out.
He dropped to the sand on his hands and knees, gasping, every breath sending sharp pain through his damaged ribs. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose. His entire body was a map of bruises and impacts.
Not unconscious. Just exhausted. Completely spent.
The arena was silent for a heartbeat.
Then exploded.
"WINNER BY KNOCKOUT—KING!"
The crowd's roar was deafening.
"WHAT A FIGHT!" Jamal's voice was nearly hoarse from excitement. "THAT was what I'm TALKING about! Pure TECHNIQUE! Pure HEART! Both fighters giving EVERYTHING!"
"An absolutely masterful display," Haurang added, his professional calm cracking slightly with genuine appreciation. "King's consistent targeting of a single weak point combined with relentless pressure. Iron Clad Wang's decades of experience and iron-skin mastery. But in the end, strategy and persistence won the day."
In the executives viewing section, Hannah sat frozen, her drink forgotten in her hand.
She'd watched the entire fight. Watched King—the young man from the rooftop, the one who'd returned her cat, the one who'd made her feel something she'd thought impossible in her controlled life—watched him fight with a level of skill and tactical brilliance that shouldn't belong to someone his age.
And watched him show respect. Genuine respect. To an opponent. In a place where mercy was weakness and honor was laughable.
"Young miss?" Charlotte asked quietly. "Are you alright?"
Hannah realized she'd been holding her breath. She released it slowly.
"I want him," she said quietly.
"As your bodyguard?"
"Yes." Hannah's eyes never left the display, where King was being helped to his feet by medical personnel. "Do a full background check. Everything. I don't care how long it takes. I want to know who he is."
"And if he doesn't survive the tournament?"
"He will." Hannah's voice carried absolute certainty. "Someone like that doesn't die in a place like this."
Charlotte nodded and began making notes on her tablet.
In the fighter section, Odd sat with his mouth open, barely processing what he'd just witnessed.
Seung was already calculating, his mind racing through implications and betting patterns.
Liu Yan watched with the analytical eye of a fellow fighter, recognizing technique when he saw it.
Medical personnel reached Lucius, checking him over, confirming he needed immediate treatment.
They helped him up carefully, supporting his weight, and began escorting him toward the medical area.
Wang was being treated separately, still unconscious, but medical staff confirmed he'd survive. No permanent damage beyond the immediate injuries.
The arena began to clear, the crowd filtering out, some excitedly discussing the match, others heading to collect winnings or drown their losses.
---
The emergency treatment room was quieter than the main medical area.
Dr. Lois worked efficiently, running scans, applying treatment, her hands moving with practiced precision.
Lucius sat on the examination table, stripped to the waist, his torso a canvas of developing bruises and impact marks.
"Three cracked ribs on your right side," Dr. Lois said, studying the scan results. "Severe bruising across your torso and shoulders. Minor fractures in your left forearm." She paused, looking at him with professional assessment. "This is the first time you've actually taken real damage in a fight here."
Lucius didn't respond, just watched as she continued her examination.
"Your previous matches," Dr. Lois continued, applying pressure to test his ribs, making him wince. "You barely had a scratch. Tact couldn't touch you. Friday barely landed anything significant. But today you took punishment that would hospitalize most fighters." She met his eyes directly. "Just what kind of training did you go through to be this strong at your age?"
"The effective kind," Lucius replied simply.
Dr. Lois studied him for a moment, clearly expecting more. When none came, she returned to her work.
"You're what, nineteen? Twenty?"
"Around there."
"And you fight like someone with decades of experience." She began wrapping his ribs properly. "That doesn't happen naturally. Someone trained you. Extensively."
Lucius remained silent.
Dr. Lois finished the wrap, checked the tightness, then stepped back. "You're not going to tell me anything real, are you?"
"Probably not."
She allowed a slight smile despite herself. "At least you're consistent." She provided pain medication and anti-inflammatories. "These will help. Rest for at least a day. Your next match isn't for a while anyway. Don't do anything strenuous."
"Understood."
"I mean it. Those ribs need time to heal. If you push too hard too soon, you could puncture a lung."
Lucius nodded, accepting the medication.
Dr. Lois gathered her equipment. "There's water and additional supplies in the cabinet if you need them. Stay here as long as you need to. I'll check on other patients."
She left, closing the door partially behind her ignoring the massive scar on the left side of his chest, knowing he's not going to give her a definitive answer even if she asked.
Lucius sat alone in the treatment room, breathing carefully, feeling every injury Wang had inflicted.
Worth it.
He waited several minutes, listening, ensuring Dr. Lois had moved to a different area and wouldn't immediately return.
The room was quiet. Most emergency treatment had been handled. The facility had moved into routine post-match procedures.
Lucius carefully stood, ignoring his protesting ribs, and looked around the emergency room with methodical precision.
His eyes cataloged everything. Equipment. Supplies. Storage cabinets. What was locked. What wasn't.
He moved quietly despite the pain, checking cabinets, examining contents, searching for specific items.
After two minutes of careful searching, he found what he needed.
Something small. Something that wouldn't be immediately missed from emergency supplies. Something useful for what came next.
His hand moved quickly. Took what he needed. Concealed it carefully in his bandages where it wouldn't be noticed during casual observation.
Then he returned to the examination table and sat down as if he'd never moved, his expression neutral, controlled, revealing nothing.
His ribs throbbed. His entire body ached.
But tonight, after lights out, when the exterminators came—
It would all be worth it.
---
TO BE CONTINUED