Rikuya breathes in the silence.
Zurin's transformation fades, his aura dimming, strength finally spent. Rikuya, bloodied but composed, steps forward—every motion fluid, honed. His gaze sharpens like a blade unsheathed.
"I'll finish this."
He plants his feet, centers himself. The world seems to still.
"Rikuya Original 6..." he says, voice calm yet heavy with intent.
"Muon."
He vanishes with a single sidestep, leaving only wind in his wake.
A palm slams into Zurin's chest—silent, precise. The breath in Zurin's lungs catches, his eyes widen.
Before he can react, Rikuya's knee crashes into his gut. A flash of pain ripples through Zurin's core.
A spin, no warning—an elbow crashes under his jaw. Sharp. Sudden.
Then a hook, low and brutal, catches his ribs. Bones creak under the force.
Zurin stumbles—Rikuya's already behind him, arm slipping like a shadow around his neck. A crushing chop finds his collarbone. His legs nearly give.
In the tight space between them, Rikuya's fist launches forward—a one-inch punch, compact but thunderous. The shock ripples through Zurin's body like lightning through iron.
Then Rikuya turns, body flowing upward in a snapping kick that arcs into Zurin's chin. Time halts—the sound clean, final.
Zurin's body lifts… then collapses.
Rikuya stands still, back turned.
He whispers.
"Respect is earned not by dominance… but by restraint."
Zurin's body crashes to the ground, unmoving. Dust settles around him, caught in the fading ripples of Rikuya's final strike. Silence devours the air—no cries, no gasps, just the sound of distant wind brushing over scorched earth.
Rikuya stands tall. His back to the enemy, arms relaxed at his sides, head lowered in calm.
The world watches.
From the edges of the battlefield, hardened soldiers and rival warriors stare wide-eyed—frozen. They've seen thousands of fights. But never this.
No one speaks.
Because no one knows what they just saw.
In the high balconies, hidden behind veils and tinted glass, political leaders lean forward. A general lowers his monocular, eyes narrowing. A masked minister grips the armrest of his chair, knuckles white.
"What… was that?"
Even they—accustomed to weapons, empires, and classified power—are speechless.
It wasn't a technique they recognized.
It wasn't written in any archive.
No scroll, no record, no lineage could claim it.
It was born in that moment.
A whisper, perhaps, passes between two old spies:
"…Did he name it?"
And then, Rikuya's voice returns to the void.
> "Rikuya Original 6… Muon."
A name that means nothing to anyone—
And everything in that moment.
The name floats through the silence like a shadow cutting moonlight. But no one moves. No one dares.
Because the silence isn't empty anymore.
It carries the weight of something ancient, something new, something that wasn't meant to be witnessed—yet was.
The dust had barely settled, Zurin laid out cold, when Rikuya turned his gaze toward the rest of the arena.
Dozens of eyes met his—fighters, mercenaries, champions from every nation. None moved. Not one.
They weren't frozen in fear.
They weren't held by force.
They simply… understood.
This wasn't the time to challenge him. Not yet.
Rikuya's chest rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. His body was battered—shoulder bruised, knuckles bloodied, ribs screaming with each inhale. Yet still, there was no wavering in his gaze.
No one approached. No one dared to.
In silence, Rikuya stepped forward, boots echoing across the cracked stone. He reached the center of the arena, sat cross-legged on the earth scorched by battle, and closed his eyes.
He wasn't meditating.
Not exactly.
His breath steadied. His muscles softened. And slowly—unknowingly—his body began to heal. Faint threads of energy shimmered in the air around him, gathering, weaving themselves into him like golden wind. His wounds began closing, the pain dulling into a low hum.
He didn't know the name of it.
He didn't even realize what he was doing.
But his soul did.
Like a sleeping dragon coiled deep within, his inner self moved instinctively, drawing in the ambient mana. Not cultivation in the traditional sense—not a ritual, not a scroll-taught method. This was pure intuition. Raw. Unnamed.
Around him, the participants simply sat down as well, quiet. Respectful. No words were spoken.
And above, in the shaded balconies, one of the high-ranking officials whispered:
> "...He's healing. But how?"
No one answered.
Rikuya remained still, power slowly mending the torn places within him, as if the world itself was repaying him for his restraint.
The silence around the arena deepened—until a new set of footsteps echoed through the entry corridor. Heavy. Confident. Rhythmic, like a war drum wrapped in silk.
She emerged from the shadowed archway with the grace of a panther and the weight of a storm.
Tasha "Breakbone" Marrin.
She stood tall—easily matching Rikuya's height—with shoulders sculpted from years in the pit and curves that didn't apologize for their power. Her skin shimmered under the sun, a deep onyx-brown that caught the light like polished obsidian. Braids swayed down her back, interwoven with golden cuffs and crimson silk threads from her homeland.
Her eyes locked onto Rikuya—not with hatred, but heat. Not just fury… but challenge.
The deep crimson wraps around her fists bore bloodstains that weren't her own. Her walk was slow, hips swaying with dangerous elegance, like she owned the space between each step. Her attire was minimal but royal—tight, dark combat fabric laced with tribal gold around her midsection, showing off the hard lines of her stomach and the gleam of sweat on her collarbone.
And yet, there was beauty in every motion.
Controlled. Precise. Lethal.
She was the kind of woman who could break your ribs and make you thank her for it. Every other participant leaned back slightly as she passed. Not from fear—but awe.
A whisper drifted from the noble seats:
> "That's her… the one who snapped a man's spine clean with a single knee. The last of the Marrin pit queens."
She reached the edge of the circle, where Rikuya sat still healing, eyes half-lidded but aware.
Tasha didn't speak.
She simply rolled her shoulders once, tightened her wraps… and waited.
The temperature shifted. The next match hadn't begun—but the storm had already arrived.
Tasha stood a few paces from Rikuya, her gaze lingering for a moment, sizing him up. The crowd around the arena was quieter now, the anticipation thick in the air.
With a soft but firm voice, she spoke, her words carrying weight but a surprising amount of respect.
"You're the one who's been making the crowd whisper, huh?" she said, her lips curling into a half-smile. "I heard about your moves, but seeing it up close... you're not just fast, you're... precise."
Rikuya, eyes closed, let the words linger in the air for a moment before he cracked one eye open to look at her. His gaze was casual, calm, but there was a subtle spark in it. A spark that knew exactly who she was and what she was capable of, yet he was unfazed.
A slow, amused smile crept up his lips as he spoke, his voice low but unmistakably confident.
"I don't know about all that, but..." He tilted his head slightly, his tone light, playful, but carrying an edge. "You're exactly my type. Strong. Confident. And definitely not afraid to break a few bones."
Rikuya's eyes flicked back down briefly, then he opened them fully and raised an eyebrow as his gaze met hers. The playful tone remained, but there was a hint of something more behind his words.
"If you keep walking toward me like that, I might just have to make sure I don't break you... before I get a chance to enjoy the fight."
His words, though teasing, were laced with an undeniable edge—like an invitation that had a certain edge to it.
Tasha's expression didn't shift much, but the corner of her lips twitched upward just slightly. She let out a quiet chuckle, the sound as warm as it was dangerous.
"I like the way you think," she said, her voice lowering to something more personal, almost inviting. "But just know, Rikuya... I don't go down that easily."
Her hands flexed, her posture tightening, but she kept her eyes on him, not yet moving forward.
The air between them felt charged, like the calm before the storm. She was ready to fight—but she wasn't in any rush.
Tasha's gaze held Rikuya's, unyielding and filled with an unspoken challenge. Her body remained poised, a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. Rikuya, on the other hand, leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed but his eyes never leaving hers.
He smirked, a playful gleam still in his gaze. "I have a feeling you like it when they think they have the upper hand. You sure have a way of making people underestimate you."
Tasha raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms, the muscles in her arms flexing with the subtle motion. "Is that so?" she mused, taking a slow step closer, her presence becoming more intense. "I think you're the one underestimating me if you think you can stand there and talk, not fight."
Rikuya chuckled softly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward, dropping his voice into a more intimate tone. "Oh, trust me, I'm not underestimating you, Tasha. Not in the slightest. I'm just wondering... after I knock you down, will you let me help you back up? Or will you stay on the ground long enough to make me enjoy the view?"
The words hung in the air between them like a spark, both playful and dangerous. Tasha's lips twitched, but she didn't break her composure.
"You think I'm the type to stay down?" she teased back, stepping even closer, her every movement deliberate and calculated. "You'll be the one on the ground before long, Rikuya."
Rikuya's smile never faltered, though there was a subtle challenge in his eyes now. His gaze flicked down to her lips, then back to her eyes. "We'll see about that," he said, his voice dropping an octave as he stood tall again, locking his stance into a fighting position.
He took a slow step toward her, his movements calm, controlled, but the unspoken tension between them was palpable. The closer he got, the more intense the air felt. "But, I've got to admit... you do make it hard to focus when you're standing this close. I'm just hoping I can finish this before you distract me too much."
Tasha didn't back away, her smile widening ever so slightly. "Oh, I don't plan on distracting you too much. I'll save that for later."
They stood there, the tension thick enough to cut through, neither willing to make the first move—yet both knowing that when the time came, neither would hold back.
Tasha moved first, her foot sweeping low and fast, aiming to take Rikuya's legs from beneath him. Without hesitation, Rikuya lifted his feet, fluidly dodging the attack as he kept his stance solid. As her leg missed, Rikuya didn't waste time. He spun, bringing both feet up in a double straight kick aimed directly at Tasha's torso.
Tasha was quick on the defense, her arms coming up in perfect timing to block the incoming strikes, the sound of the force hitting her forearms a dull thud. She smirked, her eyes narrowing as she readied herself for the next move.
She lunged forward to grab Rikuya's leg, but in a flash, Rikuya spun, his body pivoting with precision. His elbow shot backward, aimed right at her face.
Tasha was ready, however, her hands coming up in a defensive block, stopping the elbow with a sharp clash of impact. Without missing a beat, she stepped forward, unleashing a barrage of wild brawler punches. Her fists came in fast, furious, and with unrelenting power, each strike like a hammer aimed at breaking through Rikuya's defense.
Rikuya danced around the blows with fluid grace, dodging and blocking with ease. But just as he shifted, preparing to counter with a strike of his own, he saw an opening. He threw a straight punch, sharp and fast, catching Tasha off guard. She was quick, but not quick enough to avoid it completely, and the punch landed square on her shoulder.
But before he could follow up, Tasha grinned, grabbing his wrist with a force that surprised him. In an instant, she yanked him forward, using his momentum against him. Rikuya tried to regain control, but she slammed her body into him, the weight of her being undeniable.
For a brief moment, Rikuya was stunned. Her body was both soft and hard—her curves pressing against him with an unexpected warmth, but the strength in her arms, the unyielding force in her grip, was pure steel. The contrast between the two sensations sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins.
As she pulled him into her grip, Rikuya could feel the tension between them building—not just in the fight, but in every move they made. This was no longer just a fight for dominance; it was a battle of wills, respect, and the unspoken attraction that surged between them.
Tasha's grip on Rikuya's arm remained firm, her muscles taut. "Don't get distracted," she said, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
Before Rikuya could respond, Tasha lunged forward with brutal precision, headbutting him hard. He blocked the first strike, but the force of it still made him stagger back, his guard breaking just enough for her to pull him in again.
With a swift, decisive motion, she slammed her body into his, and Rikuya could feel the surprising softness of her figure mixed with the solid, undeniable strength of her movements. The contact was jarring, and his body bounced back from the impact, momentarily disoriented.
As soon as he staggered, Tasha didn't give him time to recover. She drove a knee into his stomach, making him grunt, followed by another knee to the stomach that forced the wind out of him. Then, a third knee crashed into his jaw, snapping his head back, before she delivered a crushing body slam that sent him reeling once more.
Rikuya, breathing heavily, caught the eye of the audience. A grin spread across his face despite the assault. He smiled cockily, his voice low but confident, "I like this."
Before Tasha could lunge again, Rikuya's reflexes kicked in. With lightning speed, he grabbed her by the neck, locking her in a Muay Thai clinch. His arms tightened around her as he pulled her in close. In one fluid motion, he delivered a sharp, devastating knee directly into her stomach. The blow hit with precision, knocking the air from her lungs and causing her to wince.
Tasha staggered back slightly, her grip on Rikuya weakening just for a moment, giving him a chance to mock her.
With a smirk, Rikuya leaned in, his voice smooth and playful. "You know, Tasha... there's a difference between power and precision. You're all strength, but sometimes it's the subtle moves that make all the difference."
As Rikuya lunged forward, arms rising to hook around Tasha's neck, she moved with inhuman speed—too fast. In one blink, she caught both of his wrists and twisted, pulling him forward.
Their bodies collided chest-to-chest.
In a flash, Tasha's leg slid behind his, and her arms coiled around his waist in a tight grappler's lock. Rikuya's face ended up inches from hers—his toned body pressed against her curvy, dangerous frame. Her soft bust was right there, threatening to short-circuit his focus.
The arena exploded.
"AYOOOOO!!!"
"Rikuya lucky as hell!!"
"Tag me in, bro, I BEG YOU!"
One of the other fighters stood up, arms wide. "I FORFEIT MY MATCH, JUST PUT ME THERE!"
Even a noble up in the high balcony shouted, "I'll sponsor BOTH of them! Get me a seat in the ring!"
Rikuya blinked, lips twitching at the tsunami of envy crashing toward him. Tasha smirked, keeping the pressure tight. Her grip had intent—firm, controlled, and very aware of the distraction.
"You always get this flustered?" she teased, breath soft against his cheek.
Rikuya chuckled, clearly enjoying himself despite the heat. "Nah. Just impressed."
Then, without shame, he grinned wider.
"Didn't think paradise would come with a headlock."
The crowd screamed again.