The clang of metal echoed through the academy's training hall. Rows of weapons lined the walls, sandbags hung from chains, and wooden dummies stood waiting to be broken. At the center of it all was Michael Arden, shirt damp with sweat, eyes blazing with determination.
"Today," he whispered, clenching his fists, "I'm going to surpass myself."
He walked to the rack and gripped a pair of weighted gauntlets. They were made of dense alloy, heavier than his arms could comfortably carry. Strapping them on, he felt his shoulders sink under the pressure.
"Good… If I can't even carry this weight, how can I carry the title of Shadow Monarch?"
He threw his first punch at the wooden dummy. The impact jolted his bones. Pain shot through his knuckles, but he didn't stop. He punched again. And again. Each strike carried his essence—not to destroy the dummy, but to reinforce his body. Shadow wrapped his fists like padding, lightning sparked in controlled bursts to harden his impact.
