86–Battle Between Mortals [4]
The arena was already humming with restless energy. Some matches had ended in roars of excitement, others in yawns of boredom. Then came the announcement that made the crowd lean forward in their seats:
James Lee vs. Daren Hale.
James's eyes snapped open the moment his name echoed. A flicker of confidence lit up his face—arrogant, unshaken. He had already defeated Daren once before, and to him, history was about to repeat itself. Stretching his arms casually, James muttered under his breath, "Guess I should call this a rematch."
James strutted toward the stage, shoulders loose, every step radiating the arrogance of someone convinced victory was already his. Across from him, Daren climbed the platform in silence. No expression, no taunt—just unreadable calm.
The bell rang.
James exploded forward like a coiled spring. His shin whipped upward and smashed against Daren's face with a brutal crack. The force hurled Daren back; his heels tore grooves into the stone floor before his body tumbled, skidding to a halt. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Daren barely had time to register the pain before James was already there. A blur of motion—sharp elbows, whipping fists, relentless kicks. Kyokushin karate. Every strike was a hammer, precise and merciless. Daren raised his arms, but James's speed broke through his guard again and again. A jab rattled his jaw, a hook slammed into his ribs, a knee drove into his stomach. His body buckled under the storm.
"Too slow!" James barked, his voice carrying over the roar of fists meeting flesh.
Then came the finishing blow. James pivoted, muscles twisting like a coiled wire, and unleashed a spinning kick that crashed into Daren's chest with bone-rattling force. The impact lifted him off the ground and hurled him across the arena. He landed hard, dust bursting around him, body splayed against the stone floor.
The arena went quiet for a heartbeat.
James walked forward with a smirk, his chest rising and falling steadily, as if the fight had barely warmed him up. He stopped above Daren's battered form, shadow falling over him.
"Why aren't you fighting back?" he sneered. "Don't tell me you're already ready to admit defeat. Not so soon, Daren."
The crowd stirred uneasily. Some leaned forward, whispering; others laughed, already convinced this was a repeat of their first match.
But Daren's eyes… they told another story.
Flat on the ground, bruises blooming across his body, blood at the corner of his mouth, his gaze was steady. Not broken. Not afraid. There was a stillness in them, a strange serenity—as if, in this very moment of humiliation, he had found a place of peace.
He closed them slowly.
And in that blink, the present dissolved into memory.
A dimly lit training ground. Metal clanged. Sparks flew.
Daren stood in the middle, fists bloodied, body drenched in sweat as mechanical training dummies closed in on him. He fought them relentlessly—punches, kicks, counters—but his form was wild, desperate.
The memory of his previous defeat burned like acid. James humiliating him. The whispers of spectators calling him weak. That night, when no one was watching, Daren had wept like a child—anger, shame, helplessness all choking him. But it was in that moment of raw despair that something inside him broke... and something new was born.
"No shortcuts. No excuses. If I want strength, there is only one way—hard work."
He had realized James's natural talent was undeniable. Perhaps James was destined to shine brighter. But talent without effort was wasted. If Daren wanted to surpass him, he had to set his sights higher—not on James, but on someone greater. Ryo Hale. That name burned in his mind, a mountain he vowed to climb.
From that night forward, Daren changed.
While others rested, he trained. While others laughed during breaks, he locked himself in his quarters, binding his body with restrictive runes and forcing himself to move, fight, and endure until his muscles screamed for mercy. Day after day, he sharpened himself against the grindstone of pain.
And slowly, the hatred he once held for James began to fade.
He saw how childish it was—to despise someone simply because they defeated him. Losing wasn't shameful. What mattered was what you did after. There was always a bigger fish in the sea.
And so, Daren let go of the venom. What remained was steel.
Back to the Arena
Daren opened his eyes. The weight of years of hardship, of countless lonely nights of training, came crashing back into him all at once. Slowly, deliberately, he rose to his feet.
His bruised body protested, but his stance was unshaken. Both fists came forward, angled in a precise, disciplined guard—an evolved form born of his training. His elbows bent at just the right angle, his breathing calm and measured.
James's grin widened.
"Now you're ready."
With a burst of speed, James lunged forward, fist cocked, and slammed a crushing blow directly over Daren's heart. It was a strike meant to stop the body cold, even paralyze for a second.
But Daren did not flinch. His face was calm, unreadable—eyes empty of fear.
Then, in one fluid motion, he countered. His fist shot out, a straight, bone-crushing punch that drove into James's kidney. The impact was devastating, stealing the air from James's lungs. His control faltered.
Before the crowd could even blink, Daren followed up. His leg snapped up in a perfect Taekwondo whip, seizing James's head and slamming it mercilessly into the ground. The crack echoed through the arena. Dust lifted. Silence fell.
Two attacks. That was all it took.
James lay broken, blood spilling from his nose and mouth, teeth shattered, jaw fractured. A shard of bone cut into his tongue. His kidney ruptured from the strike. His once-proud body was nothing more than a crumpled wreck.
Daren stood above him, silent. No gloating, no anger, no joy. Just silence.
The crowd erupted in disbelief.
No one had expected this. The last time they fought, James had taken him to the edge in a brutal match. Now, Daren had ended it in two moves. The same James who had mocked him… destroyed.
From the stands, jeers began.
"Look at James now!"
"Cocky bastard got what he deserved!"
"Useless talent, nothing more!"
Daren ignored them all. Without a word, he turned and walked back to his seat.
But the eyes of many turned toward one man—Sam Lee, James's older brother. Would he erupt in rage? Would his killing intent spill over?
Instead, Sam's lips curled into something unexpected: a grin. A genuine, satisfied grin. His eyes sparkled not with anger, but approval.
Under his breath, he whispered, "Deserved. Maybe this will finally put some sense into him."
At his side, Verina reached out, placing a calming hand on his forehead.
"Calm down, Sam."
Sam chuckled, his grin not fading.
"I am calm, Master."
The match was over. But for James Lee, it was only the beginning of a painful new chapter.
To be continued…