The wind cut cold through the park, bending the grass and rustling the leaves overhead. Seraphine stood just a few paces from Daniel, her gaze sharp enough to make lesser men step back. Daniel wasn't one of those men, but he wasn't stupid either—every instinct told him she wasn't someone you turned your back on.
They weren't even speaking in raised voices, but the tension between them was a live wire.
Then—
Step.
Step.
Step.
The sound didn't belong in the background noise of the park. It was too deliberate, too measured. Daniel and Seraphine both turned toward the same spot at the same time.
From between the trees, a figure emerged—tall, lean, wearing a loose black jacket and dark jeans. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, his head tilted like he was already amused.
"Well, well…"
Ares Kyro.
The name alone was enough to pull every shred of air from the space between them.
"How lucky am I to meet the two of you here?" His voice had that careless, mocking lilt—but when his eyes found Daniel, something in the air thickened. His smirk deepened, but the warmth in it was gone.
"Especially you."
Daniel's mind went cold. One-on-one with either of them is dangerous. But both? That's a death sentence.
Still, he didn't flinch. "We should work together on this," he said, looking straight at Seraphine.
She blinked—once—then her lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. "I don't like working with weak people."
Ares laughed softly, shaking his head. "Why would she work with you anyway? She's got better things to do… like containing you."
That's when Daniel's grin sharpened. Not a fake grin—something darker, meaner. His eyes lit faintly, a predatory gleam that didn't belong on someone playing nice.
"Oh, really?" His voice was quiet but edged with something that made both of them pause. "Then there's nothing you can do about it."
And just like that, he turned away, walking toward the far edge of the park. "Catch you later, freaks."
He didn't look back.
Seraphine's expression was unreadable, but Ares's smirk had slipped into something colder as the wind swept over them. Neither moved until Daniel's figure vanished from sight.
The Next Day
No one knew where it began. No provocation. No warning. Just the sound of stone cracking, the echo of something heavy slamming into the ground, and the chaos that followed.
By the time anyone saw them, Daniel and Ares were already locked in a storm of fists and steel.
"How dare you, you bitch!" Daniel roared, his voice low but violent, pushing Ares back into the crumbling brick wall of a narrow alley.
Ares's head snapped forward—crack—meeting Daniel's nose in a vicious headbutt that sprayed blood. "Finally showing your teeth, huh?" he said with a grin that split into a laugh.
Daniel didn't give him time to gloat. His knee drove upward into Ares's ribs—hard enough to make him stagger—before a spinning kick smashed into his jaw. Ares stumbled but didn't fall, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Good hit," he muttered. "Too bad you're still slow."
He moved like a shadow, his hand shooting out to grab Daniel's collar before slamming him into the opposite wall. The impact sent dust raining down from the cracked brick.
But Daniel didn't freeze—he twisted his body, slamming his elbow into Ares's temple, forcing the other man to let go.
Word traveled fast in Valhalla's underground. By the time the fight hit its second minute, a small ring of onlookers had formed—students, dropouts, people who liked to watch others bleed. No one dared to step in. This wasn't a match you stopped.
"This is suicide," one voice whispered.
"No… this is a grudge," another replied.
Back to the Fight
Daniel's eyes were locked on Ares's every movement, reading the twitch of his muscles, the shift of his weight.
Ares swung low, aiming for Daniel's ribs, but Daniel caught his arm and twisted—snap—enough to make Ares grunt. He didn't break it, but the pain was real.
Ares retaliated with a brutal kick to Daniel's thigh, deadening the muscle before following up with a left hook that split his lip.
The copper taste of blood filled Daniel's mouth, but instead of spitting it out, he smiled—slowly, wickedly.
"You're not half as scary as you think," Daniel said, voice hoarse but steady.
"Oh, I'm scarier," Ares promised.
Then he came at Daniel with speed that blurred the edges of reality. His fist grazed Daniel's jaw, his knee barely missing the gut, but Daniel weaved through each blow, catching Ares's wrist mid-swing and driving his own palm up under Ares's chin.
The force lifted him an inch off the ground before he crashed back down, wheezing.
By the sixth minute, both were bleeding, both were slowing—but neither was giving in.
Daniel's right hook connected with Ares's cheek so hard it whipped his head to the side, but Ares countered immediately with an upward elbow that clipped Daniel's jaw.
The crowd was silent now, the only sound the heavy breathing, the impact of strikes, and the occasional splatter of blood on concrete.
Finally, Ares stepped back, wiping his face, his grin returning. "You've got bite, Valtier. Didn't expect that."
Daniel spat blood onto the pavement. "You're going to regret stepping in that park yesterday."
"Maybe," Ares said, shrugging. "But I'm enjoying this too much to care."
The fight didn't end clean. It didn't end with one man lying unconscious. It ended when both stepped back, chests heaving, glaring at each other through the haze of dust and blood, silently agreeing that this wasn't over—just postponed.
The crowd dispersed slowly, murmuring about what they'd seen. Nobody knew exactly what started it, but they all knew one thing:
This wasn't just a fight.
It was the start of something much, much worse.