Chapter 2: The Clash in the Ring
Junksyke was alive.
The city roared with chaos—vendors shouting, gamblers screaming, mercenaries fighting in alleyways. Neon signs buzzed against the smoky night sky, reflecting off puddles of oil and rainwater that stained the cracked streets. In the heart of this restless beast of a city lay the underground wrestling zone, a colosseum built from rusted steel and broken promises.
The crowd inside was deafening.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!" voices boomed, shaking the pillars as bodies pressed against one another for a better view. The ring was no more than a cracked stone floor encircled by wire mesh. The air smelled of sweat, blood, and desperation.
Moro stood at the center.
His body was lean but sharp, trained like a weapon. His low-cut hair was damp with sweat, his eyes glowing faintly, an otherworldly blue spark pulsing within them. He didn't belong here, not really—but this was the only way to earn enough to keep moving unnoticed through Junksyke. And maybe, just maybe, test the strength of the power burning inside him.
Across from him, his opponent stomped into the ring—a mountain of muscle with tattoos crawling across his chest and arms like serpents. The brute raised his fists, bellowing to the crowd, his veins popping with rage and adrenaline.
The bell rang.
The brute lunged, his fist like a hammer swung from the heavens. Moro didn't move. Not at first. He let the Matrix spark inside him flare, aura bleeding blue from his skin. When the fist came down, Moro tilted his head just slightly—then struck.
His punch was clean, sharp, fluid.
A surge of blue light exploded as his knuckles connected with the brute's chest.
The man flew across the ring like a ragdoll, smashing into the steel cage. The entire arena shook.
The crowd went mad.
"Who is that kid?!"
"He's not normal!"
"Did you see the light?!"
Moro straightened, breathing evenly as the brute lay unconscious. He didn't raise his arms in victory. He didn't smile. The roar of the crowd meant nothing to him. What mattered was the pulse inside him—the Matrix energy. It was growing stronger, harder to control.
He stepped out of the ring, about to leave the arena when he felt it.
A presence.
From the far side of the colosseum, through the smoke and shadows, someone approached. The crowd's screams died into whispers, then silence. All eyes turned to the figure walking toward the ruined ring.
Kaya.
Her steps were steady, calculated. A long black coat swept the ground, her hand resting calmly on the hilt of a short blade. Her eyes—cold, disciplined, yet carrying a weight of something unspoken—locked onto Moro.
"You fought well," she said, her voice slicing through the silence. "But this ends here, Moro."
The words struck harder than any punch.
Moro tensed. His mentor's warning echoed in his mind: The CD9 Agency will come for you. When they do, don't run. Face them.
"CD9," he muttered, his fists curling. "So they finally sent someone."
Kaya drew her blade. It shimmered with liquid energy, streams of water swirling around the steel, alive, dangerous. "You are classified as a threat. I am ordered to eliminate or contain you."
The gamblers, the fighters, the onlookers—they scattered in fear. Some tripped over each other, some bolted for the exits, others simply froze in place, unable to breathe under the weight of the killing intent filling the air.
Moro stepped forward, his aura sparking blue, the ground beneath him trembling lightly.
"I don't want to fight you. But if you stand in my way… I won't hold back."
For just a second, Kaya's eyes softened. A hesitation. But her blade lifted once more. "No choice, Moro. Orders are orders."
The ground cracked.
Moro lunged, fist glowing. Kaya moved at the same instant, her blade leaving a trail of water that hissed as it cut the air. Their collision shook the arena like an earthquake. Sparks burst. Aura clashed with liquid steel.
Moro's speed was raw, reckless, but overwhelming. His punches tore through stone. His presence filled the arena like a storm breaking loose.
But Kaya… Kaya was different. She was refined, disciplined. Every slash of her blade cut through his aura, redirecting the force. Water coiled around her strikes like serpents, sharp and fluid, each one threatening to slice deeper into his defenses.
Their fight became a blur.
A fist of blue light.
A slash of shimmering water.
Walls collapsed, cages shattered, and dust rained from the ceiling.
Moro struck forward, his knuckles grazing Kaya's shoulder. She winced but countered instantly, her blade stopping just short of his chest, water energy pulsing at its edge.
Neither pushed further. Both breathed heavily, eyes locked.
Kaya's voice trembled—just barely—but Moro caught it.
"Why… why does it feel like you're not the enemy?"
Moro's aura flared brighter, his eyes fierce but steady.
"Because I'm not. I just want answers. I just want to find my father."
The silence stretched between them. The ruined arena groaned around their weight. Kaya lowered her blade slightly—not in surrender, but in conflict.
And from the shadows above, hidden figures observed. A message was already being sent.
Scaro would know.
The Asura Twins would be unleashed.
But for Moro and Kaya, in that broken arena, the war had only just begun.
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