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Elijah is evolving faster than you think.
His power is growing.
His business empire is expanding.
And the story only gets crazier from here.
Right now, this platform is far behind.
At patreon.com/KingAlex738, the story is already past Chapter 100… and moving toward Chapter 200.
Don't get left behind while everyone else moves ahead.
Stay behind… or move ahead → patreon.com/KingAlex738
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Chapter 46
Elijah stepped through the ropes and into the ring.
The lights seemed brighter here, the crowd louder, the air thicker.
He could feel every eye in the warehouse on him, could hear the whispers, the bets being placed, the odds shifting.
But none of it mattered now. There was only the ring, and the man waiting in the opposite corner.
Tristan Quinn.
He was the same height as Elijah, five ten or eleven, but where Elijah's build had become lean and cut from weeks of training, Tristan's was different.
He wasn't lean, but he wasn't big either. His body was dense, muscular in a way that spoke of years of conditioning, of fights won and lost, of a body honed into a weapon.
His shoulders were broad, his chest thick, his arms roped with muscle that moved beneath his skin like cables.
He wore no shirt, his torso bare, the muscles there defined but not exaggerated the kind of body that was built for power and speed in equal measure.
But it was his face that held the crowd's attention.
He was handsome, the kind of handsome that made women look twice and men look away.
His jaw was sharp, his cheekbones high, his lips full and curved into a smile that never quite reached his eyes.
His hair was black, the same shade as Elijah's, but longer, falling across his forehead in careless waves that looked deliberate.
Everything about him said he knew exactly how he looked, and he had long since stopped caring what anyone thought about it.
His eyes were purple. Not the pale purple of twilight or the dark purple of bruises, but something in between.
Deep, rich, almost glowing under the lights. They moved over Elijah with the lazy interest of a cat watching something that might be prey, or might be nothing at all.
He stood in his corner with his arms loose at his sides, his weight balanced, his breathing steady. His Ki was there, coiled in his chest, dense and controlled. Elijah could feel it without reaching, without trying. It pressed against his senses like a weight, heavy and patient,
Beginner Knight Stage Peak.
The crowd was settling now, the noise dropping to a low murmur. Elijah could hear individual voices, some of them betting on him, most of them betting on Tristan. The odds were against him. They had been since his name was called.
He breathed in, Held it, Let it out slow.
The bell rang.
Neither of them moved for a long moment. They stood across from each other, fifteen feet apart, and Elijah felt Tristan's Ki sense reach out.
Elijah let his own Ki sense reach back.
Their senses met in the center of the ring, and for a moment, Elijah felt everything—Tristan's calm, his confidence, the absolute certainty that he would win.
A screen flashed in the corner of his vision.
[Quest]
[You have met someone who sees you as below him. He doesn't understand the struggles, pain and suffering you have gone through. Which is okay, so let's beat him and show ourselves we aren't that far from him.]
[Reward: A unique Skill and 300 EXP]
[Punishment: Losing your money should be enough punishment.]
Elijah breathed again, deeper this time.
He reached for Zenith, pulling the warmth from his chest, letting it flood through his body, Fifty percent.
The red aura erupted around him, bright and fierce, coating his skin, his fists, his face.
His muscles tightened. His vision sharpened. The distant roar of the crowd became a grid of individual voices he could separate and track.
His stats shifted behind his eyes, numbers climbing.
Strength: 27 → 40
Endurance: 24 → 36
Defense: 25 → 37
Tristan's blue aura flared in response, Twenty-five percent.
His base stats were higher—he had been training for years, had reached the Peak of Beginner Knight Stage while Elijah was still at Initial—but Zenith closed the gap.
Tristan moved first.
He crossed the ring in a blur, his fist driving toward Elijah's face. Elijah's Ki sense read it, his body already moving, his arm coming up to block.
The impact jarred through his forearm, sent him stumbling back a step.
His other fist came from below, a hook aimed at Elijah's ribs. Elijah twisted, the punch grazing his side instead of landing clean, and threw a kick of his own at Tristan's thigh. Tristan's Ki sense read it, his leg shifting, the kick hitting nothing but air.
They broke apart, circling.
Elijah's Ki sense was working, feeding him information faster than his mind could process.
He could feel Tristan's aura, blue and steady, could feel the way it shifted with each movement, each breath.
He could feel the places where it was strong, the places where it was weak, the patterns Tristan fell into without thinking.
Tristan came at him again.
His fists came in combinations left, right, left, hook each one faster than the last, each one carrying the full weight of his Ki. Elijah's Ki sense screamed at him, and he moved.
He blocked the first, slipped the second, took the third on his forearm, and ducked under the hook. He threw a punch of his own, a straight right aimed at Tristan's chest, and it landed.
Tristan grunted, his blue aura flickering for a moment, and his eyes narrowed. The lazy confidence was still there, but something else had joined it, Interest.
Elijah pressed forward, he threw a combination of his own—jab, cross, hook—and Tristan blocked the first two, but the hook slipped past his guard and caught him on the jaw.
Tristan's head snapped to the side. His blue aura flickered, and for a moment, Elijah saw something in his purple eyes that hadn't been there before.
He drove his knee into Tristan's stomach, felt the impact shudder through him, and followed with an elbow to the shoulder. Tristan stumbled back, his guard dropping, and Elijah threw a punch at his face.
Tristan caught it.
His hand closed around Elijah's fist, his fingers digging into the knuckles, and his Ki surged. The blue aura brightened, deepened, and then it shifted. Blue bled into red, red bled into purple, and Elijah felt Tristan's stats climb again.
Thirty percent.
Tristan's purple eyes met his, and for the first time, there was something in them that wasn't calm. It wasn't anger, wasn't fear. It was something closer to hunger.
He twisted Elijah's arm, and pain exploded through Elijah's shoulder. He tried to pull back, but Tristan held on, his grip like iron.
His other fist came up, and Elijah's Ki sense screamed at him to move, but his body was too slow.
The punch caught him in the stomach. The air left his lungs in a rush, and he folded forward, his vision whiting out. Tristan let go of his arm, and Elijah stumbled back, gasping, his hands dropping, his guard gone.
Tristan fist drove into Elijah's ribs. Elijah heard something crack, felt the pain lance through him, but his Ki sense was already feeding him the next attack.
He twisted, the next punch grazing his cheek instead of crushing his jaw. He threw himself sideways, a kick passing through the space where his chest had been.
He was on the defensive now. Tristan was everywhere, his punches coming from angles that shouldn't exist, his kicks finding Elijah's legs, his ribs, his shoulders.
Elijah's Ki sense was working overtime, feeding him information faster than it ever had before. He could see the attacks coming before Tristan threw them, but seeing and stopping were different things.
A punch caught him in the jaw. His head snapped to the side, blood filling his mouth. A kick to the thigh buckled his leg, and he dropped to one knee.
Tristan's fist came at his face, and Elijah's Ki sense screamed at him to move. He threw himself to the side, the punch hitting the mat beside his head, the impact cracking the canvas.
He rolled, came up on one knee, his red aura flickering, his chest heaving. His ribs screamed with every breath. His jaw throbbed. His leg was numb where Tristan had kicked it.
But his Ki sense was sharper now than it had ever been.
He could feel Tristan's aura, purple and bright, could feel the rhythm of his attacks, the patterns he fell into. He could feel the places where Tristan's aura was thin, the moments between attacks where his guard dropped, where his focus shifted.
Tristan came at him again.
His fist drove toward Elijah's face, and Elijah's Ki sense read it. He ducked under the punch, felt it pass over his head, and drove his fist into Tristan's ribs. The impact was solid, satisfying, and Tristan grunted, his purple aura flickering.
Elijah followed with a punch to the stomach, then a knee to the thigh, then an elbow to the shoulder. Tristan stumbled back, his guard dropping, and Elijah threw a punch at his face.
Tristan's Ki sense flared. He caught Elijah's fist on his palm, his fingers closing around it, and his purple eyes met Elijah's.
"Good," Tristan said. His voice was low, rough, and there was some respect.
He twisted Elijah's arm, and the pain was immediate, blinding. Elijah felt something pop in his shoulder, the same shoulder Henry had injured earlier, and his red aura flickered wildly.
Tristan's other fist came up, and Elijah's Ki sense screamed at him, but he couldn't move. His body was too slow, too broken.
The punch caught him in the jaw. His head snapped to the side, his vision whiting out, and he hit the mat hard.
His back slammed against the canvas, the air driven from his lungs, his aura flickering, threatening to die.
He lay there, staring at the lights above the ring. They were bright, too bright, and for a moment, he couldn't see anything else.
Tristan stood over him, his purple aura bright, his chest rising and falling. He wasn't even breathing hard.
The crowd was screaming. He could hear the announcer starting to speak, could hear the words forming, the count beginning.
One.
Two.
Three.
He breathed in,
Four.
Five.
He reached for the warmth in his chest. He pulled on them, felt them sink deeper, felt the warmth spread through his body, knitting what it could, pushing back the pain.
Six.
Seven.
He pushed himself up and his body screamed at him to stop, to lie back down, to let the count finish. But he didn't stop.
Eight.
He stood.
His legs were shaking. His arm hung at his side, the shoulder a ruin of pain. Blood dripped from his split lip onto the mat, mixing with the sweat on his face. His red aura flickered around him, weak but present.
Nine.
He raised his good hand.
The crowd exploded. Elijah didn't hear them his focus was on Tristan who was watching him.
There was no surprise in his purple eyes. Just the same patient calm that had been there since the match began.
The announcer's voice cut through the noise. "The match continues."
Tristan's purple aura flared, bright and steady. He raised his hands, his eyes never leaving Elijah's face.
Elijah breathed in. The warmth in his chest flickered, steadied. He reached for Zenith again, pulling what he could. His red aura brightened, still at fifty percent.
Strength: 27 → 40
Endurance: 24 → 36
Defense: 25 → 37