Chapter 43
The announcer's voice cut through the noise, and Kai stood up.
He didn't look at Elijah or Henry. He just walked down the steps toward the ring, his hands in his pockets, his face calm. The crowd parted for him the way it always did not because they knew him, not because they feared him, but because of the way he moved. Like he had already won.
Elijah watched him go, his body still warm from the healing, his mind still on the fight ahead. Tristan Quinn. Peak of Beginner Knight Stage. A man who hadn't lost in a year. He pushed the thought aside and focused on Kai.
The announcer called the other name. "Darius Cole."
No relation to Vincent, Elijah assumed. The name was common enough.
Darius Cole climbed into the ring from the opposite side, and the crowd's energy shifted. The murmurs grew louder, the whispers more urgent. Elijah understood why.
The man was huge. Not tall—maybe five ten or eleven—but wide. His shoulders were massive, his arms thick as tree branches, his chest a slab of muscle that strained against his sleeveless shirt. His neck was thick, his head shaved, his face all hard lines and flat planes. He looked like he had been carved from stone and then told to hit things.
His Ki was dense, heavy, coiled in his chest like a sleeping beast. Beginner Knight Stage High, same as Kai. But his body was a weapon in ways that had nothing to do with Ki.
The bell rang.
Darius moved first. For a man his size, he was fast—faster than he had any right to be. He crossed the ring in two steps, his fist coming at Kai's face like a wrecking ball. Kai sidestepped, the punch grazing his shoulder, and threw a jab of his own that caught Darius in the ribs.
It was like punching a wall. Darius didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just kept coming, his fists swinging, his body a battering ram that drove Kai back toward the ropes.
The crowd was screaming. Elijah could hear individual voices now, some of them cheering for Darius, some of them for Kai. Money was changing hands, odds shifting.
Kai reset his stance. His breathing changed, deepening, and a dark purple aura flickered around his body. His Ki surged, his stats climbing. Thirty percent. The same as Darius, from what Elijah could sense.
Darius's Ki surged in response. A blue light aura surrounded his massive frame, crackling like electricity. His movements sharpened, his speed increasing. He came at Kai again, his fists a blur of motion, each punch carrying the weight of a man who had spent years learning how to hurt people.
Kai blocked what he could, dodged what he couldn't, and took the rest. A punch to the shoulder that made his arm go numb. A kick to the thigh that nearly buckled his leg. An elbow to the chest that drove the air from his lungs.
But he didn't fall. He kept moving, kept circling, kept looking for the opening.
Darius was stronger. His body was a fortress, his punches like battering rams. But he was predictable. Every combination started the same way. Every movement followed a pattern. Kai had fought enough men like this to know that strength without creativity was just weight waiting to be moved.
He let Darius drive him toward the ropes again. Let him throw the same combination—left, right, left, hook. Blocked the first two, took the third on his forearm, and slipped the hook. Then he moved.
His fist drove into Darius's side, right below the ribs, where the muscle was thinnest. Darius grunted, his body bending, and Kai followed with a knee to the same spot. Then an elbow to the back of the neck. Then a punch to the kidney.
Darius stumbled, his blue aura flickering. His guard dropped for a second and Kai was there. His fist connected with Darius's jaw, snapping his head to the side. Another punch to the same spot, and Darius's knees buckled. A third, and the massive man went down.
The crowd exploded. Darius hit the mat on his back, his arms splayed, his chest heaving. His blue aura flickered once, twice, and went dark. His eyes were open but unfocused, staring at the lights above the ring.
Kai stood over him, his dark purple aura fading, his chest rising and falling. His lip was split. His shoulder was bruised. His thigh ached where Darius had kicked him. He had won.
The announcer's voice cut through the noise. "Winner Kai."
Kai didn't look at the crowd. He just stepped over the ropes and walked toward the betting windows, his hands in his pockets, his face calm.
Elijah watched him go, a smile tugging at his lips. Henry sat beside him, his arms crossed, his green eyes following Kai.
"He makes it look easy," Henry said.
"He's been doing this longer than us."
Henry nodded slowly. "Yeah."
Kai reached the betting windows, leaned over the counter, spoke to the man behind it. The man nodded, wrote something in his ledger, handed a slip back. Kai folded it and put it in his pocket.
Then he turned and walked back toward his seat, the crowd parting around him.
He dropped into his chair and let his head fall back. His dark purple aura was gone now, his Ki settled, his breathing steady.
"Not bad," Henry said.
Kai opened his eyes. "Not bad?"
"Your footwork was sloppy in the second round."
Kai laughed. It was short, tired, but real. "My footwork was fine."
"You almost tripped."
"I didn't trip."
"You stumbled."
Kai shook his head and closed his eyes again. "I'm not arguing with you."
Henry smiled and turned back to the ring. The main event was coming, Elijah's fight with Tristan Quinn who was at the Peak of Beginner Knight Stage.