The crowd held its breath as Duō Zen stepped onto Platform Six, his presence alone commanding attention. Zen was a force to behold, his body forged like iron, each muscle sculpted with precision yet compact, revealing only a hint of the immense power stored beneath his skin. His deep blue eyes, like the depths of the sea, held an intense focus, a quiet ferocity. Black hair framed his tanned face, kept in check by a simple headband that added to his rugged, powerful image. Zen wore no shirt, baring his strength for all to see, his fists wrapped in sleek black cestuses that shimmered ominously in the sunlight. To many watching, he appeared as if he had emerged from the very stone of the platform itself—a martial king incarnate.
On the opposite end stood Duō Míng, mysterious and concealed, his figure draped in dark robes that shrouded his build. A hood and mask covered most of his face, leaving only his piercing blue eyes visible. His attire swirled around him, light and elusive, as if woven from shadows. His weapons of choice, the wind and fire wheels, gleamed in each hand—circular blades with sharp edges, one faintly glowing with a crimson hue, the other shimmering with a frosty blue. He radiated an aura of speed and precision, his eyes narrowing on Zen with a focused intensity.
The announcer's voice reverberated through the arena, setting the stage for one of the most highly anticipated matches of the day. "On Platform Six: Duō Zen versus Duō Míng! Begin!"
There was no hesitation. Míng was the first to strike, his figure blurring as he dashed forward, his wheels spinning like twin vortexes of ice and fire. With a flick of his wrist, he sent them flying towards Zen in deadly arcs. The air hummed with a sharp metallic whirr, the spinning wheels moving faster than the eye could track.
Zen's eyes sharpened, and with a swift sidestep, he dodged the first wheel, his body moving with surprising agility. The second wheel skimmed past his arm, grazing his skin but leaving no mark. The crowd gasped; his skin, fortified by Qi, seemed almost impenetrable. Zen clenched his fists, the cestuses gleaming as he lunged forward with a bone-shaking roar.
The ground shook beneath his stride, each step like a hammer driving into the stone. He swung a devastating punch at Míng, his fist encased in a powerful surge of Qi that crackled through the air. Míng twisted his body, dodging with ease, his speed unmatched. He was a blur, moving from side to side, each movement unpredictable, his wheels darting toward Zen from every angle.
Clang! Clash! The sounds of metal against Qi-enhanced flesh echoed across the platform as Míng's wheels struck Zen's arms, shoulders, and torso. Sparks flew with each impact, but Zen's skin remained unbroken, as though carved from steel. He absorbed each blow, his body unyielding, until he found his opening. His eyes flashed, and he delivered a crushing punch that landed squarely on the stone beneath Míng's feet, shattering it and sending a shockwave that forced Míng back.
Míng stumbled but recovered, his wheels spinning faster, a fierce wind swirling around him. He sprinted forward, disappearing for a split second, only to reappear behind Zen with a spinning slash aimed at his back. Zen, sensing the strike, pivoted and raised his forearm, intercepting the wheel with a resounding clang that echoed like a thunderclap.
The platform quaked under the sheer force of their clash, cracks spidering outward from each impact as they exchanged blow after relentless blow. Míng moved like a shadow, his speed unmatched, striking from impossible angles. But Zen was relentless, his fists crashing down with terrifying precision, each one capable of leaving a crater in the stone.
The crowd was on the edge of their seats, eyes wide as they witnessed the brutal beauty of their fight. The explosive sounds of fists hitting metal, the scraping of Míng's wheels against Zen's steel-like skin, and the thunderous thuds as Zen's fists collided with the platform, shattered stones underfoot—every sound wove together in a symphony of battle.
And then Zen's aura intensified, his Qi gathering around him in a swirling storm. His fists, now glowing with a fierce energy, hit harder and faster. Each strike sent shockwaves through the air, visible ripples of force that even Míng couldn't fully avoid. The elders murmured amongst themselves, noticing the telltale signs of a breakthrough in Zen's power.
Suddenly, Zen's Qi flared, enveloping his entire body in a radiant aura that left no doubt—he had reached the fourth stage of the Qi Gathering Realm. His figure was a sight to behold, cloaked in an ethereal glow, his muscles rippling with newfound energy as he stepped forward, each movement charged with the force of a mountain.
The elders exchanged startled glances, their usually stoic expressions betraying their shock. The clan members whispered excitedly, unable to believe what they were witnessing. This breakthrough wasn't something easily achieved, and for Zen to reach this stage so young was a feat in itself.
Zen's lips curved into a smirk, and he unleashed his power with unrestrained fury. He surged forward, his fists a blur as he closed in on Míng. Míng's eyes widened as Zen's speed had increased, now matching his own. Zen's fists, enhanced by the overwhelming strength of Qi, left trails of energy in their wake as they pummeled the air, creating miniature sonic booms with each movement.
Míng fought back with desperation, his wheels spinning like twin storms as he tried to counter Zen's rampage. But Zen's strikes were unstoppable, each punch sending tremors through the ground, the stone cracking and splintering beneath their feet.
Bam! Thud! Each blow landed with devastating force, pushing Míng closer and closer to the edge of the platform. His movements became increasingly frantic, his speed faltering under Zen's relentless assault.
With a final, earth-shattering blow, Zen slammed his fist down, sending a shockwave that fractured the ground beneath Míng. The sheer force lifted him off his feet, his body propelled backward, hurtling toward the edge of the platform. He twisted mid-air, attempting to steady himself, but Zen was already there, his form a blur as he delivered a crushing uppercut that sent Míng flying off the platform entirely.
Míng crashed to the ground outside the ring, his hooded figure lying motionless. The entire arena fell silent, the air thick with the remnants of Zen's unleashed power. For a heartbeat, no one moved, the crowd still processing the sheer display of force they had just witnessed.
And then, the crowd erupted in cheers, voices rising in praise and awe for Duō Zen, the martial king who had cemented his place among the clan's greatest fighters. Zen stood at the center of the shattered platform, breathing heavily but victorious, his body aglow with residual Qi, the triumphant look in his eyes one of absolute dominance.