The energy inside Fang surged like a tidal wave, wild and uncontained. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind a panicked blur, but there was something else too—a strange, intoxicating power that twisted in his veins, urging him to release it all.
His hands crackled with bright light, the mana pushing through him like a force of nature, wild and untamed. He couldn't control it. The ground beneath him trembled, and before he could even think, a massive blast of raw energy exploded outward, tearing through the air with a deafening crack. The arena was instantly consumed by a blinding light.
Fang couldn't see, couldn't hear. All he felt was the overwhelming heat, the rush of power that seemed to surge through every fiber of his being. The ground buckled beneath him, and everything around him seemed to disintegrate in a flash.
And then, silence.
Fang collapsed, the last remnants of his strength fading as his vision blurred. The warmth of the mana receded, leaving only the cold emptiness of exhaustion. His body hit the ground with a dull thud, and everything went black.
When Fang awoke, it was to a dimly lit room, the soft sound of muffled voices reaching his ears. His head throbbed painfully, and he groaned, trying to push himself up. His limbs felt heavy, unresponsive.
"He's awake," a voice said, and Fang blinked, trying to focus on the figure standing at his side.
It was Ren, his expression unreadable as he looked down at him. "You're lucky," Ren said quietly. "You should have killed yourself with that blast."
Fang's mind was still foggy, but the words hit him like a punch to the gut. "What… happened?" His voice cracked, dry and weak.
Ren's jaw tightened. "Jin. The blast… it tore right through him. He didn't make it."
Fang's heart dropped to his stomach. He tried to sit up, panic rising in his chest. "No… no, I didn't mean—"
"It wasn't your fault," Ren interrupted, though there was no comfort in his tone. "But you lost control, Fang. That power of yours—whatever it is—it's dangerous. Jin didn't stand a chance."
Fang stared at his hands, still trembling from the residual energy. He could hardly process the words. He had… killed Jin? He hadn't meant to. He didn't even known he could do something like that.
"I didn't want this," Fang whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't want to hurt anyone."
Ren sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No one here asked for this life, Fang. The power you have, the world we live in—it's a constant battle. You have to learn to control it, or you'll keep hurting people, whether you want to or not."
Fang's chest tightened with guilt, but Ren's words sunk in. This wasn't just about survival. This was about control. The same thing he'd struggled with all his life. Running, hiding, slacking off—it wasn't going to work here. Not anymore.
Ren paused for a moment, then spoke again, his voice soft but firm. "You'll have to face the consequences of what you did. Jin's death—it's on your hands. The rest of the city… they'll want blood for blood. And you'll have to deal with that, too."
Fang swallowed hard, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. "What happens now?"
Ren's gaze softened, though it was still edged with the hard reality of their world. "Now, you have to learn. You learn to control your power, or you'll be a danger to everyone around you. The training ground—it's not just about learning how to fight. It's about learning who you are. And who you can be."
Fang nodded slowly, his mind reeling. The road ahead of him wasn't going to be easy. It wasn't going to be fair. But if he wanted to survive this place—if he wanted to make up for what he'd done—he had no choice but to keep moving forward.
Ren turned to leave, but paused at the door, glancing back at Fang. "This isn't over, Fang. Not by a long shot. If you want to stay alive, you'll have to do more than survive. You'll have to learn to master the thing that nearly destroyed you."
Fang lay there in silence, the weight of Ren's words pressing down on him. He didn't know what the future held, or if he could ever make up for what had happened to Jin. But one thing was certain: he couldn't keep running anymore. Not from himself, not from the power, and not from the consequences of his actions.
He was going to have to face it all.
And somehow, he was going to have to learn to control the thing that could destroy him.
Fang lay there, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he'd done. His mind was a whirlwind, the image of Jin's final moments flashing in front of him like a nightmare he couldn't escape. Every breath felt like a burden as Ren's words echoed in his mind, cold and unforgiving: Jin's death—it's on your hands.
Ren had given him no choice. "You'll have to face the consequences of what you did. Jin has a fiancée, you should send your condolences" he had said. And now, he had to do the one thing he never wanted to do—face the one person who would never forgive him for what he'd caused.
The next day, Fang was standing in front of a modest, dimly lit room, his hands trembling at his sides. Ren had led him here, where Jin's fiancée, Riko, had been grieving since the explosion. Riko was a young humanoid rat, her eyes a soft shade of brown, filled with sorrow that could never be erased. Her grief had been so overwhelming when they'd brought her the news of Jin's death, Fang had almost wished he could disappear, be swallowed whole by the earth, just anything to avoid facing her.
But now, here he was. He had no choice but to look into the eyes of the woman he had unintentionally ruined.
Ren didn't say a word as he stood behind Fang Quan, his presence like an unspoken reminder of the weight Fang carried on his shoulders. The door opened, and there she was.
Riko was sitting by the window, her back turned to them. When she heard the door creak open, she didn't look up. There was no rush in her movements, just a slow, deliberate turn of her head. Her face was pale, eyes red from days of crying, but even in her sorrow, she radiated strength.
Fang felt his stomach twist, the guilt rising like bile in his throat. He had no right to be here. No right to speak to her.
Ren stepped forward and gave a curt nod. "Riko, this is Fang Quan. He's the one who—"
"I know who he is," Riko said quietly, her voice soft but steady, cutting through Ren's words. She didn't look at him, but Fang could feel the weight of her gaze pressing on him from the other side of the room. "You're the one who killed Jin."
Fang flinched, the words hitting him harder than he'd anticipated. She said it so plainly, without hesitation. As though she had already accepted it, had already processed the fact that the man who had once been by her side—fighting for their future—was now gone because of him.
Riko's eyes finally met his, and the sharp sting of her gaze cut through him. But there was no hatred there. No anger. Only sorrow.
Fang opened his mouth, but the words were stuck in his throat. He couldn't speak. How could he? How could he offer any words of apology when he knew they wouldn't be enough to bring Jin back? His hands shook uncontrollably, his body tense as he struggled to find the words to make this right.
"I'm… sorry," he whispered, the words falling from his lips like a broken prayer. "I didn't mean to… I didn't know what was going to happen."
Riko's expression softened, but it was not with forgiveness. No, there was no forgiveness here, not yet. She stood up slowly, the weight of her own grief reflected in her every movement. She took a step closer to him, her eyes not accusing, but searching—searching for something that Fang didn't even know he had to give.
"You didn't know?" she repeated softly, her voice thick with emotion. "It doesn't matter whether you knew or not, Fang Quan. Jin… he died. And we all die, eventually. But he died because of you. You don't get to escape that."
Fang felt a lump in his throat, too large to swallow. His chest tightened, suffocating him with the overwhelming guilt. But Riko's next words threw him off completely.
"Soldiers die in battle," she said, her voice quiet but unwavering. "Jin took that oath. And I loved him regardless."
Fang stared at her, his mouth dry. She was speaking as if it was all a part of something larger—like it had always been inevitable, like she was prepared for the possibility. It was so much to take in, so much to process. He had seen the pain in her eyes, heard the cracks in her voice when she spoke of Jin, but she wasn't cursing him. She wasn't telling him to leave or never return.