The flaming chain was blocked by The Song using his guitar, which he quickly grabbed from Beowulf's unmoving hand. The force of the whipped, flaming chain pushed The Song backward.
His feet skidded across the ring. He stopped and could smell burning wood. He turned his guitar around to examine the back, the side he had used to block the flaming attack, and found burn marks in the shapes of chains.
"Remarkable, Jensen! Just remarkable!" Daryl announced. "I was thinking that nothing was tough enough to damage that guitar, but it seems that with The Tough Guy's flames and The Heat's fire powers, it surely can!"
The Heat began to chuckle loudly. "Oh, I am soooo keeping this," The Heat said, grinning. He walked toward The Song and spun the flaming chain in the air, creating a spiral of flames.
"Hold on! Hold on!!" The Song said, waving his free palm. The Heat stopped. "What?!" The Heat asked angrily, feeling like The Song was trying to ruin his fun by pulling off some trick.
"Listen, I get we have to fight, but let's do it after we get rid of that bastard," The Song said, pointing to Beowulf, who lay on the wrestling ring's canvas with his eyes white.
"You saw how pompous he was. He disrespected everyone by acting like he was better than everyone else. Help me throw him over, then we can get back to it."
The Heat didn't respond to The Song's proposal. He turned his gaze from The Song and walked over to Beowulf. He grinned and stomped his foot on Beowulf's chest, causing fire to generate from his foot and burn Beowulf's chest.
"Owww!" Beowulf screamed, jerking up from the ring's canvas, but he couldn't get up as The Heat's foot remained firmly on top of him. "I can work with that," The Heat finally replied to The Song's proposal.
"Great, let's start carrying him to the ropes," The Song said.
"No. Not yet. He hasn't suffered enough. It's no fun if they don't suffer," The Heat said.
"Ooookay," The Song replied, creeped out by The Heat. He found it very disturbing how much The Heat enjoyed inflicting pain on people.
Beowulf twisted and squirmed, trying to escape the burning leg on top of him. He tried grabbing The Heat's ankle, but his hands burned, forcing him to let go quickly.
This wasn't like the attacks from Lightning Mike. Lightning Mike's attacks made him numb and weak. This… this was just pure agony. Beowulf couldn't even think; he just wanted the pain to stop. If this was a submission match, he would have tapped out long ago. The same energy he had felt when he first discovered his claws surged through him, but he barely noticed it.
The last time, the energy had traveled to his fingers to bring out his claws; this time, it traveled to his chest, which was being burned.
The Heat sniffed the air. "Do you smell that?" he asked, looking directly at The Song.
"Uh, no," The Song replied, still creeped out by The Heat.
"The smell of burning flesh is gone. It smells different now," The Heat said. He looked down at his feet and widened his eyes at what he saw. Grey hair was appearing on Beowulf's chest. No, not hair—fur. Not only that, but Beowulf's chest felt a lot harder, as if an animal's hide had been placed on top of it.
The grey hide didn't burn so easily, and the pain had lessened greatly for Beowulf.
Beowulf lifted his head and saw the burning heat of The Heat's foot. He couldn't touch it directly, so he tried something else. He placed his hands on either side of The Heat's foot, both palms flat against the mat.
He extended his dark, solid claws, each more than six centimeters long, and jabbed both claws into The Heat's ankle at the same time.
"Ah!" The Heat screamed, lifting his foot reflexively.
Now! Beowulf thought as he rolled away to escape The Heat's hold on him, quickly jabbing The Heat's other ankle before rising to his feet.
The Heat crashed sideways onto the wrestling ring's canvas. Beowulf panted heavily and took a moment to look at his chest.
"All this grey fur... and my chest feels a lot stronger," Beowulf said as he touched his chest. "Don't tell me. Am I turning into… a freaking gorilla?"
The Heat groaned as he sat up on the canvas. Beowulf looked at The Heat's injuries; they were quite deep.
"That looks bad. Really bad. Looks like you won't be walking anymore," Beowulf said, grinning. A wrestler who couldn't walk was an easy win for him. Getting him over the ring would be no problem—or so Beowulf thought. The Heat began to chuckle.
The wounds on his ankles began to burn and cauterize due to his flame powers. The Heat got back on his feet. "Don't worry about me. I'm just fine," The Heat said.
He swung his flaming chain at Beowulf. Beowulf ducked and rolled, evading the strike, but The Heat didn't let up. He continued swinging his flaming chain, which elongated to cover the entire ring. Beowulf struggled to dodge; the few times he couldn't, the strikes not only burned but also sent him flying to the edges of the ring.
"Ah," Beowulf grunted, dropping to one knee. Parts of his face, arms, and back revealed slight burn marks, while his chest, protected by the fur and hide, remained undamaged. If it was damaged, there was no way to tell. Above all else, Beowulf was tired. He couldn't keep this up forever. The chain's range was greater than the wrestling ring itself, and it took a great deal of athletic ability and focus just to dodge a single attack.
A large ripple of sound waves struck Beowulf, sending him flying back. "Don't forget! I'm here too, claw boy," The Song yelled. Together, The Song and The Heat attacked Beowulf from a distance—The Heat with his flaming chain and The Song with sound waves from his guitar. Dodging just one of their attacks was difficult; dodging both was nearly impossible.
Beowulf took the hits from both the flaming chain and the sound waves. They hurt like hell, and each attack pushed him closer to the ring ropes.
Beowulf was flung into the air and landed hard on the ring canvas, rolling toward one of the ropes. He felt sore and burnt all over—not a good combination.
He grabbed the top rope and used it to pull himself up, leaning on it as he faced The Song and The Heat, who were preparing for another attack.
This is hopeless! Beowulf thought, panicking. They're going to attack at any moment, and just one hit will knock me over! He glanced outside the wrestling ring, staring at the sea of suffering—the tortured souls sprouting out and aimlessly carried by the current. He looked away. If only I had some kind of shield. A lightbulb went off in Beowulf's mind. He spotted the twins still lying on the canvas, slowly regaining consciousness. If I'm going to do this, I need to move quickly.
The Heat was preparing to whip the chain for another attack, and The Song was about to strum his guitar strings. Seeing this, Beowulf dashed toward the twins without a second thought. The Heat whipped his chain, and The Song struck his strings, both attacks headed for Beowulf.
As the attacks closed in, an instinct surged through Beowulf—a primal urge to drop to all fours. He didn't fully understand it, but it felt right. As he followed the impulse, The Heat's flaming chain whipped just above him, missing by inches. In one swift motion, he sprang over the oncoming sound wave, landing on all fours beside the long-haired twin.
"What was that?" Beowulf muttered. He had never felt or done anything like that before. It was a rush of instinct and adrenaline. Whatever it was, he would have to figure it out later.
The Heat and The Song prepared for another attack. Beowulf stood up, extended his claws, and grabbed the long-haired twin by the elbows. The twin screamed in agony, but Beowulf ignored him.
He lifted the twin and held him in front of himself. The combined attacks from The Song and The Heat crashed into the long-haired twin instead of Beowulf.
Both opponents staggered back slightly, while the twin absorbed the damage and left Beowulf unharmed.
"I've found my shield," Beowulf said, grinning widely.