The air in the underground colosseum was electric, a cacophony of cheers, jeers, and the sharp clinking of coins as bets were furiously placed.
The makeshift arena, bathed in the dim glow of fluorescent lights, was more akin to a pit—a cage of shadows and blood, where the strong devoured the weak.
Eren, now known to the crowd as "Shade," stood silently at the center, his lean frame seemingly dwarfed by the towering figure of Marcus "The Hammer." Marcus smirked, his knuckles cracking loudly as he sized up his opponent.
"Did you think this was a playground, rookie?" Marcus sneered, his voice a growl that carried over the chants of the crowd.
"You've got guts, I'll give you that. Too bad they're about to be splattered all over the floor."
Before the announcer could even declare the start, Marcus lunged, his fist arcing forward like a wrecking ball.
The blow landed squarely on Eren's chest with a sickening thud, the force rippling through his body. The crowd roared their approval.
"Crush him, Marcus!" one voice bellowed, while another mocked, "One hit, and he's done!"
Eren staggered slightly but didn't fall. His dark eyes remained fixed on Marcus, cold and unyielding.
"What's wrong, bag of bones?" Marcus taunted, stepping back and flexing his arms. "Too scared to hit back?"
Eren's silence was his only reply.
Marcus didn't wait. He surged forward again, this time throwing a brutal combination—a gut punch, a hook to the jaw, and a powerful kick to Eren's ribs. Each strike was executed with precision and raw power, the impacts echoing through the arena like cannon fire.
Eren's body recoiled from the force, his ribs creaking under the pressure, but he remained upright. His breathing grew heavier, a faint trickle of blood escaping the corner of his mouth, yet his feet never left the ground.
"What the hell is wrong with this guy?" someone in the crowd shouted.
"He's just standing there, taking it all!" another voice cried.
"Hit back, you fool!" a gambler roared, slamming his fist on the rail.
Marcus growled, his frustration mounting.
"You think you're tough, huh? Let's see how much more you can take!"
The blows came faster, harder. Marcus grabbed Eren by the neck, slamming him into the metal bars of the cage. Blood sprayed from Eren's lips as his head snapped back, and the crowd gasped at the sheer violence of the attack.
"Break him, Marcus! Show no mercy!"
Eren coughed, spitting blood onto the floor, but his gaze never wavered.
Marcus drove a knee into Eren's stomach, followed by a vicious headbutt that split his own forehead open. The blood dripping from Marcus's face only seemed to fuel his rage.
"Stay. Down!" Marcus roared, delivering a massive uppercut.
The force lifted Eren off his feet, and he crashed to the ground in a heap. The crowd erupted, already declaring Marcus the victor.
But then, against all odds, Eren stirred. Slowly, methodically, he pushed himself to his feet. His bruised face was a mask of determination.
"What the…?" Marcus muttered, his fists clenched.
"He's not human!" a spectator shouted.
"No one can take hits like that!"
"He's just buying time!" another gambler argued. "Marcus'll finish him in the next strike!"
But doubt began to creep into the voices.
"He's… still standing," a woman whispered, awe and horror mingling in her tone.
The shift was subtle. As Marcus lunged again, Eren's hand shot out, catching the incoming punch mid-swing. For a moment, the arena fell silent, the crowd holding their collective breath.
Eren tightened his grip, and Marcus's knuckles audibly cracked. Marcus let out a grunt, instinctively pulling back.
Without a word, Eren retaliated. A single, precise strike to Marcus's ribs—a calculated blow that sent a ripple of pain through the larger man's body. It wasn't enough to knock him down, but the crowd noticed Marcus's hesitation as he stumbled back.
"What's wrong, Hammer? Losing your edge?" someone jeered, laughter rippling through the stands.
Marcus snarled, more out of frustration than pain. "You think that's enough to stop me? You're dead meat!"
As Marcus advanced again, Eren remained calm. Inside, his mind was a storm of calculations.
The Heavenly Yang Constitution... Eren thought, his mind sharp despite the haze of pain coursing through him. The heat in his body wasn't just warmth—it was a furnace, a raging inferno that burned through his veins with every heartbeat. Every blow Marcus landed wasn't breaking him; it was fueling him, igniting something deep within.
The bruises that had spread like dark stains across his torso moments ago were fading, their edges softening as though an unseen hand was erasing them. Beneath his skin, his cracked ribs throbbed with an intense heat, each fracture sealing itself with a near-audible hiss.
It wasn't healing in the traditional sense—it was a transformation, a reclamation of strength that Eren barely understood but could feel with every fiber of his being.
He clenched his fists, feeling the raw vitality coursing through his fingers. The Heavenly Yang Constitution wasn't just healing him; it was recalibrating him, aligning his body to endure, adapt, and thrive. Each strike from Marcus, every brutal impact, was a catalyst—a test of this body's limits.
But there was a delicate balance to maintain. Eren could feel the untamed energy surging within, begging to be unleashed. It was raw and overwhelming, like a dam straining against the rising tide of a flood. If he released it too soon, it could obliterate Marcus in a single moment, exposing his true potential to the crowd. He wasn't ready for that—not yet.
This wasn't just a fight—it was a forge, and he was being reforged in fire.
Marcus threw another series of punches, each one more erratic than the last. His breath came in ragged gasps, his stamina waning. Eren ducked and weaved, avoiding some of the blows while absorbing others with deliberate precision.
The referee stepped in, raising a hand. "End of the first round!"
The crowd exploded into cheers and boos, the energy in the arena reaching a fever pitch. Marcus stumbled back to his corner, sweat and blood dripping from his face. He slammed a fist into the cage in frustration.
"How the hell is he still standing?" Marcus muttered, glaring at Eren.
Eren stood in the center of the arena, his posture steady despite the bloodstains on his shirt and the faint limp in his step. His piercing gaze locked onto Marcus, unflinching and unreadable.
"Who is this guy?" one gambler asked, furiously flipping through a list of names.
"He's not on any roster," another muttered. "No records, no past fights. It's like he just appeared."
The murmurs of confusion and speculation spread like wildfire.
Marcus pointed a bloodied finger at Eren, his voice hoarse but menacing.
"You're dead, rookie. Next round, I'll break every bone in your body."
Eren's only response was a slight adjustment of his stance. His silence was deafening, his confidence unnerving.
As the bell signaled the end of the break, the crowd roared in anticipation.
"Round two!"
The lion's den was ready for blood.