The crowd roared as the bell for round two echoed through the grimy colosseum, signaling the continuation of the brutal clash. Eren, still standing tall in the arena under the alias "Shade," adjusted his stance ever so slightly, his expression a mask of calm.
Across from him, Marcus "The Hammer" was a vision of fury. His muscles, slick with sweat and blood, flexed as he pounded his fists together, a beast desperate to break its prey.
"You're going down this time, rookie!" Marcus growled, his voice ragged with exhaustion.
Eren said nothing. His silence had become his greatest weapon.
The air was heavy with tension, the atmosphere thick with the mixed scents of blood, sweat, and adrenaline. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The audience leaned forward in their seats, their faces a mixture of excitement, skepticism, and awe.
"Marcus will crush him this time!" shouted a burly man clutching a wad of betting slips.
"No way! That kid is playing him!" retorted another spectator.
Eren took a deep breath, feeling the raging heat of his Heavenly Yang Constitution surge through his body. Every blow he had endured in the first round was fuel for the fire within him.
But this wasn't just a fight—it was a battle for survival. Deep inside, his meridians twisted and screamed, their chaotic flow of energy threatening to tear him apart. He had used Marcus's relentless assault not just to test his limits but to guide the volatile qi through his body.
Splitting his consciousness was no easy feat. One part of him was fully immersed in the fight, maintaining his stance, tracking Marcus's movements, and absorbing the blows, while missing all the deadly blows.
The other part was locked in an internal war, guiding his qi along the Crimson Impact Reformation technique, using the external impacts to realign his twisted meridians.
"Focus," Eren whispered to himself, the sound drowned out by the roaring crowd.
Marcus launched himself forward, fists flying in a blur of fury. He poured everything into this assault—hooks, jabs, and haymakers—all aimed to crush the resilient Shade once and for all. Eren ducked and weaved, his movements precise yet deliberate.
"Stay still, damn it!" Marcus bellowed, his fists slamming into Eren's ribs and shoulders like battering rams.
Each blow sent shockwaves through Eren's body, but he used the pain to fuel his technique, channeling the energy through his meridians. His ribs, still healing from the earlier strikes, creaked under the pressure but didn't break.
The crowd was in an uproar.
"Marcus is giving it everything he's got!" a woman screamed, her voice barely audible over the chaos.
"But the kid's still standing!" another yelled.
"Unreal! He's got to be made of steel or something!"
Marcus's movements began to falter. His punches were still powerful, but they lacked the precision and ferocity of the first round. Sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision, and his chest heaved with every labored breath.
Eren's sharp gaze never left Marcus, observing the subtle signs of fatigue. Marcus's footwork was sloppy, his guard lower than before. The Hammer was running out of steam, and Shade knew it.
Inside, Eren felt the last of his meridians snap into alignment to maintain the tri-dantian system. The pain subsided, replaced by a steady, controlled flow of energy. The Crimson Impact Reformation was complete, and his body felt lighter, stronger.
"Enough," Eren thought. He had rung Marcus dry.
As Marcus swung a sluggish right hook, Eren moved. His hand shot up, catching the punch mid-air, just as he had in the first round. The crowd gasped, their collective breath stolen by the display of strength.
"What the hell is this guy made of?" someone muttered.
With a calculated precision that sent chills through the onlookers, Eren twisted Marcus's arm, forcing him to stumble forward. In a fluid motion, Eren delivered his first move: a brutal elbow strike to Marcus's exposed ribs. The crack of bone echoed through the arena, silencing the crowd.
Marcus roared in pain, clutching his side, but Eren didn't stop. He pivoted on his heel, using the momentum to deliver the second and final blow—a spinning kick that connected with Marcus's jaw. The impact sent Marcus sprawling to the ground, his massive frame crashing into the dirt with a thud that shook the cage.
The arena was silent for a moment, the crowd too stunned to react.
"Did… did he just take him down?" someone finally whispered, their voice trembling with disbelief.
"He did," another murmured.
Then, like a dam breaking, the colosseum erupted.
"Shade! Shade! Shade!"
The chant reverberated through the pit, the gamblers and spectators united in their awe of the underdog who had just toppled the reigning champion.
Eren stood in the center of the arena, his posture steady despite the blood and bruises marking his body. He looked down at Marcus, who groaned in pain, struggling to lift his head.
"Stay down," Eren said softly, his voice barely audible over the cheers.
For the spectators, it had been a masterful display of strategy. They marveled at Shade's endurance, his ability to absorb Marcus's relentless attacks and turn the tide with calculated precision.
"He played him like a fiddle!" a man shouted, slapping his friend on the back.
"Smart kid," another agreed. "Let Marcus wear himself out before striking back. Genius!"
But for Eren, it had been a battle for survival. Every blow he took had been a calculated risk, each moment a delicate balance between life and death. His split consciousness had allowed him to endure the fight while repairing his body from within, but it had been far from easy.
He glanced around the arena, the faces of the crowd blurred and indistinct. To them, he was a mysterious fighter, a strategist who had outsmarted the Hammer. They didn't know the truth, and Eren had no intention of correcting their misunderstanding.
As the referee declared him the winner, Eren raised his hand, acknowledging the crowd's deafening cheers. But his expression remained unreadable. This fight had been a necessary step, a means to an end. He had survived, adapted, and emerged victorious, but the stakes were far greater than anyone in the colosseum could comprehend.
To the spectators, it had been a fight for glory. For him, it had been a fight for his very existence.
And as the chants of "Shade" echoed through the arena, Eren allowed himself a small, fleeting smile. The lion's den had claimed its share of blood, but tonight, the lion had met its match.