Jorge felt… weird.
It was hard to describe.
As though something had yanked him from the world.
The loud bangs, the clash of weapons, the intense pain ripping through his body, all of it was gone.
He felt as though he was drifting in darkness. Endless. Silent.
No worries.
No pain.
No pressure.
Just… peace.
And Jorge loved every bit of it.
Being born into the Sanguine clan was the dream of many. The respect it brought. The recognition. The glory. Everyone wanted it.
But to Jorge, it had been nothing but hell.
Honestly, he would’ve preferred to be born the son of a poor farmer, tucked away in some forgotten edge of the West.
People only saw the glamour. The riches. The status.
They didn’t see the rot. The cruelty. The absolute horror of it all.
The Sanguine were filled with the coldest people in the dome. Their view on life was transactional, like choosing a weapon from a rack. If it served, it stayed. If not, it was discarded.
When one was born into the clan, they were trapped. That was it.
The weak were crushed.
The strong were worshipped.
There was no middle.
Jorge had always tried to fly under the radar. He wanted to climb, yes, but it had never been by stepping on others. He had only wanted to survive. Nothing more.
Because of this, he avoided anything that would come back to bite him.
But it hadn’t mattered.
Not in a clan like this.
He had ended up under a Pulse. And although he tried to serve quietly, to live quietly, the Sanguine didn’t let life play out that way.
He was weak.
And now… he was paying the price for it.
Jorge’s senses came back in a jolt. It was as though his consciousness had slammed back into his body.
Then, he felt it.
The sensation of his brain rattling like a pinball in his skull.
The pain… his thigh, his palm… his nose.
Light flooded his vision, but he couldn’t see a thing. All he saw were shifting colors, blurred and distorted, like simmering waves moving all around him.
Then came the memories.
The past few seconds came rushing in like a flood.
‘He had let go of his weapon.’
The realization slammed into Jorge’s mind.
He had tried to use the scythe lodged in his palm to pull Malakai in, to erase the advantage of the scythe’s range.
But Malakai…
He had done something no warrior should ever do in battle.
He had let go of his weapon!
‘Without hesitation.’
Jorge shuddered.
It was as if that monster child could see into the future. The very instant Jorge had gripped the blade, Malakai had already let go. There was no resistance. No delay. Just pure instinct.
‘But doesn’t that mean…’
Jorge’s eyes widened as another thought crashed into his already scrambled mind.
If Malakai had let go of his weapon… it meant both his hands were free.
To any other fighter, that would’ve been a blessing.
But for the current Jorge, whose senses were disoriented, his body radiating nothing but pain, and his vision so blurred he couldn’t even walk in a straight line…
That simple fact… was nothing but bad news.
The sound of air parting reached Jorge’s ears, followed by an overwhelming force slamming into his right cheek.
His cheekbone caved from the impact as his head jerked violently to the left.
‘H-he punched me…’
But his mind had barely registered the thought before another blow struck his left cheek.
His cheekbone caved again, his head snapping to the right.
However, Jorge wasn’t given a single moment of respite.
Malakai’s fists came like a torrent of explosive missiles, crashing into Jorge’s face in an unrelenting barrage.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
The punches blurred into each other, each impact sending a sharp shockwave outwards.
The force of it all lifted Jorge slightly off the ground, his body trembling under the assault as his face was bombarded.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
In the hall, only the sound of Malakai rapidly striking Jorge’s face echoed.
Everyone watched the scene unfold, utterly silent. Their crimson eyes were wide, and many had long since fallen into deep thought.
What the hell were they currently watching?
Most of them didn’t even know where to start. It was as though Malakai had just dropped a shower of bombs on them all at the same time.
Even from a young age, before his father’s death, Malakai had always shown his genius when it came to handling weapons and fighting.
For most currently watching, they had already expected a show of skill. But none of them had ever imagined it would be on this level.
Jorge was a warrior that could very well be considered a veteran.
He had gone through the grueling training sessions of the Sanguine clan. He had fought and survived battles against strong opponents. And most importantly, he had gathered experience that should be impossible for a 14-year-old to have.
And yet… from what they were watching, it was obvious.
Malakai had bridged this very clear gap with sheer talent alone.
And that brought them to the next shocking thing: Malakai’s current strength, speed, and Vita absorption rate.
Each of them was almost more than double what they were supposed to be!
It was absurd.
Malakai seemed to be in the node formation stage, but none of them could feel any nodes inside his body.
He was still in the Genesis stage…
So where was all this strength coming from!?
It was insane, a curiosity. Many of them simply wanted to capture him and open him up to see what was special about his evolution.
Had he found some treasure in the pit?
However, unfortunately, none of them could do that.
Not while the Sovereign still sat on that throne.
Regardless, it didn’t change the fact that the victor of this battle was obvious.
As they each refocused on the fight, they could see it was finally reaching its end.
Malakai’s unending barrage of punches had lifted Jorge off the ground, pushing him back as crimson blood sprayed through the air.
Jorge felt his mind slipping more times than he could count.
Any attempt to form a coherent thought was shattered the moment another punch slammed into his face.
Regardless, despite the unrelenting barrage, one thought still found its way into his mind.
‘I—I’m going to lose.’