Soren's muscles tensed, his body aching yet driven by the fierce pulse of the second heart within him. Every wound throbbed, each scar a burning reminder of how close he had come to death but also a testament to the second chance he'd been granted.
Denis narrowed his eyes, studying Soren's stance, looking for any sign of weakness. His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat trickling down his brow, but there was a wild hunger igniting his gaze. He wasn't just in this to win he was on the hunt.
With slow, deliberate movements, Denis pushed himself to his feet, the ground shaking beneath his boots. His knife glinted coldly under the harsh arena lights as he lifted it, each motion calculated and predatory. Soren tightened his fists, ready to face the storm. His mind raced, the core skill thrumming within him, providing clarity where confusion had once ruled.
Then, like the crack of a whip, Denis lunged. The first strike came fast a low slash but Soren barely managed to twist away, the blade grazing his side, a burning reminder that it hadn't cut deep. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him, sharpening his senses, and he retaliated with a wild punch, slow yet packed with desperate strength.
Denis caught it on his forearm, wincing at the impact. He pressed on, each step deliberate, closing the distance between them with relentless determination. The arena reverberated with the clash of flesh and metal, the fight unfolding as a brutal dance of survival. Neither fighter was willing to give an inch.
Denis's knife sliced through the air once more this time even faster but Soren didn't flinch. Instead, he disappeared like smoke, a blur of movement as he twisted behind Denis, aiming a sharp elbow strike right to his ribs. The impact echoed, but Denis barely wavered. He spun around, knife glinting, targeting Soren's neck.
Soren ducked under the blade with a fluid grace, knees bending, muscles coiled like springs. His fist shot forward a lightning-fast jab striking Denis's jaw with a crack that sent a jolt through both of them. Denis stumbled but quickly regained his footing, lunging forward with a fierce roar. His knife aimed low, slicing toward Soren's thigh.
Soren twisted again agile and precise landing a spinning backfist that caught Denis across the temple. The force made Denis's eyes flash with surprise and fury.
But Denis was no ordinary fighter. His pace quickened, movements sharper and more brutal a relentless storm of steel and rage. Soren blocked a knife slash with his forearm, feeling the sting as metal grazed his bone. He gritted his teeth, the fire of his core skill igniting within him.
His eyes narrowed.
With a roar, Soren unleashed a flurry of punches fast and brutal, flowing like water. Each hit was calculated to disrupt Denis's rhythm. A double jab, a hook, a low uppercut, and then a spinning elbow that slammed Denis into the bloodied arena wall. Denis gasped, momentarily winded, blood trickling from his lips. But he wasn't out of the fight yet.
With a howl, Denis charged, blade aimed like a lightning strike. Soren met him head-on, fists raised like thunder. Their clash sent shockwaves through the arena. The crowd's roar grew deafening. The fight had truly begun. The system popped up again showcasing that he has only one minute left. This made Soren more worried so he has no choice but to finish this.
Denis gasped for breath, each inhale ragged, yet his eyes blazed with a fierce hunger the thrill of the hunt igniting within him like a raging fire. His knife sparkled under the harsh lights of the arena, a silver streak of death slicing through the heavy, blood-scented air.
Soren's muscles were tense, coiled and ready to spring into action at any moment. Sweat dripped down his brow, and pain throbbed from the raw wound on his arm. This body felt foreign to him a borrowed vessel but his mind was sharp as a tack, calculating every move, every breath.
With a sudden burst of speed, Denis lunged again, the knife aimed like a deadly arrow at Soren's ribs. Soren barely had time to react, instincts kicking in. His body twisted in a near-impossible coil, allowing the blade to whistle past him.
In that same instant, Soren's fist shot out a brutal uppercut aimed squarely at Denis's chin. The punch landed with a resounding crack, sending a spray of sweat and blood into the air. Denis staggered back, shock written all over his face. But his grin was wild. "You've got some fight in you," Denis spat, wiping blood from his lip. "I like that."
Soren didn't waste time with words he moved.
He advanced, each step deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. He was no stranger to violence, but this felt different this body was slower, the reflexes not quite his own, the strength wavering. Yet, he refused to back down. Denis's knife flashed again, a blur of deadly arcs. Soren danced around the attacks, dodging by mere inches. His fists became his weapons, his hands and feet the only tools he had to survive this brutal dance.
A sudden jab from Denis caught Soren on the cheekbone, sharp pain exploding through his face. The taste of copper filled his mouth. Soren blinked, shook off the pain, and closed the distance with a flurry of strikes rapid punches, weaving hooks, targeting Denis's weak spots.
One fist slammed into Denis's solar plexus, forcing him to double over. Another connected with his jaw, spinning him around. The crowd erupted a savage, bloodthirsty roar. But Denis wasn't finished yet. With a deep, guttural growl, he lunged forward, fueled by desperation, swinging his knife in a wide arc.
Soren raised his forearm to block, wincing as the blade skimmed his skin. Seizing the opportunity, Soren twisted, grabbed Denis's wrist, and with a burst of strength, sent the knife flying away. Denis growled in frustration, trying to break free. Soren tightened his grip and pulled Denis into a clinch. With a sharp knee to the stomach, Denis doubled over.
Soren followed up with an elbow to the back of Denis's head. Denis crumpled forward, and Soren shoved him to the ground. The crowd erupted in cheers. Soren stepped back, panting heavily. Blood dripped from cuts and bruises on both fighters. Denis lay on the ground, glaring up at Soren with a fierce hatred. But even in defeat, Denis's eyes sparkled with a deadly promise. "Not over," he spat.
Soren nodded.
"This fight isn't finished."
They both rose, ready for the next round.
The battle continued a brutal testament to their will, skill, and survival.