Seth stood, chest heaving slightly from exertion, and looked up at where he sensed the cameras were watching. His eyes still glowed with that blue light, but the irritation from earlier had been replaced by something colder, more focused.

"Next," he said simply.

The response was immediate.

{God Poloneus has entered your viewing box!}

{Goddess Nova is impressed by your tenacity!}

{God Verbraucht is pleased by the fight!}

The notifications appeared on screen—visible not just to Seth but to everyone watching. Divine attention, drawn by skilled combat.

Then the comments started flooding in, appearing as glowing text that scrolled across the bottom of the screen:

[Goddess Jayne: This is blood thrilling!!]

[Unknown: Hmph, I bet he's going to lose the next match]

[DaylithNight: Don't forget you have other opponents to fight! Don't spend all your energy on this one hahahaha]

[God of Storms: That fore perception is interesting. Keep fighting, mortal. Show us more.]

[Goddess of Battle: Efficient. No wasted movement. I approve.]

Jeren's attention snapped to Seth immediately. His eyes gleamed with the look of a merchant who'd just found unexpected treasure.

"Oh my," he purred, his voice carrying across all the screens. "What do we have here? A natural performer! The gods are quite taken with you, young fighter. How... delightful."

But while everyone was focusing on Seth's impressive display, Akhil had already shifted his attention to the second person he'd recognized.

Ryan.

'They've let a spawn of the devil himself into a tournament,' Akhil thought with grim amusement.

Ryan's opponent was different from Seth's. Where Seth had faced a swift, technique-focused ninja, Ryan stood across from a mountain of muscle. The ninja facing him was massive—easily seven feet tall, muscles bulging grotesquely, wielding a spiked baton that looked like it weighed a hundred pounds.

And unlike the cold professionalism of the other ninjas, this one radiated aggression.

His eyes—completely white, with no visible iris or pupil—stared at Ryan with absolute confidence. He wasn't intimidated. Wasn't concerned. If anything, he looked eager.

"Give up now," the massive ninja growled, his voice like grinding gravel, "so I won't have to break all your bones."

As he spoke, pressure began emanating from him. Not physical force, but something else—an aura of intimidation, of overwhelming power meant to crush the spirit before the body. The air itself seemed to grow heavier, pressing down like an invisible mountain.

Ryan felt it. Everyone watching could see the pressure, could sense how it made the very atmosphere around Ryan's platform warp and distort.

His knees didn't shift. His posture didn't change. He just stood there, arms still crossed, face still calm, as if the pressure was nothing more than a gentle breeze.

"Are we going to fight," Ryan asked quietly, "or are you just going to stand there flexing?"

The massive ninja's white eyes narrowed. Anger flashed across his features—not the hot, explosive rage of someone losing control, but the cold fury of a professional who'd just been disrespected.

He moved.

For someone his size, the speed was shocking. He crossed the distance between platforms in two massive strides, the spiked baton already swinging in a devastating overhead arc.

The attack carried enough force to crater stone. If it connected, Ryan's head would become a red smear.

But it didn't connect.

Ryan's hand came up—casual, almost lazy—and caught the baton's shaft just below the spiked head. The impact created a shockwave that rippled outward, cracking the stone beneath Ryan's feet.

But Ryan himself didn't budge. Didn't even sway.

The massive ninja's eyes widened in shock. His weapon, which had crushed countless opponents, had been stopped by bare flesh.

Then Ryan squeezed.

The metal shaft creaked. Groaned. The reinforced steel that should have been unbreakable began to bend, deforming under the pressure of Ryan's grip.

"Fighting with a weapon isn't befitting for someone like you," Ryan said, his voice still calm, conversational. His eyes met the ninja's white gaze directly. "Come. Let's fight like true men."

With a sharp twist, Ryan crushed the baton completely. The metal collapsed inward, the spiked head falling to the ground as the weapon became useless scrap.

The massive ninja stared at his ruined weapon, then at Ryan, then back at the weapon. For just a moment, something like doubt flickered in those white eyes.

Then pride took over. He was a warrior. He'd faced countless opponents. He wouldn't be intimidated by some human with a strong grip.

He took several steps back, appraising Ryan again with his sharp gaze, "Don't get cocky, human!"

He charged again, this time relying on his massive frame and overwhelming strength. A punch came in—fist like a sledgehammer, backed by enormous muscle mass and years of training.

The air coiled as his hands sprung forward.

Ryan blocked with his forearm. The collision sounded like thunder, echoing across the arena.

The massive ninja threw another punch. Ryan blocked again. Another. Block. Another. Block.

They entered a flurry of exchanges—two fighters trading blows with escalating intensity. The massive ninja's technique was brutal but effective, each strike carrying enough power to shatter bones. He aimed for Ryan's ribs, his joints, vulnerable points meant to cripple.

But nothing landed clean. Ryan's blocks were perfectly positioned, his footwork immaculate despite never taking a backward step.

Then Ryan started hitting back.

The first punch caught the massive ninja in the chest. The impact created a visible ripple through the ninja's muscle mass, force transferring through flesh in a way that made watchers wince.

The ninja grunted, took the hit, and threw a counter. Ryan's second punch caught him in the shoulder. Bone cracked audibly.

They traded again. The ninja's punch grazed Ryan's face—first blood drawn. But Ryan's return struck the ninja's already damaged shoulder, and this time the crack was accompanied by the ninja's arm hanging at a wrong angle.

"Broken," Ryan observed clinically. "Upper humerus, clean fracture."

The massive ninja roared—pain, frustration, and refusing to quit combined into pure sound. He switched to one-armed fighting, his intact arm moving in desperate, powerful strikes that would have killed anyone else.

Ryan caught the fist mid-swing. Just... caught it, like grabbing a thrown ball.

Then he started methodically destroying his opponent.

A strike to the already broken shoulder, making the ninja scream. A palm strike to the sternum that cracked ribs. A sweep that took the massive ninja off his feet despite the weight difference.

The ninja hit the ground hard. Tried to rise. Ryan's foot came down on his intact arm, pinning it. Another strike—clinical, precise—to the ninja's elbow. Another bone broke.

"Both arms," Ryan noted.

The massive ninja tried to kick from the ground. Ryan stepped on the knee, shifted his weight, and everyone heard the joint give.

It wasn't brutality for its own sake. It was systematic, methodical destruction. Ryan was taking apart his opponent piece by piece, removing the ability to fight without killing.

When the massive ninja tried one last time to rise, Ryan's hand wrapped around his throat—not choking, just holding.

"It's over," Ryan said quietly.

The massive ninja's white eyes finally showed something other than confidence or rage. They showed understanding. Acceptance.

Then Ryan pulled his fist back and delivered a single punch.

The impact was earth-shattering. Literally. The force transferred through the ninja's body into the stone platform beneath them, and the entire structure cracked from the center outward like a broken mirror.

The shockwave rippled across the arena. Other fighters paused mid-combat, feeling the ground shake beneath their feet. Even Jeren, standing on his elevated platform, raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise.

The massive ninja's eyes rolled back. His body went completely limp. And even in unconsciousness, small tremors ran through his frame—aftershocks from the devastating final blow.

Ryan stood, released his opponent, and calmly crossed his arms again.

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