Olmo really wanted to know how strong Jelo was. He had already planned everything.

Mark would fight with Jelo, and that would be the last pair of fighting , the last sparring. It would reveal how strong Jelo truly was.

He perceived that Jelo has surpassed many of his peers, but he wasn't sure if he could be as powerful as the deadly trio. So fighting Mark would show him how strong Jelo was truly.

All right, the first fight should be between Runni and Atlas. Atlas was surprised. Why did he have to be the first person to fight? He swallowed his saliva deeply.

This is the perfect chance for me to test if I've gotten any dragon related skill. since I'm related to dragon, and since I'm part of Jelo's family. And I'll see if I've gotten powerful or I've gotten stronger than I was.

Everybody surrounded them. There was a space left in the middle for those that wanted to spar, for those that were going to spar. the person who surrender loses and the other wins, Omos said, and we'll intervene if the match gets too violent or if the other cannot continue. Without further ado, begin .

Atlas struck first.

He slammed his boot down. The ground bucked violently. A fan of jagged concrete spears—laced with twisted rebar—exploded upward straight at Runni's torso.

Runni twisted sideways at the last heartbeat. Two spears ripped through his sleeve and grazed ribs, drawing bright red lines. A third carved a shallow furrow across his side. Blood soaked fabric instantly, but he didn't pause. He launched forward, three explosive strides eating the distance.

Atlas swung a heavy fist wrapped in a spinning shell of gravel. Runni slipped under it, rose inside the guard, and smashed an elbow into Atlas's lowest rib. The crack echoed sharp and wet. Atlas lurched, breath hitching, then slapped both palms to the earth.

The ground answered with fury.

A thick wall of dirt and shattered pavement surged up between them, rising fast. Runni planted one foot on the climbing mass, used it as a springboard, and vaulted clean over the top. In mid-air he rotated and brought both fists hammering down across Atlas's collarbones.

The double impact drove Atlas to one knee. Bone grated under skin. He snarled through the pain and swept an arm in a wide circle. The dirt beneath Runni turned to quicksand in an instant—legs sinking to mid-calf before he could shift weight.

Atlas rose, blood on his teeth. He clenched his fist. The mud flash-hardened into solid concrete cuffs clamping Runni's ankles tight.

"Stay down," Atlas growled.

Runni glanced at the manacles, then lifted his eyes to Atlas. No panic. Just the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth.

He flexed.

Raw muscle corded along forearms and thighs. A low, animal sound rolled out of his throat. The concrete cracked—hairlines first, then fractures racing outward, then full explosive splits. With a roar he ripped both legs free, shards flying like broken glass.

Atlas's grin vanished.

Runni was already closing.

He barreled in, wrapped arms around Atlas's waist, and dead-lifted him off his feet. Atlas thrashed, summoning razor spikes from below, but Runni spun their combined weight and drove Atlas spine-first into empty air—then slammed him down onto the unyielding ground with crushing force. The impact stole Atlas's breath in a ragged wheeze.

Runni didn't let up. A knee slammed into the solar plexus. Another hammered the liver. Atlas folded. Runni seized hair, yanked the head back, and smashed his own forehead into the bridge of Atlas's nose.

Bone shattered. Blood poured in a hot sheet down Atlas's face.

Blind with rage, Atlas thrust both hands downward. A roaring pillar of earth and steel erupted beneath Runni, aimed to skewer him from crotch to skull.

Runni stepped off-line at the final instant. The spike tore denim and flesh along his thigh, but he ignored it. Instead he caught Atlas's outstretched arm, wrenched it behind his back in a vicious lock, and rammed him face-first into the side of his own rising column.

Cheekbone met concrete with a meaty crunch. Atlas howled. He tried to pull more earth, but Runni was already pouring it on—short, chopping elbow to the temple, knee to the kidney, hook to the jaw that spun Atlas halfway around.

Atlas staggered. Legs buckled. He dropped to one knee, palms slapping dirt, reaching for one final surge.

The ground shivered… then went still.

His power flickered out like a dying bulb.

Runni stepped in tight, clamped one hand around Atlas's throat, and hauled him upright until their faces were inches apart.

"You had your shot," Runni said, voice low.

He slammed Atlas backward into the ground so hard the earth cratered beneath them. Before Atlas could gasp, Runni dropped a single, deliberate boot stomp dead-center on his chest—right over the sternum. Multiple ribs gave with wet, splintering sounds.

Atlas convulsed. Hands scrabbled weakly at the dirt. No response came. No tremor. No stone. Nothing.

Runni stood over him a long moment, chest heaving, blood dripping steadily from the cut above his eye onto Atlas's slack, ruined face.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving red footprints behind.

Atlas lay motionless in the shallow bowl of churned earth he could no longer command—broken, emptied, overpowered by nothing more than flesh and will.

Mira turned and whispered to Jello. I thought Master Teacher olmo said if the fight became too violent, they wouldn't intervene. I mean, look at Atlas, Jello replied her, without giving much thought to it. I guess their definition of violence exceeds our own, so what you deem violent might not be that violent to them. It might be just something normal. Mira looked at Jello like he was some genius for what he just spotted. Well, at least he didn't embarrass us. He gave that class two guy a good fight. At least he has showed them class one students aren't weak. He made us proud. I guess you could say that, Jello replied her. A lot was already going through his mind, would master olmo really not intervene in other fights?, even if it got this bloody?. They might be in trouble if that was the case he thought.

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