It went without saying that Michael loved his skill. His Anti Impact Physique was a monstrous gift he had possessed since birth, the greatest blessing of his life. It allowed him to dominate his peers in combat and crush anyone who offended him without suffering even the slightest bruise. He had even used it against Unawakened adults when they angered him. None of them could put him down. They were either forced to retreat or left humiliated before a crowd, their pride torn apart.

  With his Physique, Michael tasted invincibility as a teenager. His peers submitted to him, acknowledging him as an unbeatable fighter. Girls flocked to him, drawn to his overwhelming strength. For years, he stood at the height of his popularity, untouchable and revered.

  Then he learned the truth.

  He was Unawakened.

  The revelation shattered him and dragged him down from the pedestal he had stood on his entire life. At first, he dismissed it. He convinced himself that he did not need mana. His body was enough.

  He was wrong.

  The same peers and followers who once bowed their heads now looked at him as though he were an insect beneath their notice. Michael tried to reassert his dominance, to remind them of the strength that had once made them kneel.

  That illusion ended the moment a Blazing Fireball engulfed him.

  The mana forged flames slammed into his body and left him on the brink of death. His flesh charred, his features burned beyond recognition. For the first time in his life, he understood true fear.

  He was not invincible.

  In the presence of the Awakened, those who could bend mana to their will, his precious Physique was rendered worthless.

  That was why he adored prison. In here, everyone was stripped of mana and forced to rely solely on their physical ability. Weapons were inaccessible to most inmates. There were no overwhelming advantages, no mana techniques to tilt the scales. Everyone stood on equal ground.

  At least, that would have been true if not for his Physique.

  Like all Physique skills, his Anti Impact Physique did not depend on mana. It was rooted in his biological constitution. That meant it functioned perfectly even with the suppression collar locked around his neck. That single loophole turned him into a monster within these walls.

  He could crush the very Awakened who had once treated him like filth on the outside. He reclaimed the invincibility that had been ripped away from him. In prison, he was King. He was untouchable.

  So when Joe dashed forward and hammered his stomach with a barrage of punches, Michael burst into laughter.

  “You’re wasting your time. Your blows are useless against me. I told you, I’m invincible!”

  He swung a heavy downward punch, but Joe leaped back, evading it with ease. He landed ten meters away, then vanished.

  An instant later, a foot slammed into Michael’s face.

  The kick connected cleanly, yet Michael only laughed. He felt nothing. The impact dissolved against his body as if it had never existed. He reached to grab Joe’s leg, but Joe planted his foot against Michael’s face and kicked off it, flipping through the air before landing ten meters away again.

  That irritated him.

  In the next instant, Joe appeared at his right and drove a fist into his ribs. No damage.

  Michael countered immediately, but Joe slipped past the strike as if his body moved on instinct alone. Joe retaliated with a kick to his leg. Nullified.

  Another punch from Michael. It cut through empty air. His teeth ground together.

  A second later, a foot crashed down on the crown of his head as Joe appeared above him.

  Michael roared and threw another punch. Joe avoided it effortlessly, spinning through the air with fluid precision before landing five meters ahead.

  Over and over, Joe repeated the pattern. Vanish, Strike. Reappear. Dodge.

  For a full minute he harassed him, each failed counter, each clean evasion, each unanswered blow driving Michael deeper into frustration. He could not land a single hit. Not one.

  Something inside him snapped.

  “That’s it. You’re dead.”

  Michael exploded forward, charging at Joe at full speed. Despite his massive frame, he was frighteningly quick, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He unleashed a storm of punches, each one heavy enough to crush bone.

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  Joe avoided every single strike.

  He retreated smoothly, weaving and slipping past each blow as if he were reading them off a page. Not one fist so much as grazed him.

  ‘How is he so fast? Dammit, what an annoying insect!’

  Five minutes passed. Joe dodged another punch and sprang backward, landing five meters away. He had gone the entire time without taking a single hit, and his breathing remained calm and steady.

  Michael was the opposite. Sweat poured down his face. His chest heaved as he glared at Joe with burning hatred.

  “Is this your plan? Running away like a scared little bitch so you don’t get hurt? You can’t keep dodging forever,” he spat between ragged breaths.

  “You’re right,” Joe replied.

  The simple agreement caught Michael off guard.

  “I get it now. Don’t worry. I won’t run.”

  Joe’s gaze sharpened. A crooked, unhinged smile spread across his face, sending a chill crawling down Michael’s spine.

  Veins bulged along the back of Joe’s hands as he raised them, his nails poised like the claws of a predator.

  Then he vanished.

  He reappeared directly in front of Michael and slashed downward. His nails tore through fabric and sank deep into flesh, ripping Michael’s stomach open. Blood burst from the wound and splattered across Joe’s face.

  Michael shrieked and swung blindly. Joe slipped past the punch and carved across his right side. Flesh split apart as crimson sprayed across the arena floor.

  Another punch.

  Joe was already behind him.

  Five deep gashes ripped down Michael’s back, slicing along his spine. Blood poured freely. Michael howled and spun around, but Joe was gone again.

  A sharp pain erupted behind his knees.

  Joe’s nails sliced through the tendons at the back of his legs. Blood streamed down as Michael’s legs buckled and he crashed to his knees.

  “You know, I’ve been craving pork lately,” Joe whispered beside his ear, dragging a nail across his cheek and drawing a thin red line. “You’ll do nicely, my little pig.”

  Michael roared and threw a desperate punch over his shoulder. Joe appeared in front of him instead and raked his exposed chest. A fresh surge of blood spilled down his torso.

  Michael screamed and swung again.

  Joe dodged, stepped in, and slashed across his face. Skin split apart. Blood sprayed.

  The hall had fallen silent. Inmates stared with wide eyes. Some covered their mouths. Others looked away but could not stop listening to the wet sound of tearing flesh.

  Joe stood three meters away, drenched in blood. Only his white teeth stood out beneath the crimson mask coating his face.

  Michael had believed this was about Shelly. About anger.

  But the look in Joe’s eyes told a different story.

  This was not rage.

  This was enjoyment.

  Joe appeared before him again, seized his face, and smashed the back of his skull against the stone floor. His fingers dug into Michael’s cheeks and tore them open, stretching flesh until it split apart.

  Michael’s arms flailed weakly. Joe shoved them aside and pinned them down with his knees, holding him in place.

  He continued shredding his face while Michael screamed and begged.

  “I’m sorry! Forgive me!”

  His desperate cries echoed through the arena.

  Joe did not stop.

  His fingers plunged into Michael’s eyes, crushing them in their sockets. Blood gushed down Michael’s face. He grabbed his throat, nails piercing deep, and tore it open.

  The screaming ended in a wet gargle as blood flooded from the ruin of his neck.

  Joe kept cutting. His nails scraped across bone, peeling flesh away until glimpses of white showed beneath the mangled red.

  The sound of agony faded.

  In its place, laughter rose.

  Joe’s laughter.

  He was having fun.

  ***

  When Shelly saw Joe step back into the hall, she snapped out of her daze. She shook her head, trying to steady the frantic rhythm of her heart after hearing his words and seeing that radiant smile. Ignoring his order to stay put, she hurried down the corridor, determined to stop him before he threw his life away by challenging Michael.

  She stopped at the edge of the tunnel, hidden in shadow. From there she saw Joe punch Michael in the face and hurl him into the ring like a ragdoll. The sheer lack of hesitation stunned her. She could feel the anger radiating off him even from a distance.

  He was serious. He truly intended to kill Michael.

  Was he really doing all this for her?

  Her heart fluttered again.

  Then reality returned. No matter how many punches Joe threw, Michael stood firm, his body absorbing every impact. Shelly had experienced it herself when she tried to resist his advances. His Physique made him nearly unbeatable, it was the very reason he ruled the prison through fear.

  She was about to step out and beg Michael not to kill Joe when something remarkable stopped her.

  Even though his blows did nothing, Joe never stopped attacking. Each time Michael countered, Joe dodged with sharp, precise movements, never once getting hit. When Michael erupted in fury and launched a relentless assault, Joe flowed around the strikes with effortless grace. It was like watching a dancer weave through a storm.

  Shelly finally understood where his confidence came from. He was untouchable.

  But doubt still lingered.

  He could dodge all he wanted, but if he could not hurt Michael, how could he possibly win?

  The answer came a second later.

  Joe raised his hands and attacked with his nails.

  They tore through Michael’s stomach, splitting fabric and flesh alike as blood burst forth. Shelly remembered scratching Michael before. She had felt his skin resist her, her nails unable to cut deep through his clothing. Joe’s claws sliced through him as if he were made of paper.

  For the first time, she heard Michael scream in true agony.

  Warmth bloomed in her chest at the sound.

  Joe did not stop. He shredded him piece by piece, reducing the once feared King into a shrieking, desperate mess begging for mercy. Shelly watched her darkest wishes unfold before her eyes. She had long dreamed of seeing Michael brought low, of watching him grovel like the dog he was.

  In her heart, she urged Joe to continue.

  And he did.

  He ignored every plea, every apology. He carved into Michael’s face, crushed his eyes, ripped open his throat. All the vengeance she had imagined in her anger became reality through Joe’s hands.

  No.

  He went beyond her imagination.

  He tore him apart so thoroughly that bone gleamed beneath shredded flesh.

  As Joe’s laughter echoed through the hall, Shelly felt a flicker of unease creep into her satisfaction. She had believed his brutality was for her sake.

  But the look on his blood soaked face told another story.

  Even drenched in crimson from head to toe, he looked exhilarated. As if this was the happiest moment of his life.

  As his laughter filled the hall, Shelly found herself wondering whether she was witnessing her savior.

  Or a demon.