A week later…

“Alright, kid, next guy’s tough one. I know you’re good at taking hits, but not this time.” Mason warned as he dipped his finger in a jar of Vaseline, dabbing it all over Sel’s face, focusing on the jawline, nose, and eyebrow ridge. “Remember, there are minimum rules in this ring. Someone dies or pulls out a weapon, no one is going to bat an eye.”

“Got it.” Sel nodded, his teeth clenching his mouthguard tightly while he watched Mason’s concerned face examine him like a doting father that he never had. His mind wandered back to the Shaman for a brief moment before quickly expelling it from his thoughts.

In retrospect, Sel regretted getting angry at the Shaman, but at this point, he felt like the entire world was trying to cut him off one by one, but only Mason had a real path to money that did not involve cratering the temple finances. At least the temple will survive financially.

“Arms good? Legs good? Shake them up, give them a little warm up.” Mason ordered, prompting Sel to limber up as he went through his regular routine. “Keep your eyes peeled in the ring.”

“Right.” Sel soon had a quick break, a few minutes before the match. Whipping out his phone, he quickly checked his stats to make sure everything was ready for the second placement match.

[Name: Selas Trind]

[Aspect: Tenacity – Rank 2]

[Faith: 800 (F)]

[Trust: 1280(F-)]

[Followers: 0(F-)]

[Current Deity Rank: Whisper (30)]

The Trust that he had accumulated over the match last week was immense, with nearly everyone who had betted on him channeling Trust towards him, allowing him to hit a maximum of 4000 Trust.

Along with the trickling Faith that he received from the temple and the distribution of totems to believers, tourists, and curious people, the new amount of Faith allowed him to purchase the Upgrade Aspect Grade option in the shop for 500 Faith three days ago.

[Aspect Grade upgraded! Now: Rank 2]

[New Items in Shop available!]

“Sel, you’re up!” Mason hollered from the waiting room’s entrance, prompting Sel to put his phone away and move up.

“Remember, any signs of metal, back out immediately. It’s not worth losing your life over. Here.” Mason handed him a small shiv, thin enough to hide it along his waist. “Just in case.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t need it. I’ll win the whole thing with just my body.”

“Even if the other guy pulls out a gun on you?”

Sel nodded, his face stern, locked onto the ambient cheering of the crowd far beyond the stage’s entrance while donning the same temple mask as he wore in the first match.

“I don’t know if you’re crazy or not. But if it makes the bets better, so be it. I got my money on you, kid.” Mason grinned, showing him the betting ticket he had bought beforehand at a discount. “Now go get them!”

[Introducing first, the mysterious fighter who took a thousand blows and still stood firm – the man who can withstand any punch or kick and still come out on top, and is looking to prove himself even more through the gauntlet of placement matches… it’s Shaman!!!!!]

A good minority of the crowd began to stomp and chant in sequence, Sel utterly confused as to why that was the nickname chosen for him.

“It’s the mask, kid. If you’re going to use a generic temple mask, of course they are gonna call you a Shaman.” Mason laughed out heartily, slapping Sel on the back to give him a running start. “Go go go!”

Sel jogged out alone to the cheers and boos of the crowds equally, many still undecided on how resilient Sel was in the fights to come. Amidst the cries and shouts, Sel swore he could hear two familiar voices hollering at the back, chanting his name. However, he could not really pinpoint who they were.

The crowd cleared a path for him into the same old chalk ring, dried bloodstains from previous matches visible among the dust, soot, and sand accumulated on the dirty surface of the dimly lit warehouse; the spotlight focused on him.

“Come on, lad I put all my money on you! Don’t let me down!” One obviously tipsy man tried to grab Sel, only for the rest of the crowd and a few bouncers to drag him back.

Suddenly, Sel’s neck tingled as he quickly ducked, a knife narrowly missing his face as a homeless squatter scrambled to try and stab him again before being tackled to the ground by a nearby bouncer, squirming.

“You better fucking lose, kid!” The squatter squealed as he was hauled away, Sel’s heart hammering at the sheer madness of the crowd. Though he was appalled at the sudden assassination attempt, he felt like he somehow understood how the squatter felt. If I fell that low, would I have tried the same thing?

Slapping his face gently and keeping his wits together, Sel stepped fully into the chalk ring, the crowd bursting into a mix of cheers and boos once more.

[And his opponent is no slouch either; his name a menace to society at large! He’s back from prison, and is raring to make his foray once again into the underground fighting scene! Give it up for Solitary!!!]

Sel peered down the now-opening entrance opposite him, the crowd visibly drawing back as a thin, lanky man strode down calmly, his entire skin tattooed up with nearly no more room, and even his eye was tattooed, unnerving anyone who stared directly at him.

Yet Sel wasn’t perturbed, instead looking at the man’s outfit. Just like him, he was wearing only boxer shorts and a pair of dirty sports shoes. Doesn’t look like he’s hiding any weapons. Sel eyed the movement of the boxer shorts as Solitary walked towards him, trying to gauge if anything of weight could be spotted.

As confident as Sel was, he wasn’t about to risk his life in a direct gunfight, not even with the new active skill that he had acquired from the upgrade of his aspect rank.

“Eyes up here, kid. I know you’ve never seen one as long as this, but better focus on the match.” Solitary grinned, revealing a set of blackened teeth that was nauseating, taunting Sel to the mocking laughter of the crowd.

[The winner of this placement match will be seeded into the knockout stage of the main tournament, where they will have to face off against four more opponents to clinch the title! Who will win? Who will survive? Place your bets now!]

As the crowd scrambled for the nearest bookie, Sel and Solitary glared at each other, trying to get the measure of the other.

“Since when do they let kids fight in this tournament? Red Rascal must be losing his mind to allow child fighters.”

“I’m 18, I can handle myself.”

“Gutsy. Only kids think of adulthood in terms of years.” Solitary smiled once more, stretching his limbs and cracking his necks. “Maybe a few years in prison or hospital would make you more of a man.”

“Doesn’t seem like the years in prison did you any good, too. Maybe you need a few more years.” Sel smirked.

“Ouch. If I were an adult, I would have been hurt.” Solitary feigned, his hand clasping his chest in mock pain. “But you seem to be misunderstanding something.”

Sel cocked his eyebrow, while the announcer yelled once more into his microphone. [BETTING IS OVER – ARE WE READY?!]

“Prison was the best time of my life.” Solitary’s face steeled up, locking onto Sel with the air of a predator, a sudden sense of fear permeating Sel’s body as his limbs locked up for a moment.

[FIGHT!]

With Sel being caught on the back foot, Solitary took the chance to close the gap, sauntering with his arms down, face unguarded. It was as though he was merely strolling through the ring, while Sel was still frozen on one end.

Sel quickly recovered, pacing upwards quickly with his hands held up in a boxing stance, covering his face and jaw. Yet Solitary still did not put his arms up to guard, simply staring down Sel menacingly with a condescending gaze. “Come on, throw your best.”

Looks like he knows my defensive tactic from the last round. Solitary was clearly not going to expend any energy on Sel; instead, he put the onus on Sel to go on the offensive if he wanted to win. Accepting the challenge, Sel drove his left foot forward, flinging a serious left hook right at Solitary’s face.

Before the punch could even connect, Sel already felt a burning sensation on his left ribs, the world in front of him swirling before his head thumped on the dusty floor.

[What a counterkick from Solitary! This is the first time Shaman has been knocked down on the ground!]

“Get up, punk.” Solitary taunted, flexing his legs. “Time to relive prison.”

Sel gritted his teeth, the announcer counting down from ten seconds to a knockout.

[Ten counts, and he’s out! TEN!]

“NINE!” The crowd roared back, a few scuffles between bettors breaking out in the midst of the hectic audience.

[EIGHT!]

Come on, you got Physical Fortitude! Ignore the pain! With a harsh grunt, Sel slammed his arms into the ground, propping himself back up into a standing position and resuming his boxing stance once again.

Solitary stood again in the middle of the ring, yawning and waiting for Sel to attack, though Sel was now far more wary of him, unwilling to throw an attack without properly planning first.

I did not even see that attack coming – he has a lot of speed. Sel stepped forward again, repeating the same punch in the same direction: a left hook.

As expected, Solitary nimbly dodged the attack, leaning backward before pivoting on his left foot, throwing a right sidekick straight at Sel’s left ribs once more.

The kick connected, but this time, Sel was prepared, already moving his body sideways to reduce the impact. However, he was still thrown off balance, staggering slightly to the right as Solitary suddenly lunged forward, nocking back for a straight left.

Sel quickly blocked with both arms around his face, but it turned out to be feint, Solitary instantly switching to his right to deliver a gut-crushing blow to Sel right in the intestines.

“Guh!” Sel gagged as his entire stomach clenched, the shockwave reverberating through his bones and flesh, stumbling back, almost crumpling to the ground but he stood strong, knees wavering but unwilling to give up.

Yet a sweeping kick that smashed against his ankle was enough to send Sel sprawling onto the floor once more, the crowd cheering and booing. At this point, even those who were betting on Sel were starting to lose faith in him, joining the crowd in heckling him.

His ears ringing from the slam on the ground, Sel shook his head slightly, blood drooling out of his mouth from within, mixing with the soot on the ground into a ghastly slurry.

[And he’s down again! That’s two times in a row, and it all started with a single punch! SAY IT WITH ME! TEN!]

“NINE!”

“Don’t you throw that fucking punch again, you idiot! Kite him, kite him! Go around him, go around him!”

“Use your legs! Use your legs for reach!”

“Get another angle, give him the good ol one two!”

“Take my gun, Shaman! Take it!”

“Just give up and get lost, I got other matches to bet on!”

The crowd offered their ‘expert’ advice, jostling and bickering with one another as Sel got up slowly, retaining the same determination and drive in his eyes. The show of perseverance surprised Solitary, who mockingly clapped.

“Truly resilient. Do you come in sets of five? I need a few good punching bags to test out a few tricks.” Solitary stepped forward this time, closing the gap before Sel could recover fully and throwing another straight right to Sel’s face.

Sel guarded instinctively again before quickly pivoting his body to the side to avoid the follow-up punch to his stomach once again, backpedaling rapidly along the rim of the chalk ring.

“Quick learner.” Solitary muttered. “Time to end this.” His movement suddenly picked up, and any semblance of striding or strolling was immediately lost as he kept pace with Sel, throwing a series of fast punches and combos.

Despite the blood trickling out from Sel’s mouth and the roaring pain he felt in his body, Sel stayed strong, blocking each hit quickly as his brain went into overdrive, slowly learning to predict each of Solitary’s fast punches and kicks. If I can’t block it in time, I have to look further!

Solitary tsked, changing up his moveset and attempting to slam Sel to the ground again. Yet ticks and habits were hard to eradicate completely. Sel’s eyes squinted, focusing on the chest muscles of Solitary expanding and contracting, the breathing pattern matching each attack.

Breath, guard.

Breath, block.

Breath, step back.

The fight was suddenly even, with Solitary unable to land any equally devastating hits like the first two. The jeering crowd had now stopped heckling Sel, instead a sinking feeling seeping through them.

“Hey, isn’t this like the first match? Where Shaman took a lot of hits and just straight out won?”

“Shit, you’re right! Fuck, my money was on Solitary! HEY DON’T LET HIM BURN YOU OUT!”

“No, no, no, knock him down once and for all! Get him down!”

“Shaman should be hurt from all of those hits, especially the first two! How the hell is he still standing?”

Solitary was beginning to lose patience, trying to get an angle in on Sel, but Sel was building momentum, gaining more and more confidence as he blocked each and every jab, kick, punch, and hook that came in, fending it off with greater ease over time.

The short ring of the bell marked the last thirty seconds of the first round again, Solitary suddenly pulling back and not attacking any longer, learning the mistake of his predecessor and saving strength for the second round.

However, Sel instead rushed forward in a stunning, unexpected counterattack, catching even the wary Solitary off-guard as Sel went straight for the legs, delivering a sidekick.

Solitary grinned, expecting a weak attack when he instead felt the force of a hammer strike his thighs, as though he had been hit head-on by a steel beam. The bones in his thighs fractured slightly as he stumbled, confused and dazed from the sudden force but now finally putting his hands up to guard.

Sel was now on the offensive but threw only weak feints and ranging kicks and punches, cornering Solitary near the edge of the ring. Solitary blocked each of the ranging jabs, but just five seconds after the first thigh kick, his blocking arm suddenly felt the same exact impact force of steel, something familiar to him for a long time.

Solitary yelped in pain as his injured arm was now broken, eyes desperately scanning Sel’s hands for anything suspicious, yet did not see the weapon he expected. Another combo followed and as if like clockwork, Solitary suffered yet another kick like steel precisely five seconds after the last, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

[My goodness! Solitary is being thrown around like a ragdoll! What is going on in this match?]

“Kite him, kite him!”

“Sel must have a weapon somewhere!”

The crowd angled, trying to look for anything Sel was wearing. Yet all they saw was a sweat-covered young adult with nothing but boxer shorts and simple borrowed shoes, his hands bare for all the world to see.

“He got no weapon; he’s just doing that much damage with his bare hands!”

“By the gods, is the Shaman really channeling the power of the temple?”

The speculation was rife, but Solitary kept a wide berth, waiting for the round-ending bell to ring. Yet in an instant Sel closed the gap, his stamina and strength as though he had never been injured by Solitary in the first place.

Before Solitary could even answer the question of how, a fistful of knuckles crashed into his tattooed face, his nose cartilage crumpling under the direct impact as bone on bone collided, drawing blood from the eyebrow ridges and cheekbone, fracturing them too.

In one single hit, Solitary was falling onto the ground, blood spurting from his nose in a crescent as he collapsed with a loud thud.

[Gods alive, Solitary is DOWN! TEN!]

“NINE!”

[EIGHT]

Sel held his hands up, watching the bleeding Solitary stand back up once more, his expression furious through the blood trickling down his face. “Good punching bag. Time to test the first trick!” Solitary grinned a bloody smile, lunging forward with alarming speed, fueled by rage.

With only ten seconds left in the round, the two exchanged a flurry of punches, parrying each other in a rapid escalation. Suddenly from the corner of his eye, Sel spotted a glint of metal, sliding out from Solitary’s arm under his skin before it rapidly jabbed towards his eyeball.

The metal needle that was as long as a chopstick nearly buried itself into Sel’s eyeball as he narrowly dodged, trying to create some distance from Solitary.

“LIKE THIS TRICK? NOT SO COCKY NOW, HUH?” Solitary bellowed at the top of his lungs, rushing forward with the long metal needle in hand, stabbing furiously at Sel. Sel desperately tried to avoid the stabs, having nothing to block.

“I GOT YOU!” With a final lunge, Solitary drove the needle toward Sel’s guts, intending to rupture his lungs from beneath in one single blow. Yet as soon as the needle touched Sel’s skin, Solitary swore he saw the soft skin of the ribs harden into metal for a brief moment, the tip of the metal needle immediately bending and snapping off.

His mouth agape with disbelief, Solitary’s jaw only earned an uppercut, the blow reverberating through his skull as his body was sent flying once more, tumbling and toppling out of the ring in a mess of blood, teeth clattering onto the ground, unconscious.

“You’re not the only one with a trick up their sleeve.”