Chapter 9: The Beast's Vow
The blood on Ryo's knuckles was barely dry.
His latest opponent—a behemoth called Kaido the Scar—still twitched on the arena floor, his jaw unhinged and his limbs sprawled like a broken puppet. The crowd above screamed with ecstatic rage, chanting Ryo's name with the same fever they'd once used to crown his enemies.
But Ryo didn't hear them.
He was staring down at his own trembling hands, fingers stiff with dried blood and sweat. Something inside him had changed.
He had always fought to survive. To find Ren. To escape.
But now?
Now, he was fighting because he had made a vow.
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
It was carved into him silently, etched into the marrow of his bones after watching Ren's confession, after seeing what this place—what these monsters—had turned his brother into.
Ryo had seen enough.
No more running. No more hiding. From this moment, I become the storm.
The infirmary reeked of iodine and suffering. Fighters came and went like ghosts, stitched up just enough to bleed again in the next match.
Ryo sat alone in the corner, shirtless, wrapped in tight bandages across his chest. His left eye was swollen shut from Kaido's elbow strike, but his stare through the right eye burned with a wild focus.
Kaito entered quietly.
"You nearly killed him," he said.
"I wanted to."
Kaito raised a brow. "That's not like you."
"It is now."
Ryo shifted forward. "I'm done waiting for answers. I'm done playing defense. I want to burn this place down."
Kaito looked at him for a long moment. "That vow… it's going to cost you."
"I know."
"And if Ren is too far gone?"
"Then I'll drag him back."
Kaito leaned against the wall, his face half-shadowed. "You're not the only one tired of this game. The fighters are breaking—mind and body. You've seen it. Some of them don't even recognize themselves anymore."
"I know," Ryo said. "But we're going to need more than rage. We need leverage."
Kaito tossed a small drive into his lap. "Then you're in luck."
Ryo caught it. "What is this?"
"A list. Dosage levels, side effects, mutations, failed experiments. Proof that the organizers aren't just drugging fighters—they're harvesting them. Pushing the serum's limits. Using this arena to create something worse."
Ryo's grip tightened around the drive.
"They're building weapons," Kaito said. "And Ren was their blueprint."
Later that night, Ryo returned to his cell—if it could even be called that. The walls were stone and steel, the door locked by voice scan. A camera blinked in the corner, red like a watchful eye. He ignored it.
He slid to the floor, legs crossed, the bruises across his body pulsing like memories. In his hand, he clutched a small knife—not for protection, but for focus.
He dragged the blade across his skin—not deep, just enough to feel.
"I swear," he whispered.
"I swear by the pain, by the blood I spill, by the bones I break, that I will tear this place apart. For Ren. For the broken. For everyone lost in this nightmare."
He set the blade down, the cut already drying. It wasn't the pain that mattered—it was the intention. The promise.
He wasn't just fighting to survive anymore.
He was becoming the weapon.
The next day, he was summoned—not to the ring, but to the observation tower. A place most fighters never saw unless they were about to be eliminated or promoted.
He was led by two guards through iron doors and up a spiraling stairwell that echoed with the clang of boots. At the top waited a room that smelled like cigars and synthetic air, walls lined with screens showing every angle of the arena, the halls, the cells.
At the center of it all stood a man in a silver suit—immaculate, smiling, watching Ryo with curious amusement.
"You've become quite the attraction," he said.
Ryo said nothing.
The man clasped his hands behind his back and turned toward the monitors. "Do you know how many bets were placed on your last fight?"
"I don't care."
"You should. Because in here, fame buys time. And you, Ryo, are very famous."
"What do you want?"
The man chuckled. "You misunderstand. I'm here to offer you something—a place in the tournament's elite class. A rank where you no longer fight in the mud but above it. Where you get sponsors. Influence. Information."
Ryo narrowed his eye. "You think that'll make me forget what you've done?"
"We haven't done anything you didn't agree to by walking through that gate," the man replied. "You're not a victim. You're an instrument."
"I'm the knife that's going to slit your throat."
The smile didn't fade. "Threats don't scare me, Ryo. Not from a boy still clinging to memories. But I'll give you something for free—your next opponent… used to train with Ren."
Ryo's heart skipped.
"What's his name?"
"Marcus. You'll recognize him by the burns."
The match came quickly—faster than usual.
Ryo stood in the ring, muscles aching, heart pounding. Across from him was a man nearly twice his size, shirtless, scarred, and wrapped in white tape along his arms.
But the most striking feature?
His face—partially burned, the flesh twisted and tough like old leather. One eye gleamed like steel.
"I knew Ren," the man said as the bell echoed.
"Then speak."
The man didn't. He attacked.
Their clash was thunderous—brutal. Marcus fought with the strength of a bear and the grace of a panther. Every punch he threw was designed to cripple. Ryo dodged narrowly, countering with sharp elbows and low kicks.
Blow after blow, they battered each other, neither yielding.
But Ryo's mind raced with every move.
He knew Ren. He might know more.
Midway through the fight, Marcus grabbed him by the throat and whispered through clenched teeth:
"He never gave up on you."
Then he threw Ryo across the ring.
Ryo rolled, blood filling his mouth. His ribs felt like they'd caved in. But those words... they fueled something deep.
He surged back with fury, launching a barrage of strikes that pushed Marcus back. He didn't fight for victory—he fought for answers.
And finally, when Marcus dropped to one knee, wheezing, Ryo dropped beside him.
"Tell me everything."
Marcus looked at him with sorrow. "They broke him. But part of him is still alive… deep inside the Red Zone."
Ryo froze.
The Red Zone—an area of the Maw reserved for the worst mutations. A section no fighter ever returned from.
"They're keeping him there," Marcus said. "Alive, but changed."
The bell rang. Match over.
But Ryo didn't care.
He now had a location.
And a mission.
That night, in the darkness of his cell, Ryo wrapped his fists again—not for the ring, but for war.
He stared at his reflection in a cracked shard of glass.
The boy who entered this place was gone.
In his place stood something harder. Sharper.
A storm ready to break its chains.
He clenched his fists and whispered the vow once more.
"I'm coming for you, Ren. And I'll burn this whole empire down if I have to."