Dovak grinned. "Ha! Idiots trapped themselves."

  Nigel’s expression darkened. "No. They trapped us."

  Dovak blinked. "But—"

  "There’s no other exit. I checked," Nigel said, turning to William—only to realize he was gone.

  "Six of them," came William’s voice, distant but steady.

  Nigel spun toward the sound.

  "They’re climbing out. Trying to open the hatch."

  Nigel and Dovak exchanged a glance. Neither moved, both gripping their weapons tightly.

  “We can’t rush in,” Nigel murmured. “Too many unknowns.”

  Dovak nodded. “Yeah… for all we know, that thing’s rigged to explode the moment we step too close.”

  “Or worse,” Nigel said, eyes narrowing. “They might have a skill waiting to trigger on proximity.”

  They both turned their gaze to the tank, listening to the distant clanging of metal as the people inside struggled with the hatch.

  Dovak exhaled through his nose. “So… we wait?”

  Nigel readjusted his grip on his daggers. “We wait.”

  They took a defensive stance, stepping back to a more controlled position near the remains of the supermarket shelves. If their enemies wanted a fight, they’d have to step into the open to get it.

  The sound of scraping metal filled the air.

  Nigel and Dovak watched as, after several forceful attempts, the tank’s hatch finally burst open. A large slab of debris was shoved aside, and one by one, their enemies emerged.

  Three men. Three women.

  Dressed in tattered punk-style clothing, their hair dyed in wild shades of neon, each with a distinct, unruly style. Their expressions were twisted in cruel amusement, eyes filled with bloodlust.

  “Damn it… we can’t even catch a fucking break!” Dovak pouted. "Well… this should be fun."

  Before Nigel could respond, one of them—a man with striking blue hair—vanished.

  Nigel barely had time to react before pain exploded in his ribs.

  The force of the punch sent him skidding backward, nearly knocking the air from his lungs.

  Dovak caught movement out of the corner of his eye and raised his greatsword, but he was too slow.

  A woman with bright pink hair and a leather jacket struck first.

  Ten thin needles buried themselves into his right arm.

  His muscles locked. His fingers went numb.

  For a second, panic flared through him—his entire right arm was dead weight. But Dovak wasn’t about to go down that easily.

  The woman lunged at him again, aiming to finish the job.

  Big mistake.

  Dovak planted his foot and drove it straight into her chest.

  The impact sent her flying backward, her ribs cracking under the force. She collapsed, gasping for breath, on the brink of losing consciousness.

  Nigel, meanwhile, had his own problems.

  The blue-haired man’s attacks were relentless. His movements were sharp, efficient—faster than the boy Nigel had fought earlier in the tournament.

  And worse, he was only wielding a simple kitchen knife.

  Nigel knew immediately: if that thing so much as nicked him, it wouldn’t be a minor wound.

  Nigel’s mind pieced it together instantly.

  Expansive Damage, a common use skill, but difficult to master.

  It amplified the force of any weapon, no matter how weak, turning even a simple kitchen knife into a lethal tool. That explained why the blue-haired man wasn’t carrying a proper weapon—he didn’t need one.

  Nigel had also noticed the faint yellow glow surrounding the blade, an unmistakable sign of the skill in action.

  But none of that mattered anymore.

  Because the fight was already over.

  The moment his opponent lunged, aiming for his throat, Nigel moved. He ducked low, weaving past the strike with ease. In the same instant, his daggers flashed. One slice to the radial artery. Another just above the jugular. The paralysis was immediate.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The blue-haired man’s body locked up, his breath hitching. His wide, panicked eyes met Nigel’s. He understood what had happened.

  And in that moment, he stopped struggling.

  He simply closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

  Nigel granted him a swift, painless death.

  As the body dissolved into nothing, a single Diamantine and an inventory box were left behind.

  He took the gem without hesitation—there was no time to check the box.

  Looking up, he spotted Dovak rubbing his right arm, testing his movement. But something was missing.

  William.

  Nigel’s senses went on high alert. Before he could scan the area, a furious voice ripped through the air.

  “Bastard!”

  A towering woman stormed toward him, her face twisted in rage.

  She was built like a war machine—broad shoulders, thick arms, fists that could crush bone. And from the way she glared at him, it was obvious.

  The man he had just killed meant something to her.

  Now she wanted revenge.

  Nigel readied his stance. They locked eyes, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

  She snapped first.

  The woman charged, her fist swinging straight for his ribs.

  Nigel saw it coming. He moved to dodge—

  And then—

  He was standing in the exact same spot.

  The fist connected.

  Pain exploded in his chest. The force sent him stumbling back, stealing the air from his lungs. He barely had time to react before it happened again.

  He was back where he started, the attack about to land.

  Another strike—this time to the face.

  His head snapped back.

  The world blurred. A deep, ringing sound filled his ears, drowning everything out. His vision tunneled, darkness creeping in at the edges.

  He tried to move—

  But he was already back in place.

  The loop was repeating.

  He wasn’t just being beaten.

  He was trapped.

  One more hit wouldn’t kill him, but it would knock him out cold. And in the Chaos Tournament, unconsciousness meant death.

  Through the haze, he saw her fist coming again—slower this time, as if the world itself had tilted.

  Then—

  Something slammed into his side.

  He was shoved out of the way just as the punch whistled past his face.

  Nigel collapsed against the ground, dazed.

  A voice cut through the fog.

  “Nigel! Snap out of it!”

  William.

  Nigel blinked rapidly, trying to focus. His teammate stood in front of him, sword drawn, body trembling.

  William knew the truth.

  The woman had used a time-loop based skill.

  It trapped its victim in a repeating sequence, forcing them to relive the same actions until the effect wore off. Nigel had been stuck in it, doomed to take the hit over and over.

  But there had to be limits.

  No skill was without drawbacks.

  And judging by how the woman was breathing heavily, eyes burning with fury, she wouldn’t be able to use it again anytime soon.

  Still, none of that mattered if Nigel couldn’t get back up.

  William tightened his grip on his sword, standing firm between his teammate and the furious woman.

  His hands trembled. Sweat dripped down his face.

  But he refused to move.

  He wouldn’t run. Not this time.

  The woman lunged at William without hesitation.

  Her first punch missed his face by an inch but smashed into his shoulder instead. Something cracked. Probably a bone. William clenched his jaw, swallowing a scream as another fist slammed into his cheek, sending him stumbling back. His vision blurred, but he held his ground. He tightened his grip on his sword and, through split lips, let out a weak smile.

  He was still standing.

  That only seemed to enrage her further. Her expression twisted into something monstrous, raw with fury. She had enough. No more playing around. With a deep breath, she activated another skill.

  Her wristband displayed a message.

  [ TITANIC STRENGTH ]

  A surge of raw power coursed through her body, pooling into her right arm. The strength of a hundred men condensed into a single punch. The veins in her biceps bulged, her muscles trembling from the sheer force she was containing. One strike. That was all she needed. She’d crush William, send his broken body flying into Nigel, and kill them both in a single blow.

  She charged.

  William, still swaying on his feet, didn’t move. His smile lingered, though his glassy eyes betrayed just how little he had left in him.

  He simply waited.

  The moment her fist closed in, he calmly reached out with one hand—his fingers barely brushing against her knuckles.

  "Nullification," he whispered.

  The power drained from her body instantly.

  The overwhelming strength—the rush, the euphoria—vanished as if it had never existed. Her knees nearly buckled from the sudden loss, and she staggered back in shock.

  A skill canceler? No. That was impossible.

  William exhaled, raising his sword. His movements were sluggish, weak, but he still stepped forward, driving the blade toward her stomach.

  For a second, she thought it was over.

  Then she realized—his arms were trembling. The sword barely pierced her skin.

  William was spent.

  Her lips curled into a victorious sneer. Raising both fists, she locked her fingers together, lifting them high above her head. One final, crushing strike would put an end to him.

  She inhaled deeply, steadied herself—

  And swung down.

  The hit never landed.

  A single hand caught her by the wrists, stopping her attack mid-air.

  Nigel.

  He stood behind William, gripping her arms as if they weighed nothing. His amber eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto hers.

  "That’s enough."

  Before she could react, he slashed upward with his free hand, a dagger carving a clean, vicious line across her torso.

  The blade wasn't large, but the wound was deep.

  Paralysis crept through her limbs—the venom taking effect.

  Her strength collapsed all at once. Her body flickered, then dissolved into nothing.

  A Diamantine clattered onto the floor.

  Nigel picked it up, his fingers curling around the cold gem. His breath was heavy. His body swayed slightly, but he didn’t fall.

  William, still catching his own breath, stared in disbelief.

  "How… How did you…? You were getting wrecked just a minute ago," he panted.

  Nigel wiped a smear of blood from his mouth. His voice was flat, eerily calm.

  "I learn fast."

  Then, after a pause, he turned his gaze toward William, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

  "You’re weak," he muttered. "You shouldn’t have tried to protect both of us." He hesitated, exhaling through his nose. "You have to train, learn how to—"

  His sentence never finished.

  His body finally gave out.

  He collapsed, unconscious, before he even hit the ground.

  William dragged himself over to Nigel, pressing two fingers against his neck. A slow, steady pulse. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. He was alive.

  Relief washed over him, but it didn’t last. He had nothing to heal him with—no potions, no supplies, and no access to Nigel’s inventory. Just his sword.

  And he wouldn’t have time to think of another plan.

  Footsteps echoed against the shattered supermarket floor.

  A man and a woman emerged from the wreckage, stepping into the dim light.

  The man was gaunt, almost sickly, with hollow cheeks and wild violet hair that stuck out in uneven tufts. The woman beside him was thin, unnaturally so, her face layered with heavy makeup that barely masked the cold sharpness of her expression.

  William forced a smile, gripping his sword tighter.

  They didn’t look like much, but neither had the last ones.

  Beneath their strange appearances, he could feel it—raw, overwhelming strength.

  He swallowed hard.

  Another fight.

  He didn’t know if he’d survive this one.