Dovak didn’t hesitate. He stepped over the unconscious woman and drove his greatsword through her back. It wasn’t the most honorable way to end a fight, but he didn’t have the luxury of dragging things out. The blade tore through her with brutal efficiency. Her body barely had time to jolt before it began dissolving into nothing.

  A sharp cry rang out behind him.

  Dovak barely turned before a blur of movement closed in.

  In the blink of an eye, a man stood right in front of him.

  There was no time to think.

  Their weapons clashed, sparks flying as metal met metal. Dovak barely managed to catch the incoming strike in time, his muscles straining against the force behind it.

  The bastard was fast, stronger than he looked. A storm of blows followed, both of them locked in a vicious exchange. It was evenly matched—for now.

  But Dovak couldn’t focus. His mind kept drifting.

  Where were Nigel and William?

  Every time he tried to glance their way, his opponent cut off his vision, forcing him back into the fight. He grit his teeth, bracing himself for another strike. Then, finally—he caught a glimpse of them.

  William was still standing. Barely.

  His short sword trembled in his grip, his legs shaking—not from fear, but exhaustion.

  The two remaining punks approached him slowly, their faces twisted in rage.

  Dovak exhaled sharply. It made sense.

  They had just watched their friends die.

  William muttered something under his breath. He planted his feet.

  And then, they lunged at him.

  Dovak’s heart pounded. His fingers tightened around his sword.

  He should be over there.

  He should be helping—

  Then he saw it.

  The faint flicker of light from Nigel’s wrist.

  A message.

  [BLOODLUST ACTIVATED]

  William barely had time to react.

  One moment, he was watching his opponents charge at him—the next, Nigel was on them like a beast unchained.

  His movements were inhuman, fueled by something far beyond raw strength or skill. His muscles tensed like coiled steel, his entire body radiating heat. A crimson aura pulsed around him, flickering like an open flame. His eyes—if they could even be called that—were glazed over, unfocused, yet filled with something primal.

  Nigel wasn’t thinking.

  He was hunting.

  Before William could even process what was happening, Nigel seized both attackers by the throat and threw them like ragdolls. Their bodies crashed against the debris-littered floor, skidding several feet before coming to a stop.

  They groaned, struggling to rise.

  Nigel didn’t give them the chance.

  The man with violet hair barely made it to his knees before Nigel was on him, gripping the back of his head and slamming it into the ground with enough force to crack the concrete. Blood splattered across the floor. William winced, expecting the man to go limp—but he didn’t.

  Somehow, despite what should have been a fatal impact, he twitched, barely holding himself upright. His entire body trembled, bones likely shattered, yet there was still fight in his eyes.

  The woman lunged from behind, dagger poised for a killing blow.

  Nigel turned at the last second, his fist colliding with her jaw. The sheer force of the hit sent her stumbling back, teeth flying from her mouth in a crimson spray.

  She clutched her face, eyes wide in horror.

  William could only watch.

  Nigel was moving differently—faster, stronger, more relentless than before. It wasn’t just rage. It was something far worse.

  Something monstrous.

  The punks must have realized it too, because this time, when they rushed him… it wasn’t with confidence. It was desperation.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Nigel didn’t even flinch.

  Before either of them could react, he moved—a blur of motion, precise and deadly.

  William barely caught the series of movements.

  A brutal strike to the chest.

  A sharp blow to the neck.

  A final, sweeping kick to their legs.

  Both attackers collapsed, bodies hitting the floor with dull thuds.

  They lay there, gasping for breath, eyes darting between each other in silent understanding.

  William saw it too—the realization that they had lost. That this was the end.

  They turned to Nigel, watching as he stepped forward to deliver the killing blow.

  Then—it stopped.

  The aura around him flickered. His body trembled.

  His knees buckled.

  And then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he fell.

  William’s heart nearly stopped.

  Nigel lay motionless, his body drained, steam rising faintly from his skin.

  The punks hesitated, exchanging glances. The moment they realized he was unconscious, their expressions changed—from fear to opportunity.

  They pushed themselves upright, shaky but determined. Their gazes shifted toward William.

  First, they’d kill Nigel.

  Then, they’d deal with him.

  They took a step forward—

  Dovak struck.

  A single, wide sweep of his greatsword carved through both of them in one motion.

  They barely had time to process what had happened before their bodies dissolved into nothing, leaving behind two shimmering Diamantines.

  Silence fell.

  Dovak exhaled, lowering his weapon.

  His gaze flicked toward Nigel’s unconscious form, then to William—who was barely staying on his feet.

  “…Well, that was a damn mess. This dude has a lot of hidden tricks, huh.”

  Dovak nudged Nigel’s shoulder. “Hey. You with me?”

  Nigel’s lips barely moved. His voice came in a whisper. “…Not yet. Too soon… too late…”

  Dovak frowned. “The hell are you talking about?”

  Before he could press further, William’s body slumped to the side. He was out cold.

  Dovak exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, ain’t that just perfect.”

  With a grunt, he laid both of them flat on the ground and pulled two small vials from his inventory. Revitalizers. He tilted their heads back, making sure each one drank before tossing the empty bottles aside. The effects would take a few hours, but at least their conditions wouldn’t worsen.

  He sat nearby, stretching his sore muscles. Compared to them, he was barely winded. After witnessing Nigel’s outburst, Dovak had been able to focus on his own fight. His opponent never saw it coming. A quick grab from behind. A sharp twist. A clean kill.

  It hadn’t taken long.

  Now all that was left was to watch over these two fools until they woke up.

  A low groan broke the silence.

  Nigel stirred, his body aching in ways he hadn’t thought possible. Every inch of him throbbed, muscles burning as if he had been set on fire from the inside out.

  “Shit,” he muttered. His voice was hoarse.

  He tried to sit up. His limbs protested, his body sluggish, but he forced himself upright. “How long was I out?”

  Dovak, who had been leaning against a pile of rubble, glanced at his wristband. “About half an hour.”

  Nigel exhaled sharply. "Half an hour…?" His gaze shifted to William, still lying motionless nearby.

  Dovak followed his line of sight. “That kid took a beating.” He ripped off a piece of dried meat with his teeth, chewing lazily before continuing. “Kept trying to cover you every time you hit the ground. Don’t think he landed many hits, but he held his own.”

  Nigel’s jaw tightened.

  He tried standing, bracing himself with one knee on the ground. The moment he put weight on his legs, they gave out beneath him.

  Pain shot through his body as he collapsed.

  “Damn it!” he spat, gripping the dirt beneath his fingers. Every breath sent fresh pain through his ribs. His entire body felt like it had been put through a grinder.

  Dovak raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you go full berserker mode and don’t remember it.”

  Nigel shot him a glare. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  A weak voice cut in.

  “…Before I blacked out,” William murmured. “You activated something. A skill.”

  His voice faded again, and his head lolled to the side.

  Dovak moved to check him, placing two fingers to his pulse before nodding. “He’s fine. Just exhausted.”

  Nigel’s hand drifted to his wristband, fingers brushing against the device. His mind raced back to the last thing he remembered before losing control.

  A message.

  A single line of text had flashed across the screen just before his mind blanked out.

  [BLOODLUST ACTIVATED]

  He flexed his fingers, recalling the searing heat that had coursed through him. The sheer power. The moment he let go, nothing else had mattered except the fight. It was a skill he used once… no, to be exact, he used once.

  That was dangerous.

  "Guess I really didn't know what I signed up for," he muttered.

  Dovak let out a snort. “Wait, don’t tell me—you never even checked how the damn wristband works?”

  Nigel remained silent.

  Dovak sighed, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. That thing organizes your skills, dumbass. Every time you use one, it logs it. Guess you finally triggered one of your buried instincts or whatever.”

  Nigel frowned. "But I don’t name my skills."

  “Then maybe the wristband does it for you,” Dovak shrugged. “Or maybe it’s been there all along, and you just never knew."

  Bloodlust.

  A skill powerful enough to push him beyond his limits—but at what cost?

  Contrary to Serenus, this one was far more… primal.

  Once the soreness in his legs subsided, Nigel forced himself into a crouch.

  Then, a squat.

  Then another.

  Dovak watched, unimpressed. "Really? Right after almost dying, you're doing squats?"

  Nigel ignored him. His muscles screamed in protest, but he needed to move.

  He needed to build up strength, because despite all the fights they’d won, despite making it through the first night—he had still collapsed.

  Something deep inside him whispered that he couldn’t afford to be weak.

  That next time, he wouldn’t be saved.

  That voice in his head—the one he had spent years trying to drown out—spoke again.

  That wasn’t very smart of you.

  Nigel clenched his jaw.

  You can’t trust them. Trust only in yourself, and me of course.

  The voice was cold, sharp, slicing through his thoughts like a blade.

  They’re strangers. Just like before, just like her.

  His fists tightened.

  “Shut up.”

  The words barely escaped his lips, but he heard them.

  Dovak tilted his head. "What?"

  Nigel’s expression darkened. "Nothing."

  He went back to training, forcing his mind to focus.

  Dovak let the silence linger for a moment before speaking.

  “…Now that I think about it,” he muttered. “I haven’t seen any message saying the event’s over.”

  Nigel’s movements stopped.

  His shoulders tensed.

  That was true.

  Throughout the night, the tournament announcements had been constant. But now—nothing.

  That meant one thing.

  “The Illusion Circus is still active,” Nigel said.

  Dovak grabbed his greatsword. “Which means we’re still in danger.”

  Nigel pulled himself up, stretching out his sore limbs. His blood still burned from the fight, but his mind was sharp again.

  They would have to be careful.

  They weren’t out of this yet.