The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, a tidal wave of sound that crashed against Kenjiro "Ken" Ryugasaki's sculpted physique. Sweat slicked his dark, shoulder-length hair, plastered strands to his temples. His chest, a landscape of chiseled muscle, heaved with each breath, the golden sun-shaped pendant nestled between his pectorals glinting under the stadium lights. He stood victorious, one hand raised, the other hanging loosely at his side, knuckles bruised but unbroken.
He'd just done it. Again. "The Titan's Gauntlet," the world's most brutal, no-holds-barred martial arts tournament, and he, Ken Ryugasaki, was its five-time undefeated champion. The title "World's Strongest" wasn't just hype; it was a blood-soaked, bone-cracking reality.
"Another one bites the dust," Ken muttered, a smirk playing on his lips as his opponent, a seven-foot behemoth who called himself 'The Siberian Bear', was carefully stretchered off the mat. The man had been tough, Ken would give him that. Lasted a whole three minutes.
As the announcer's voice, amplified to deafening levels, declared his name, a strange, shimmering distortion appeared directly in front of him. It wasn't part of the light show. This… this felt different. Primal. The air crackled, not with celebratory energy, but with an ozone-laced wrongness.
"What in the—?" Ken tensed, his senses, honed by decades of fighting, screaming danger. The crowd's cheers faded into a distant hum as the distortion pulsed, growing larger, brighter. It was like staring into the heart of a fractured star.
Before he could react, before his mind could even process the impossibility of it, the light consumed him. There was a sensation of immense pressure, like being squeezed through an infinitely small needle, then an abrupt, gut-wrenching weightlessness. His vision exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors he couldn't name, sounds he couldn't comprehend. It was an assault on every sense, a violation of physics itself.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
Ken found himself sprawled face-first on damp, loamy earth. The scent of pine, decaying leaves, and something else… something musky and wild, filled his nostrils. Gone was the roar of the crowd, replaced by the chirping of unseen insects and the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze.
He pushed himself up, spitting out dirt. His tournament attire—a sleeveless, white, tight-fitting top that showcased his abs, practical blue martial arts pants cinched with a sturdy leather belt adorned with pouches, and dark arm guards—was surprisingly intact, if a little muddy. The familiar weight of his pendant against his chest was a small comfort.
"Okay," Ken said, his voice raspy. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a twig. "Either I hit my head harder than I thought after that last throw, or someone spiked my victory protein shake with some serious hallucinogens."
He looked around. Towering trees, unlike any he'd seen, formed a dense canopy overhead, filtering the sunlight into dappled patterns on the forest floor. Strange, vibrant fungi clung to their trunks. In the distance, through a break in the trees, he could just make out the silhouette of a stone tower, something straight out of a fantasy novel.
"Definitely not Tokyo," he concluded, his typical cool demeanor warring with a rising tide of disbelief.
A low growl, like rocks grinding together, snapped him to full alertness. Every muscle in his body coiled, his senses sharpening to a razor's edge. He dropped into a relaxed fighting stance, a posture that looked casual but was primed for explosive action.
From the dense undergrowth, a creature emerged that solidified the "not Tokyo" assessment. It was easily eight feet tall at the shoulder, a hulking quadruped with thick, matted fur the color of dried blood. Its maw was filled with teeth like obsidian daggers, and a pair of curved, bone-white horns jutted from its brutish skull. Its eyes, burning with malevolent crimson light, fixed on Ken.
"Alright, furball," Ken said, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "You want to dance? Let's dance." This was new. Exciting. And potentially very, very lethal. Exactly his kind of party.
The beast—a Direfang Alpha, though Ken wouldn't know that name for some time—let out a deafening roar that shook the very ground. It charged, a furry avalanche of muscle and rage, its claws tearing up chunks of earth with each powerful stride.
Ken didn't flinch. He watched its approach, his mind a supercomputer calculating angles, speed, and weaknesses. To him, the charging beast was just a series of openings. As it lunged, jaws snapping with enough force to crush steel, Ken moved.
He wasn't just fast; he was a phantom. One moment he was there, the next he was gone, reappearing beside the Direfang's massive head. His fist, a hardened hammer forged in countless battles, shot out in a blow so precise, so powerful, it was almost invisible.
CRACK!
The sound was sickening, like a giant redwood snapping in a storm. Ken's fist connected with the Direfang's temple. It wasn't a flashy Ki blast or a magical incantation. It was pure, unadulterated martial prowess, technique honed to godlike perfection, backed by strength that defied human limits.
The Direfang, all momentum and fury, stumbled. Its roar cut off into a choked gurgle. Its crimson eyes glazed over with confusion and pain. It had never encountered prey that fought back like this.
Before it could recover, Ken was on it again. He flowed around its flailing limbs, his movements a deadly ballet. A palm strike to the ribcage that sent a shockwave through the beast's internal organs. An elbow to the spine that elicited a howl of agony. A sweeping kick that buckled its foreleg.
The Direfang was strong, incredibly so. Its hide was like ironwood. But Ken's strikes bypassed brute defense. He targeted nerve clusters, joints, weak points its animalistic rage couldn't protect. Each blow landed with the force of a piledriver.
"Not so tough when you're not goring terrified deer, are ya?" Ken taunted, dodging a desperate swipe of a claw that could have disemboweled a lesser man. He saw an opening, a flicker of vulnerability in the beast's desperate defense.
He moved in, a blur of motion. His right leg shot up in a devastating axe kick, arcing high above his head before slamming down onto the Direfang's thick neck with the sound of a thunderclap.
CRUNCH!
The beast froze. A tremor ran through its massive frame. Then, with a sigh that sounded almost…relieved, it collapsed. The ground shuddered under its weight. Silence descended, broken only by Ken's steady breathing.
He stood over the fallen monster, his chest rising and falling. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple. "Well, that was a decent warm-up," he said to the empty forest. "Now, where the hell am I?"
Just as the words left his lips, the sound of snapping twigs and hushed, urgent voices reached his ears. He turned, his guard instantly up again.
From the treeline, a group of figures emerged, clad in shining metal armor, carrying swords and shields. They looked like knights straight out of a storybook. At their head was a woman. Tall, with fiery red hair braided intricately, her green eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief. Her armor, while practical, was finer than the others, etched with intricate designs. She held a gleaming longsword, its tip lowered slightly as she stared, not at the dead Direfang, but at Ken.
"By the Sacred Light…" she breathed, her voice a mix of awe and apprehension. Her gaze flickered from the massive, slain beast to Ken, then back again. The other knights mirrored her expression, their weapons held uncertainly.
Ken just raised an eyebrow. "Problem, lady?" he asked, his tone cool. He wiped a smear of beast blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.
The red-haired knight, Captain Elara Vance of the Royal Aeridorian Guard as he would soon learn, finally found her voice, though it trembled slightly. "That… that was a Direfang Alpha. They've been terrorizing the Northern Pass for weeks. We lost three patrols to it." She gestured with her sword towards the monstrous corpse. "You… you killed it? Barehanded?"
Ken shrugged. "Looked like it was in my way. And yeah, hands work pretty good." He flexed his fingers, the knuckles still a bit sore. "Name's Ken. And you are?"
Elara's eyes, sharp and intelligent, scanned him from head to toe. His strange clothes, his incredible physique, the aura of sheer, unadulterated power that radiated from him like a physical force. He was like nothing she had ever seen. No magic, no enchanted weapon, just… him.
"I am Captain Elara Vance," she said, straightening, trying to regain her composure. "And you, Ken, have just performed an unbelievable feat. Who are you? From what kingdom do you hail? I've never seen attire like yours, nor fighting prowess to match."
Ken crossed his arms, his biceps bulging. The sun pendant caught the light, drawing Elara's gaze for a moment. "Kingdom? Lady, I think I took a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Last I checked, I was in a stadium in Tokyo, winning a tournament. Then, flash-bang-poof, I'm here, playing patty-cake with oversized furballs."
Elara and her men exchanged confused glances. "Tokyo? Albuquerque?" one of the knights muttered. "Are those fiefdoms beyond the Dragon's Spine Mountains?"
A small, almost imperceptible smile touched Elara's lips. This man was an enigma, a powerful, baffling, and undeniably intriguing one. "It seems, Master Ken," she said, a hint of respect in her tone, "that you are very, very far from home."
Ken looked at the dead beast, then at the armed knights, then up at the alien sky through the canopy. A thrill, cold and sharp, ran down his spine. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a hallucination. This was real. A whole new world, filled with new challenges, new monsters… and apparently, knights in shining armor.
His smirk returned, wider this time, full of dangerous promise. "Far from home, huh?" he mused, his eyes gleaming with an unholy light. "Sounds like my kind of vacation."
Elara felt a shiver run down her spine, but it wasn't entirely from fear. There was something undeniably captivating about this man's raw confidence, his almost casual dismissal of dangers that would make veteran soldiers quail.
"If you would accompany us, Master Ken," Elara offered, sheathing her sword as a sign of peace, "we are heading to the Citadel of Aeridor. Perhaps our scholars, or the King himself, can shed some light on your… predicament. And we owe you a debt for dispatching this menace."
Ken considered it for a moment. He was lost, clueless, and while he could probably punch his way through most problems, information was key. Plus, these people didn't seem immediately hostile after he'd saved them a headache. And the captain… she wasn't bad to look at either. A potential bonus.
"Alright, Captain," he said, his gaze locking with hers. "Lead the way. But if any more of your local wildlife tries to get friendly, I'm handling it my way."
Elara nodded, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "I wouldn't dream of interfering, Master Ken. After what I just witnessed, I believe your 'way' is quite effective." She turned to her men. "Secure the area! We escort our… guest… to the Citadel."
As the knights bustled, still casting awed glances at Ken and the fallen Direfang, Ken stretched, his muscles rippling. A new world. New rules. New opponents. The World's Strongest Martial Artist had just arrived, and he had a feeling things were about to get a whole lot more interesting. The goosebumps on his arms weren't from the forest chill; they were from pure, unadulterated anticipation. This was going to be fun.