The crowd roared—Xyprus Academy's Annual Combat Tournament had returned.
A new year. New tech. New blood.
But the legend remained.
Damien Thorne—towering, scarred, and still unaugmented—stepped onto the stage. No AI. No serum. No armor. Just wraps, breath, and bone.
This was his third tournament. And this time, the battlefield was different.
The rules had changed.
Combat Class: Omega Division
Announcer's voice over the dome speakers: "Combat Class: Omega Division. For the first time, sanctioned animal-fusion fighters are cleared for official combat."
The words rippled through the crowd. Students in the stands leaned toward one another.
First-year student: "You mean… hybrids? Here?" Second-year: "Not the unstable kind. Legal now. Monitored. They're supposed to be… controlled."
For the first time, sanctioned animal-fusion fighters were allowed into official combat.
Genetically modified students. Legal now. Monitored. Stabilized.
Their enhancements weren't like the earlier years—no longer brute force or raw speed alone. These new fusions carried instinct, behavior, and combat styles from predator DNA.
And Damien? He was the only one in the Omega bracket without a single drop of fusion in his blood.
Quarterfinal Match: Damien Thorne vs. Kaine Arvora
Designation: Apex-04 Prototype
Genetics: Panther x Komodo Dragon hybrid fusion
Notes: High agility. Paralytic saliva. Muscle-regeneration serum.
The arena lights dimmed. Holograms danced across the dome, showcasing Kaine's predatory profile—claws, low-center slashes, a serpentine gait.
A hologram of Kaine's predatory profile swept across the arena—claws, slitted eyes, a low predator's gait.
Spectator in the front row: "They say he can climb walls. And that bite—don't get hit, you'll go numb."
Then, Damien stepped into view.
No stats. No sponsor profile. Just the infamous gold eyes that had haunted every projection board for the past two years.
The bell rang.
Kaine lunged like an uncoiled beast—blades for hands, saliva laced with toxins, movements nearly silent.
Damien didn't move.
Not until the strike came inches from his ribs.
Then—
CRACK.
A right hook folded Kaine sideways. But the fusion fighter twisted unnaturally mid-air, landed on all fours, and pounced again.
Kaine, low and guttural: "You're not fast enough."Damien: "You're not strong enough."
The fight became primal—predator versus survivor. Every strike Damien landed was met with something unnatural: reinforced bones, pain-dulled nerves, a serrated tail that sliced his side.
Arena medic, muttering to a colleague: "Those tail strikes would crack ribs on most fighters."Colleague: "Most fighters aren't Damien Thorne."
A predator engineered by labs versus a boy forged by scars.
Every strike Damien landed was met with freakish endurance. Kaine's bones were reinforced with carbon mesh. His nerves dull to pain. And that tail—serrated and whip-fast—ripped across Damien's side more than once.
Blood. Real blood.
The crowd watched in stunned silence.
Ten minutes. Still going.
Damien fought smarter now. Patience mixed with aggression. Every underground brawl, every broken rib, every mistake had taught him how to kill a monster.
And this was just another beast.
He waited.
Then—on Kaine's leap—he countered with a rising elbow. Caught him mid-air. Spun. Slammed. And drove his fist down on Kaine's temple hard enough to dent the floor.
Winner: Damien Thorne.
But even as the crowd erupted and analysts praised the most brutal win of the year—he didn't smile.
Because that wasn't the threat he felt watching him.
No, in the upper balcony sat something else. Something silent. Unmoving. Not human. Not fusion.
Synthetic.