(warning this is the longest chapter ever so have snacks and drinks and read or let the AI read for you so enjoy)
The episode starts with yowai giving a body to flare causing him to break the wall and lead in the other room,then yowai jumped out after that,but then flare stood up and dusted himself and then he sighs and does a quick steps and before yowai could do anything he was punched out of the underground lab and flare jumped out falling him,The scene shifts to,The sun hung low, gilding the horizon in molten gold, as the two figures faced each other across the vast plateau of shattered stone and scorched earth. The air was heavy, charged with anticipation, like the world itself was holding its breath. Flare stood with his fists loosely clenched, shoulders relaxed yet ready, eyes scanning. Yowai's gaze was calm, calculating, unreadable, the faintest shadow of a smirk brushing his lips.
"So… you're the prince everyone talks about," Yowai said, voice smooth and detached. "I can see why they fear you."
Flare flexed his fingers, feeling the tingle of fire along his skin. "And you're the one everyone calls dangerous," he replied, voice steady, though a spark of heat danced behind his eyes. "Let's see if the rumors are true."
The silence stretched. Then, like the snapping of a bowstring, they moved.
The First Clash — Testing Each Other
Flare struck first, a light jab, probing. Yowai's hands moved like water, parrying effortlessly, eyes tracking the punch, measuring. No fire, no surge, just raw technique.
Yowai countered with a side-step and a low sweeping kick — fast, subtle — meant more to test Flare's reflexes than to strike seriously. Flare barely jumped back, his landing cracking the stone beneath him, sending dust into the golden light.
"Quick," Yowai remarked, tilting his head.
"Not fast enough," Flare muttered, igniting a thin ribbon of flame along his fist, testing the edges of Yowai's focus.
Yowai's eyes narrowed slightly. He ducked under Flare's fiery hook, sliding forward with his Wing Chun base, hands snaking for control, aiming to trap Flare's arms. The wind howled as Flare twisted free mid-spin, leaving a jagged gouge in the earth where his foot landed. The plateau trembled, stones shattering, small fissures spreading like veins across the ground.
Exchange of Blows
The fight was a dance — each strike a conversation, each block a question. Flare's MMA striking met Yowai's blended Wing Chun + Jujutsu.
Flare: Cross → Hook → Low Sweep
Yowai: Parry → Wrist Grab → Side Kick
Each move generated shockwaves that tore through the already ruined land. A boulder split in two as Flare's spinning back fist landed; Yowai's follow-up shoulder check sent dust flying.
"You fight… differently than I expected," Flare panted, stepping back.
"You'll see the full extent soon enough," Yowai replied, circling, calm, predatory.
Flare's flames flared briefly as he tried a jumping knee, Yowai caught it midair, twisting him slightly, testing balance. Flare landed hard, one hand bracing against the cracked stone, and the heat around him pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Your fire… not enough to blind me," Yowai said softly.
Flare gritted his teeth, feeling the sting of the first small cut across his cheek — Yowai's subtle elbow had grazed him.
Each movement left scars on the plateau: fissures, shattered boulders, scorched craters. When Flare launched a fiery spinning kick, Yowai ducked low and rolled, using the blast to propel himself up behind Flare.
"He's learning me too quickly…" Flare muttered, his fist glowing, sending small arcs of heat across the air.
The wind carried the sound of cracking stone, the whistling of air displaced by their spins, the faint ringing as Yowai's palm struck Flare's shoulder just enough to throw him off balance.
A massive slab of rock broke beneath Flare's feet as he landed, tumbling slightly forward. He threw a quick elbow, flames trailing, but Yowai twisted, catching the wrist, redirecting the motion. The force sent Flare skidding back across the stone like a leaf caught in a storm.
"Your technique… it's sharp," Flare said, panting, feeling a small cut on his forearm.
"Your fire… controlled, but predictable," Yowai said, calm as ever, circling, eyes never leaving him.
They started moving faster. Flare's punches sparked flame trails; Yowai's hands moved like mirrors, catching, redirecting, pushing.
Flare's spinning hook cracked the ground beneath Yowai's feet.
Yowai countered with a midair wrist grab and knee strike to Flare's side, sending him flying back into a crater.
The plateau trembled under the force of their testing — mountainside rocks tumbled, the earth scorched, dust clouds swallowing the horizon.
"Not bad," Flare grunted, wiping blood from his lip.
"Neither are you," Yowai replied, stepping lightly as he prepared the next series of counters.
Neither wanted to commit fully yet — both were reading, testing, adjusting. Every strike, dodge, and feint was meant to measure strength, speed, endurance.
Getting Hurt
By now, minor injuries were stacking:
Flare: cut across cheek, bruised ribs from shoulder checks, scorch marks on arms
Yowai: small scratches, wrist redness from blocking flaming punches, slight limp from dodging a spinning kick
"He's strong…" Flare thought, panting.
"He feels like a storm waiting to break," Yowai thought, calculating.
The tension escalated — the first real clash of their energies. Neither fire nor ice, neither physical nor strategic advantage, could dominate. They were perfect mirrors testing one another.sensing the slight hesitation in Yowai's guard, ignited a ribbon of flames along his spinning kick. Yowai, anticipating, twisted and grabbed a falling rock, using it as leverage to spring over the attack and land behind Flare, delivering a subtle palm strike to the back.
The strike didn't knock Flare down — but the heat of the counter burned him, making him stumble.
The plateau trembled, fissures spider-webbing outward, dust and smoke blinding vision.
They paused. Both breathing heavily, sweat and minor blood mixing with dust.
Flare: "So… you're just as relentless as they said."
Yowai: "And you're… even more… interesting than I expected."
A silence fell. For a moment, they stood, acknowledging each other's strength, before stepping back, readying for the next stage — the fight would escalate in ways that could destroy mountains, but for now, this was the dance of testing.Then the scene shifts to a flash back,The Kingdom of Sun was bright.
Not the kind of bright that hurt your eyes, but the kind that warmed your chest. Morning light spilled over golden rooftops and painted the streets in orange and honey, like the city itself was always smiling. The air smelled like bread and citrus and clean stone, and the people talked loudly—laughing loudly—living loudly.
It was a kingdom that looked like it was made to last forever.
And in the middle of it all… stood its future.
Prince Flare.
He was young, but even as a child, the world moved around him differently. Wherever he walked, guards stood taller. Wherever he laughed, people smiled wider. The Kingdom of Sun didn't just see him as the king's child.
They saw him as the next sunrise.
He wasn't the oldest son.
He wasn't the first in line, not on paper.
But people whispered it anyway.
"That one is the real king."
King James of Sun was not a cruel man. He wasn't the type to rule with fear. He didn't enjoy shouting, and he didn't enjoy punishment.
He believed a kingdom survived when its people loved it, not when they feared it.
And his favorite proof of that belief… was his son.
Flare used to run through the palace hallways with bare feet, his laughter echoing off the polished floors while servants pretended to chase him like it was some royal game.
His father would sometimes stop in the middle of a meeting just to hear that laughter.
There were days King James would leave his council chamber early, step into the garden, and find Flare sitting under the great sun-tree—an ancient tree with a trunk as wide as five men and leaves that glittered like they were sprinkled with gold dust.
Flare would look up and grin.
"Father!"
The king would sit beside him without hesitation, not caring that his royal cloak touched the dirt.
"What are you doing out here, Prince?" he'd ask.
Flare would hold up a book—too big for his hands.
"Studying."
His father would laugh. "Studying? In the garden?"
Flare would nod seriously. "Kings must study everywhere."
And sometimes, because he loved his son too much to keep his voice steady, the king would whisper:
"You're going to be greater than me."
Flare always thought it was a compliment.
Back then, he didn't understand it was also a prayer.
Flare grew fast.
Not just in height, but in mind.
At the royal academy, he passed every class like it was nothing. Mathematics, strategy, history, aura theory, monster biology, diplomacy… he took them all seriously, and he didn't just pass.
He dominated.
Teachers who had taught princes for decades watched him write answers that adults struggled to understand.
When his scores were posted, students crowded around the board.
Perfect marks.
Every time.
Someone would whisper:
"That's insane. He's not even trying."
Another would reply:
"He's not trying. He's meant for it."
His aura wasn't the loud kind. It didn't flare or scream. It didn't beg to be seen.
It stayed controlled.
Like a flame inside a lantern.
Not wild.
Focused.
Respectable.
And that focus made people trust him.
Even older knights would look at him and quietly think:
If that boy becomes king, the Kingdom of Sun will never fall.
Flare heard the whispers.
But unlike most princes, he didn't let it poison him.
He didn't bully. He didn't boast.
He just smiled.
And worked harder.
Because Flare didn't want to be king for power.
He wanted to be king because he wanted his people to sleep without fear.
Prince Sintsu, the firstborn, watched all of it.
Where Flare was sunlight… Sintsu was shade.
He wasn't stupid. Not at all.
He was intelligent, calculated, patient. He always smiled at the right time, bowed at the right time, said the right words.
But his eyes were never warm.
Not once.
The kingdom respected Sintsu because they had to.
But they loved Flare because they wanted to.
And that difference ate Sintsu alive in silence.
Sometimes, in the palace corridors, Sintsu would pass Flare and say softly:
"Little brother."
Flare would smile. "Big brother!"
Sintsu would smile back.
But the smile always looked… tight.
Like it was holding something inside.
Like a lid on boiling water.
Flare's illness didn't start with blood or screaming.
It started with breath.
One day, after training, Flare tried to laugh—and suddenly his chest tightened as if invisible hands had wrapped around his lungs.
He fell to one knee.
His vision blurred.
The world tilted.
He reached for air.
But his body refused to take it.
His teacher screamed for help. Knights rushed forward.
Flare raised a shaking hand.
"I'm… fine," he tried to say.
But his voice came out thin.
Weak.
The prince of the sun… sounding like a dying candle.
They carried him back to the palace.
Doctors crowded around his bed.
Priests prayed.
Magicians scanned his aura.
And for the first time in Flare's life, no one had an answer.
King James stood in the room and didn't speak.
His hands were clenched so tightly his nails cut into his skin.
When the doctors finally left, Flare looked at his father, forcing a smile through the ache in his chest.
"Father… it's okay. I'll recover."
The king stepped forward and held his son's hand.
His voice shook.
"You will."
But Flare didn't miss it.
For the first time… his father sounded afraid.
Time didn't heal Flare.
It shrunk him.
The boy who ran in gardens was now measured in hours.
Some mornings he couldn't stand without dizziness.
Some nights he woke up choking, gasping for air while servants panicked and rushed for help.
And the worst part wasn't the pain.
It was the look in people's eyes.
It started with pity.
Then it became doubt.
Then it became fear.
People began whispering differently.
Not:
"He's the next king."
But:
"Can he survive long enough to become one?"
At the academy, he still passed every class.
Still scored the highest marks.
Still tried to stand tall.
But the sickness didn't care about his pride.
One day during a royal presentation, Flare collapsed again—this time in front of nobles.
A noblewoman covered her mouth in shock.
A man muttered:
"This is the boy the kingdom wants to follow?"
Flare heard it.
And something inside him cracked.
Flare had someone who used to make him feel normal.
A girl from a respected noble family.
She wasn't cruel. She wasn't evil.
But she loved the idea of Flare.
The future king.
The shining prince.
The perfect life.
When Flare's illness worsened, she still visited at first.
She brought flowers. Sat by his bed. Smiled.
But her smile started to fade.
Her eyes drifted to the door more often.
The conversations got shorter.
One day, Flare reached for her hand and asked:
"Are you scared of me?"
She hesitated.
And that hesitation was louder than any scream.
"I…" she whispered.
Flare forced a small smile. "Be honest."
She looked down. "I dreamed of being queen."
Flare's throat tightened.
"And now?" he asked.
Her voice was soft.
"Now I don't know if you'll live long enough to be king."
Silence.
Flare nodded slowly.
He didn't beg.
He didn't shout.
He just let go of her hand and looked away.
"Then go," he said.
She left.
And the door closing felt like the end of a world.
People were cruel, not always with fists—sometimes with words.
Flare still tried to appear in public.
But he began hearing things.
"Why does he still show his face?"
"It's embarrassing."
"Our kingdom needs strength."
"Imagine being ruled by someone who can't breathe."
The words didn't hit like punches.
They hit like poison.
Slow.
Persistent.
Unstoppable.
Even servants who once adored him began avoiding his gaze.
Knights whispered behind him.
He could feel the shift.
He was no longer the kingdom's hope.
He was becoming…
a risk.
One day, Flare overheard two high officials talking.
"If the prince dies…" one said.
"…then the line returns to Sintsu," another replied.
Flare's fingers clenched.
The sickness wasn't just killing him.
It was rewriting the kingdom's future.
King James tried.
At first.
He stayed beside Flare, called the best doctors, ordered the priests to fast and pray, demanded magic councilors search ancient texts.
But as weeks became months…
The king began disappearing into meetings again.
He stopped sitting in the garden.
Stopped laughing with his son.
Stopped saying "you will survive."
Not because he didn't love Flare.
But because the pain of hope was becoming too sharp.
Flare noticed everything.
One evening, the king entered Flare's room quietly.
Flare looked up.
"Father," he said. "Sit with me."
King James hesitated.
Then sat.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Finally, Flare asked:
"Do you still believe I can be king?"
The king's throat tightened.
His eyes didn't meet Flare's.
"I believe…" he started.
Then stopped.
Flare smiled faintly, even though his heart was breaking.
"It's okay," he whispered.
But it wasn't okay.
And both of them knew it.
That night, after the king left, Flare sat alone.
The lantern light flickered on the walls.
His breath came shallow and uneven.
His hands trembled—not from cold, but from something deeper.
Fear.
Not fear of dying.
Fear of dying without meaning.
Fear of leaving his people with no one.
Fear of becoming a forgotten tragedy.
Then a knock came at the door.
Flare blinked. "Come in."
The door opened.
Sintsu stood there.
Perfect posture. Calm face. Quiet eyes.
"Little brother," he said gently.
Flare frowned. "What do you want?"
Sintsu stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"No guards," Flare noted.
Sintsu smiled. "This is family business."
Flare's stomach tightened. "Speak."
Sintsu walked closer, voice quiet like a secret meant only for shadows.
"I can cure you."
Flare froze.
"…What?"
Sintsu lifted a hand, and a small glow flickered in his palm—dark-gold aura, strange, unnatural.
"There is a method," Sintsu continued, "a process… an experiment. It can make your body stronger than this illness. Strong enough to live. Strong enough to rule."
Flare stood slowly, breathing hard. "If you could do this… why didn't you tell father?"
Sintsu's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Because father would refuse."
Flare's heart pounded.
"Why?"
Sintsu's smile grew a little.
"Because the cure requires a price."
Flare swallowed. "What price?"
Sintsu stepped closer.
"You must lose something."
Flare's voice dropped. "My aura?"
"No," Sintsu whispered.
"…Your humanity."
Flare's blood ran cold.
Sintsu raised his hands calmly.
"There will be no side effects," he said smoothly. "You will still be you. You will still think like you. You will still lead."
Flare stared at him.
"But you will no longer be weak," Sintsu finished. "You will no longer be pitied. You will no longer be abandoned."
Flare's mind screamed this is wrong.
But his body… his body was tired.
Tired of pain.
Tired of choking.
Tired of fear.
Tired of being a prince that people had already buried with words.
He whispered:
"If I refuse… I die."
Sintsu nodded. "Yes."
Flare's eyes trembled.
"And if I accept… I live."
Sintsu smiled.
"Yes."
Flare clenched his fists.
For a moment, he imagined his father smiling again.
His kingdom cheering again.
His love returning.
His people believing again.
He looked at Sintsu.
"Do it."
The underground lab smelled like metal and cold stone.
Flare didn't know how he got there. His mind was fog. His body was barely able to stand.
Sintsu walked beside him with gentle steps.
"Trust me," Sintsu said.
Flare wanted to trust him.
He wanted to believe this wasn't betrayal.
The lab was hidden under a private palace wing, sealed with royal locks and guarded by men who didn't speak.
Scientists in white coats bowed deeply.
Some looked terrified.
Some looked excited.
Flare was placed on a table.
Cold restraints locked around his wrists.
Flare's breath sharpened. "Why do I need restraints?"
Sintsu smiled softly. "Just in case your body reacts."
"React how?"
Sintsu leaned closer, voice warm like a brother.
"Like it's being reborn."
Flare's heart pounded.
A needle entered his skin.
Then another.
Dark-gold fluid spread into his veins like fire disguised as liquid.
Flare gasped.
The room tilted.
His aura surged violently, uncontrollable, like his body was screaming.
He tried to speak.
But only a broken sound left his mouth.
The scientists began chanting numbers, readings, aura levels.
"His pulse is rising!"
"Aura is mutating!"
"Stabilize him—stabilize him!"
Sintsu watched calmly.
Flare's eyes rolled back.
His spine arched.
Pain ripped through him—different from illness, sharper, transforming.
It felt like his bones were being rewritten.
His heart burned.
His lungs expanded violently, then collapsed, then expanded again.
Flare screamed.
And the scream wasn't human.
It was something ancient trying to wake up.
Sintsu placed a hand on Flare's forehead.
"Good," he whispered. "Good. Keep going."
Flare woke up in darkness.
His breathing was… steady.
He sat up slowly.
No choking.
No weakness.
No shaking hands.
He blinked, confused.
"I…" he whispered. "I can breathe."
Then he noticed the smell.
Strong.
Sweet.
Warm.
He turned his head.
A man lay unconscious nearby—one of the scientists.
Flare stared.
His throat tightened—not from illness.
From hunger.
His stomach growled like something alive inside him.
Flare's hands shook.
"Stop," he whispered to himself. "I don't—"
His body moved.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
It moved like a predator.
Flare reached the man.
His mouth opened.
His teeth… weren't his teeth anymore.
He pulled back at the last second, horrified.
"What is thisYour body is adapting," he said calmly. it," he promised. "You're a prince. You're strong."
Flare tried to breathe.
Tried to calm down.
Tried to believe.
But the hunger didn't leave.
It grew.
The next day, Flare returned to the surface.
He walked the palace halls.
Stronger.
Healthier.
Alive.
Servants gasped in relief.
Knights bowed with renewed pride.
The kingdom began whispering again:
"He's cured."
"He lives."
"The true king is back."
Flare saw his father in the distance.
King James turned and froze.
"Flare…?"
Flare smiled.
"Father."
For a moment, the king's face lit up like the sun itself.
He stepped forward.
He reached for his son.
Then Flare smelled him.
The warmth.
The blood.
The life.
The hunger slammed into him like a wave.
Flare's smile faltered.
His jaw tightened.
He took one step forward… then stopped.
His hands clenched.
King James noticed it immediately.
"Flare?" the king asked softly. "What's wrong?"
Flare tried to speak.
Tried to say I'm fine.
Tried to say I missed you.
But something inside him didn't want words.
It wanted flesh.
Flare stumbled backward, horrified.
"No," he whispered.
Sintsu's voice echoed behind him:
"You're stronger now."
Flare turned.
His brother stood smiling.
And for the first time, Flare realized:
This wasn't a cure.
It was a weapon.
Flare backed away.
His body trembled.
Then his eyes turned dark.
His aura—once a controlled flame—became a wildfire.
And in one moment of terror…
Flare lost.
It wasn't instant.
It was worse.
It was slow.
Like watching your soul leave your body while you were still alive.
Flare's humanity peeled away.
Piece by piece.
His thoughts became simpler.
Hunger.
Survival.
Consume.
The prince who once wanted to protect his people…
became the thing that hunted them.
And somewhere deep inside, buried under the monster—
Flare screamed.
Back in the present…
Flare crouched in darkness.
Eating.
Not because he wanted to.
Because the hunger commanded.
Above him, shadows moved.
A voice whispered through the underground tunnels:
"Sa… to."
And the monster's head turned.
As if something inside it remembered a name.
A face.
A guilt.
A future enemy.
The scene goes back to the present day and flare's face becomes serious and tells yowai that no matter what I did I still got to see people's dark sides, and almost died for nothing, and knowing all I did was love them, then yowai says let's talk about it okay buddy, fighting is not all was the answer,then flare says no, I will prove to my father and this entire kingdom that I'm number one I'll kill all the Holly knights and everyone who mocked me, then yowai said I'm sorry but I can't let you do that, then flare said stop me. Flare and Yowai faced each other across the shattered plateau, breathing hard, bodies bruised but minds sharpened.
"Enough testing," Yowai said calmly, the faintest smirk brushing his lips. "Let's see what happens when we stop holding back then."
"I was hoping you'd say that," Flare replied, his fists flaring with heat as he ignited his first real wave of attacks.
Yowai then calls out his form 1:Cold Hands, flowed instantly. He moved with precise, surgical punches — measuring distance, reading Flare's rhythm.
Flare responded with jab-cross-low sweep combinations, his MMA base, striking fast, trying to disrupt Yowai's measurements.
Yowai: Centerline jabs, chain punches, short feints.
Flare: Hook → spinning back fist → low kick.
The air shimmered as Flare's strikes ignited heat around him. Yowai ducked under a fiery hook, slipping past, countering with an elbow to Flare's side. The impact cracked stone beneath Flare's feet, leaving jagged scars across the plateau.
"Not bad," Yowai muttered, voice calm.
"You too," Flare replied, wiping sweat from his brow, flames trailing his fists.
The fight was testing speed, distance, and reaction — a dance of measuring strength. Both felt minor cuts and bruises forming, sparks of adrenaline mixing with pain.
With a slight breath, Yowai transitioned into Form 2: Split Rhythm. His body moved fluidly, a blur of spins, feints, and kicks. Suddenly, a jab was followed by a 360-degree flying kick, his body impossible to track.
Flare countered with his elbow → knee → spinning kick MMA chain, flames trailing, but Yowai twisted mid-air, rolling, redirecting the momentum into a palm strike that sent Flare skidding back across broken rock.
The plateau trembled, fissures opening beneath both fighters.
Small boulders shattered under the pressure of kicks and spins.
Flare: "You… move too fast!"
Yowai: "And you hit too hot."
Their dialogue was breathless, punctuated by the clash of fists, sparks, and debris flying everywhere.
Yowai advanced, Form 3: Center Lock, closing in. His hands trapped Flare's strikes mid-air, controlling the flow.
Flare countered with his chain punch → low sweep → clinch combination, trying to force distance. Yowai blocked and twisted, using Wing Chun trapping techniques to control Flare's guard, feeding into elbow strikes and shoulder pushes.
The clash of techniques left both fighters panting, minor cuts across cheeks and forearms, dirt mixed with blood sticking to sweat-soaked skin.
"Your guard… strong," Flare said, stepping back.
"Your strikes… fiery," Yowai replied, voice calm, almost teasing.
Yowai shifted into Form 4: Borrowed Fall, using Aikido-style redirections. Flare's spinning hook became an opportunity: Yowai grabbed his arm mid-air, using the momentum to flip Flare toward the ground, then followed with a low sweep to destabilize him.
Flare reacted instinctively with ground strikes and knee sweeps, MMA style, countering the throw and landing a fiery elbow strike on Yowai's shoulder.
Impact on the environment: Massive shockwave as Flare hit the cratered ground, sending stone shards flying.
Dust clouds swirled, reducing visibility, leaving only the flicker of flame and the glint of Yowai's movements.
"You're… learning me," Flare said, wincing as his ribs screamed from the last impact.
"And you're… learning me," Yowai replied, dodging a spinning kick, eyes sharp, calculating every motion.
Testing Each Other — The Dialogue of Combat
The fight wasn't just brute force — it was mental chess, each strike a question, each dodge an answer.
Flare: "You're fast… but can you handle full power?"
Yowai: "Try me. But I'll enjoy it too."
A chain of blows and counters followed:
Flare's hook → fire-ignited knee → spinning elbow
Yowai's trap → redirect → elbow strike → sweep kick
Every hit generated minor cracks in the plateau. Dust and debris rose like a storm. Each fighter felt cuts opening, bruises forming, muscles screaming under the strain, yet neither gave an inch.
Flare's inner thoughts: "I can't afford mistakes… he reads me like water."
Yowai's inner thoughts: "Every strike reveals intent… every feint is a question. Let's see the answer."
Climactic Mid-Fight Exchange
Yowai attempted a 360-degree spinning kick mid-jab, striking Flare from behind. Flare reacted with a flaring spinning elbow, countering the trajectory. The two collided mid-air:
Sparks of heat from Flare's flames met the raw kinetic energy of Yowai's strike.
The impact sent them both skidding back across shattered terrain, leaving gashes in the earth, splintered boulders, and a cloud of dust.
Flare (panting, holding side): "He… matches every move I throw…"
Yowai (grinning faintly, wiping blood from hand): "And you… match mine."
End of Fight 2 — The Pause Before the Final Battle
Both fighters stopped, chests heaving, blood and dirt streaked across their faces. The plateau looked like a battlefield, cracked, scorched, almost unrecognizable.
Flare: minor cuts on cheek and ribs, some singed hair from heat backlash
Yowai: small bruises and large scars, a faint limp from Flare's repeated MMA kicks
"This… is only the beginning," Flare said, igniting a small flame around his fist.
"The real fight… is coming," Yowai replied, his eyes darkening slightly, unreadable.
They stepped back, circling silently, the wind carrying the smoke and heat of battle, both knowing the final showdown would destroy everything around them.
In that moment they both have a vision first flare sees his father with him under the tree again, the tree is a reminder of flare's mom because she was placed there after suffering the same disease flare had, and that tree was a symbol of his mother is love, then flare said softly I will your king mother and father, then the scene shifts to yowai, seeing him and vechi playing again in the cold green crystal like long grass, holding hands, them yowai and flare said at the same time "I can't afford to lose".
The air hung thick with smoke, dust, and the remnants of shattered stone. The plateau was barely recognizable — huge craters, jagged boulders, and scorched earth as far as the eye could see. The wind howled between the remains, carrying the scent of ozone, blood, and fire.
Flare stood on one side, fists glowing, body bruised, muscles screaming in pain, yet determination burned brighter than his flames. Opposite him, Yowai's calm posture belied the storm that was about to erupt, the Form 6 + base style flowing through him like liquid steel.
"This ends now," Flare said, voice low but firm, fire licking around his fists.
"Agreed," Yowai replied softly, eyes locked, every movement ready to strike.
Flare exploded into motion, a whirlwind of MMA strikes combined with his fire ability. His fists and elbows glowed red-hot, each kick leaving trails of heat.
Jab → Hook → Low Sweep
Spinning Back Fist → Elbow → Knee Combo
Flame ignited spinning kick → jump knee → fire elbow
He wasn't holding back anymore
The ground trembled under the force of his strikes. Dust and stone flew in every direction. Jagged rocks split under spinning kicks; small craters formed where flaming elbows struck.
"You've grown strong," Yowai said calmly, sidestepping a fiery hook. "But strength alone won't win."
Yowai moved like water, but then flare hits yowai in the chest causing yowai to bleed out blood and find it hard to start breathing but he stands up and says this is the end flare, — but no it go hard to even get near flare,flare started moving faster and started breaking yowai side to side.
Flare thought: "He… he's reading me. Every strike I throw, he knows it before it land,but still doesn't know when it will lands"
Flare launched into a spinning aerial barrage, twisting mid-air to strike from multiple angles. Yowai's Form 6 activated: rapid hands, instinctive throws, and counters flowing seamlessly, blending Wing Chun, Jujutsu, and all his prior forms into one unstoppable defensive-offensive rhythm.
Flare: Jab → Cross → Knee → Spinning Hook → Fire Punch
Yowai: Slip → Trap → Palm Strike → Low Sweep → Counter Elbow
Each clash sent shockwaves across the plateau, pulverizing rocks, sending boulders tumbling down fissures. The wind screamed from the air displacement of their movements.
"I won't… lose!" Flare yelled, fire trailing behind him like a comet.
"You won't… unless you stop moving," Yowai replied, breathing heavily non stop, stepping lightly, trying to dodge, trapping, striking back.
Cuts, bruises, minor burns, and scrapes covered both of them now. Blood mixed with dust on their faces. Every strike carried both pain and calculation.
Flare, fueled by determination and frustration, began to falter slightly. Yowai's calm, precise counters were wearing him down.
Flare: spinning back kick → elbow → low sweep → knee
Yowai: intercepts elbow → redirects kick → sweeps Flare off balance → rising elbow strike
Flare: "Why… why are you so precise?!"
Yowai: "Because I need to…."
Pain seared through Flare's ribs and forearms, his side bleeding from a perfectly timed elbow strike. He faltered, staggering.
"I… I can't… let this happen!" Flare thought, fire flaring in desperation.
Flare, pushing past pain, ignited every ounce of fire in his body. He spun, twisted, and unleashed his ultimate MMA combos: multiple spinning kicks, flaming elbows, knee strikes, punches, all chaining together.
The force shattered the plateau further — huge boulders broke, stones cracked, dust clouds engulfed the fighters.
Flare's body was screaming, bruises deep, burns raw, cuts bleeding — but he pushed forward.Yowai got hit with it because it was too wild and unseen to be blocked and this left yowai broken and not able to move,but then lord fuga said tic-tok Yowai's Form 6 + base style flowed, counters, .and hits flare to the ground with blood and sweat.
"Impressive," Yowai said heavily, "But you're tired."
Flare's breathing was ragged. His side throbbed painfully. Every movement required effort, fire trailing behind his fists like desperate warnings.so as yowai in unthinkable pain stood.
Flare, in a final desperate surge, flared with all signature moves: spinning hooks, knees, elbows, low sweeps, and fire punches — everything. He slammed a fiery back fist directly toward Yowai.
Yowai countered, trapping Flare's fist, spinning behind him in a seamless combination of Form 6 + base style, striking Flare with a palm → elbow → low sweep → rising knee → spin → grab → throw.
Flare hit the ground hard, dust and blood flying.
His vision blurred, chest heaving, body broken and scorched.
Flare's thoughts: "I… I can't… win… I failed… my people… my parents…"
Suddenly, visions of his mother and father appeared in the swirling dust:
"Forgive me for being too sick-minded… to win…"
Flare began to fall, exhausted, fading into unconsciousness.
Yowai caught him gently, placing a small medical substance to his lips. Calm, firm:
"You will be okay. My mother will help you become the healthy king you're meant to be."
Flare's body relaxed, eyes fluttering closed as warmth spread through his injuries. Slowly, breathing stabilized, flames dimmed, and he opened his eyes later to see healing energy restoring his body.
Stage 7 — Aftermath
Later, Flare stood on solid ground again, healed, but weary. Yowai stood beside him,with bandages,calm, silent, the wind carrying dust from the ruined battlefield.
"You… saved me," Flare whispered.
"You learned today," Yowai said. "Not everything can be won with fire. Some things… need control."
The plateau was destroyed, craters and boulders everywhere, yet the air of respect between the two was undeniable.
Flare: determined but humbled.
Yowai: calm, watching, knowing this was only the beginning of their journey.
Then the king came in and without a second thought he hugged his son and said I'm sorry for what you had to go through my son, I know you needed the support of you father but I didn't give you one so I'm sorry, then they hugged and flare cried with his father. Then yowai said okay guys want when I'm out of the room, but where is your son sintsu, then the king said we couldn't find him, anywhere in the kingdom... Because we found his dead body in his room with a message saying you've failed us,and yowai don't bother us if you know what's good for you, then akani came in the room and said Nah I'd win if he comes, then lord fuga on the floor sleeping says weak you all are , then yowai says okay king will take care of everything now, don't sweat yourself okay, then the king said I'll be forever indebted to you yowai so you ever need anything I will provide, then the scene shifts to the group leaving the kingdom of frost and going back to there home cristal de frost. The end, next episode:Worthy