Soto charged at his clone, who I'll call Zoto from now on. His steps pounded into the sand, spraying grains outward. He drew his fist back low, down by his waist, before releasing it like a cannon, a heavy haymaker aimed straight for Zoto’s head. The impact should’ve shattered through anything in its path, but Zoto’s palm snapped up and caught it. His arm quivered, his feet sliding back just a little as the sand crunched under him.

  Still, he managed to stop the punch and looked straight into Soto’s eyes with a grin that oozed mockery. "You have no idea how to use your strength."

  The effort it took was obvious. His forearm trembled from the collision, his knuckles whitening from the strain, yet somehow he managed to stop what should’ve been an unstoppable blow. That alone shouldn’t have been possible—stat for stat, they were equals. The air between them crackled with wind.

  Soto’s lips curled. He answered simply, his voice sharp and guttural. "Instant Strength."

  He had the same skills as Eli?!

  With that, Soto’s arm blurred. A red aura burst out, clinging tightly to his arms and legs like chains of fire, leaving trails of heat behind his movements. His hook cracked against Zoto’s jaw, twisting his face violently to the side. The punch carried so much force that wind peeled off his fist, scattering the sand in a small wave. Zoto stumbled and skidded across the arena floor, his barbarian boots dragging furrows in the ground as he twisted to keep his footing. Yet even with blood trickling down his chin, his grin remained intact.

  Soto pressed forward with ferocity. He lunged in, his knee arcing up in a blur of red light. It crashed into Zoto’s nose with a sickening crack. Blood sprayed into the air, but Zoto’s mocking laughter slipped between the coughing and spitting. "You're still scared. Scared of the kill. That's why you couldn't protect them."

  The words stabbed deeper than any punch could. Soto’s eyes twitched, but before he could retort, Zoto’s leg whipped upward. His shin buried into Soto’s stomach with a deep thud. Air burst out of Soto’s lungs as he recoiled.

  Zoto straightened his body and echoed Soto’s earlier call, his aura flaring. "Instant Strength."

  His left hand shot out, tangling in Soto’s hair, yanking his head back. He drew his right arm back, muscles tightening like a drawn bow. The grin widened. "This is how you do it."

  The right straight blasted forward, the sound like a hammer breaking stone. Soto’s head whipped violently, teeth scattering, blood exploding from his mouth and nose. His body shot backward, rag-dolling into the arena wall. He crumpled down into the sand, slumped, motionless. For a moment, we thought he was dead.

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  Zoto spread his arms wide, basking in the destruction. His voice carried arrogance, like he’d already decided the fight’s conclusion. "As I expected."

  But Soto wasn’t finished. Slowly, agonizingly, his fingers curled against the sand. He slid his back up the wall, leaving a faint red streak behind him. His chest heaved, drawing in ragged breaths, but his eyes glowed sharper than before. Zoto’s punch had left deep damage—his mouth was a mess of blood, his breathing uneven—but the spark in his eyes hadn’t died. It seemed like the reason was more than just survival.

  The two blurred forward at the same moment, meeting in the center of the arena. Their fists collided with cheeks at the same time, like twin gunshots. Soto didn’t recoil. He shoved himself forward, dragging his chin against Zoto’s arm, forcing the contact even as blood streaked his own face. He twisted his body lower, then hammered Zoto in the gut.

  Zoto’s body folded, knees sinking into the sand. His face grimaced, and for a split second it seemed Soto had gained the upper hand.

  But it was a trap.

  Zoto’s fist shot upward in a vicious uppercut. It connected under Soto’s jaw, lifting his entire frame off the ground. Blood and spit trailed in the air as Soto flew skyward. Zoto crouched, then leapt after him, his fist drawn back, aura swirling violently. He aimed downward, ready to crash a finishing blow from above.

  And then he stopped. Hovering above, his fist trembled in hesitation. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Soto’s falling frame. He didn’t pursue. Instead, he allowed Soto to plummet back into the sand, hitting harshly.

  Zoto touched down lightly, keeping his distance, his expression unreadable but his grin still lingering. "I felt something coming. Are you finally using it? Your Berserk?"

  Soto’s chest rose and fell, laughter bubbling out of him. High, sharp, unhinged. "I don't need that to kill you."

  Zoto tilted his head and shrugged, his tone dripping with dismissal. "You sure? I'm beating you silly."

  Then his body flickered, aura bursting. He blitzed forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat, appearing above Soto like a shadow about to engulf him.

  "I will continue to do so, you pathetic pile of garbage."

  Zoto lifted both fists. "Barrage."

  The first punch shot out.

  Before the second landed, Soto vanished. The air rippled where his body had been.

  Zoto froze, his arms locked mid-swing, eyes staring straight forward. His lips twitched into a grin even without turning around, accepting whatever came next. "You saved one stat point."

  Behind him, Soto appeared in a burst of speed, his fist already chambered back. His aura burned brighter, denser, crackling like fire and death combined. "Instant Strength."

  The punch came down like a meteor. The impact smashed Zoto backward, his body folding unnaturally as he crashed into the arena wall. The black stone groaned, cracking inward, leaving a deep crater shaped by his body. His torso caved in as though Soto had punched straight through Zoto's leather armor and bone alike.

  Soto stood still, his arm extended, his fist trembling. His face twisted, sorrow mixing with rage, and he lowered his head, whispering something too faint for even sharpened senses to catch.

  Isabella pressed her hand to her lips, a tear slipping free as she fought to restrain more. Her shoulders shook faintly, but she kept her eyes locked on the battered figure standing triumphantly.

  Soto raised his fist.

  A great start to the most dangerous floor yet.