Draven stared at it.
At the blood dripping from its ruined hand.
At the rage twisting across its face.
At the mana boiling off its body in unstable waves.
Then he exhaled.
Slowly.
Almost bored.
"…You ugly fucker."
His voice was flat.
Unimpressed.
"…If you're not going to come at me again…"
A faint tilt of his head.
"…then I'll do it myself."
The ogre snarled.
Mana flaring harder.
Its massive chest rose like a furnace drawing breath.
But Draven was already moving.
Not fast.
Gone.
One moment he stood there—
chains loose at his wrists, crimson eyes half-lidded.
The next—
he was in front of it.
His foot rose.
No flourish.
No wasted motion.
Just perfect timing.
His heel slammed into the ogre's ribs.
**BOOOOOOM.**
The impact sounded like artillery fire.
The chamber convulsed.
Stone exploded beneath the ogre's feet as its entire torso bent sideways from the force—flesh compressing under the strike.
A shockwave ripped outward, blasting dust and shattered debris through the air.
Lucien's eyes widened.
"…That—"
The ogre staggered.
Only half a step.
Then it roared.
It didn't fall.
Because it was still an A-rank monster.
Still absurdly durable.
Still physically beyond anything human.
Its massive hand lashed out.
Too close.
Too sudden.
Draven twisted—
but not enough.
A backhand caught him mid-motion.
**THOOOOM.**
His body was launched sideways, skidding across broken stone.
Sparks tore from the floor where his body carved deep grooves.
He flipped once.
Twice.
Then slammed shoulder-first into a pillar with enough force to split it.
The column cracked.
Collapsed.
Draven vanished beneath falling rubble.
The ogre didn't hesitate.
It charged.
Every step thundered.
Every stride shook the chamber.
Its remaining hand drew back, ready to crush him completely.
But the rubble shifted.
Too late.
Draven burst out from the collapsing debris.
Low.
Fast.
Blood ran from his temple.
His shoulder hung slightly misaligned.
One arm drooped unnaturally.
Yet even as he moved—
bone snapped back into place.
Torn muscle sealed itself.
Blood slowed.
Healing.
Again.
The ogre's fist descended.
Draven slipped under it by inches.
The strike detonated stone instead.
**BOOOOM.**
The floor split open.
Rock burst upward in jagged fragments.
Draven drove his elbow into the ogre's exposed side.
**CRACK.**
A rib gave way.
The ogre grunted—
twisting—
its knee rising immediately.
Draven crossed both forearms just in time.
**THUD.**
The impact still sent him sliding backward, boots carving trenches through stone.
He stopped.
Sliding.
Breathing.
For the first time—
his breath was slightly heavier.
Not exhaustion.
Interest.
The ogre stood opposite him.
Bleeding now.
Bruised.
One arm ruined.
Ribs fractured.
But still smiling.
Still hungry.
Steam rolled from its mouth.
Blood dripped from its wounds.
Mana surged harder, more unstable.
It had accepted it now.
This wasn't prey.
This was war.
Draven straightened slowly.
Blood touched his lip again.
It faded almost instantly.
His chains clicked softly as he rolled his neck once.
A wet crack—bone resetting.
Then his crimson eyes brightened.
He stepped forward.
This time—
something had changed in his gaze.
Not emotion.
Focus.
Precision.
The ogre felt it.
Its grin faltered slightly.
Because suddenly—
it felt exposed.
Not watched.
Understood.
Every breath it took.
Every twitch of muscle.
Every shift of mana reinforcing its body.
Draven's eyes tracked it all.
The currents reinforcing flesh.
The surges repairing damage.
The instinctive flow protecting vital structures.
And deeper—
beneath it all—
he found it.
The core.
A dense knot of violent energy beneath the sternum.
Offset slightly to the right.
Pulsing like a second heart.
The source.
The ogre roared.
Then lunged.
Like a landslide breaking loose.
Its massive form blurred across the chamber, mana erupting beneath its feet and shattering stone in its wake.
Lucien's heart tightened.
"…Too fast…"
But Draven moved as well.
Not away.
In.
The first fist came.
A straight punch meant to erase his head entirely.
Draven slipped inside its arc by a fraction.
Knuckles grazed his cheek—skin splitting instantly.
Blood sprayed outward—
and healed before it touched the ground.
Draven's heel slammed into its knee.
**CRACK.**
The joint buckled.
The ogre snarled, its elbow dropping immediately to compensate.
Draven raised an arm.
Blocked.
**THOOOM.**
The force drove him into the ground up to his ankles, stone cracking outward in a spiderweb pattern.
But he was already twisting.
His fist drove into the ogre's ribs.
**BOOM.**
Another rib snapped.
The ogre staggered.
Then grabbed.
A hand the size of a cart wheel swept down to crush him.
Draven slid beneath it, dust exploding where it struck stone.
He pivoted mid-motion, carving a line through debris with his heel—
then rose into an uppercut.
**THUD.**
The ogre's head snapped back.
Teeth shattered.
Blood sprayed violently.
The chamber shook from the impact alone.
Its knee came down immediately.
Draven twisted—
the strike grazing his side.
Enough.
His body was launched sideways, skidding across rubble.
He planted a hand.
Flipped.
Landed.
Already moving.
No pause.
No retreat.
They collided again.
Fist.
Knee.
Elbow.
Claw.
Heel.
Every exchange was lethal.
Every miss shattered stone.
Every impact turned the chamber into a storm of destruction.
The spectators above fell silent.
No cheers.
No mockery.
No sound at all.
Only disbelief.
Because this was no longer a trial.
It was a war between monsters.
The ogre swung downward.
Draven crossed both arms.
**BOOOOM.**
The floor collapsed beneath him.
He dropped through the breaking stone—
then kicked off a falling slab—
launching himself straight back up.
Into the ogre's chest.
His shoulder struck like a spear.
**CRAAASH.**
The ogre was driven backward, heels carving trenches into the floor.
It roared, blood now spilling freely from its mouth.
Draven landed lightly.
Breathing slightly heavier.
Still controlled.
His crimson eyes never left the ogre's chest.
Never left the core.
He had mapped it completely now.
Every movement.
Every instinct.
Every defense that shifted to protect it.
He understood it.
The ogre charged again.
Wilder now.
Angrier.
Draven stepped forward.
And for the first time—
he smiled.
Small.
Cold.
Certain.
Because now—
he knew exactly where to end it.