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The arena hummed like a living thing—anticipation crawling over every stone. Magic-light painted the stands in flickers of color as gods, goddesses, and mortals leaned forward. On the grand screen above, the names burned hot and bright: Damien Ardent VS Noga.
Noga smiled like someone enjoying a private joke. He loomed in the center of the ring: bald head polished to a shine, shoulders like boulders, armor clinking softly with each deliberate breath. A massive spear rested strapped to his back—an ornament he had never bothered to use this whole tournament. He preferred the intimacy of bone-breaking fists.
"Ahh… the last target is finally here," Noga said, voice low, the kind that rolled like a threat. He stared at Damien with dangerous amusement. "You're a special one. So special that my Goddess declared you an interest of hers." He spat the word as if it left a bitter taste. "That annoys me. It annoys many of us. How dare a mere falna-less fool—not even part of any Familia—steal Freya's attention from those who deserve it?"
He flexed his knuckles, each one like iron. "Surrender now," he added in a syrup-coated offer, "and I'll tell Freya you tried. You'll be rewarded—taken in, pampered. But if you refuse? I'll break you. So badly no Familia will ever touch you again." His grin widened, hunger in it.
Damien said nothing. He didn't need words. He didn't need to rise to the bait. His dark eyes measured Noga quietly—no swagger, no flash—only a narrowing like a blade finding its edge.
The announcer's voice thundered: "START!"
Noga had expected a difficult fight. He wasn't a fool. He knew Damien's name, the way the crowd chanted it, the way the gods glanced with interest. He braced himself for strikes—feints, blades, maybe some god-touched power. He was ready.
He was not ready for the first second.
Before Noga could fully throw his weight forward, a fist like a meteor smashed into his face.
It wasn't a glancing blow. It was a statement. Noga's head snapped; blood erupted from his nose in a hot spray. He staggered, huge body pitching backward, the world tilting. For a beat the arena went utterly silent. The gods inhaled as one.
Noga slammed down to the sand, fingers clawing for purchase. He touched his bleeding nose and felt the wet heat of embarrassment and furious pain.
Rage burned in his eyes—an animal's fury. He scrambled up, prepared to crush the insolent boy who dared.
Then his gaze caught the movement behind him.
Damien stood close to the spear strapped to Noga's back. In one smooth, controlled motion he had slipped around—how, no one could tell—and was unwrapping the haft as if examining a curious relic. The huge spear, untouched all day, was now in Damien's hands. He turned it, lifted it, inspected the point the way a smith studies metal.
The sight was like oil on a flame. Noga's face went white with something close to horror, then red with pure, hot fury.
Damien's voice was quiet, cold, and perfectly calm as the arena held its breath. "Use that if you don't want to be hurt," he said, almost kindly. "'Cause I am going to hurt you. A lot."
He threw the spear back at Noga with a casual motion—less a weapon toss and more a promise flung across the ring. The spear spun and stuck into the sand, point quivering.
Noga grabbed it, fingers trembling. The spear was suddenly heavy with humiliation.
The crowd leaned forward, tension thick enough to strangle air. Noga's pride burned hotter than his rage as he gripped the spear Damien had tossed him. In a flash, he lunged — no hesitation, no flourish. A storm of strikes descended.
The spear cut the air with a violent whistle, thrusts and slashes moving faster than most could follow. Dust burst with every missed hit, and yet — Damien was gone before each blow landed.
He moved like smoke. No, faster. His Mind's Eye read each motion before it even began; his Quicksilver Speed blurred the line between reaction and instinct. Each dodge was clean, each step precise. And with the wolf's armor enhancing his balance and momentum, it almost looked as though Damien knew the pattern before Noga even swung.
The audience gasped, unable to track the Falna-less adventurer as he weaved through the spear's deadly dance. Then, suddenly — Bloodlust.
The skill burst from Damien like a wave of suffocating intent, freezing Noga mid-strike. His eyes widened; his hands trembled for half a second — but that was all Damien needed.
He closed the distance instantly, slipping past the spearhead like a shadow. His hand caught Noga's wrist — grip firm, deadly. His other hand slammed into Noga's jaw in a clean, brutal palm strike.
It shouldn't have hurt. The crowd knew that. A simple palm strike, against a Level 3 near the threshold of Level 4? Impossible to do real damage. So why did Noga scream? Why did he drop the spear and fall to his knees clutching his wrist in agony?
The answer gleamed unseen.
Damien's Wolf Grieves.
No one could see them, thanks to the System's function the enchanted gloves with hidden claws extending from each fingertip. When Damien grabbed Noga's wrist, those claws had slid through flesh, tendon, and vein. Quiet, efficient, devastating.
Blood streamed down Noga's arm as he howled, and Damien simply stepped back. Calm. Observant.
"You're quite weak, aren't you?" he said, tone almost curious. "Every opponent I faced here — they struggled to reach this point. They earned it. I could tell from how they fought." He tilted his head slightly, watching the man writhe. "But you… you never struggled, did you? You're a Level 3, close to Four, sure. But in terms of skill… you lack it completely."
He paused, eyes narrowing. "You were boosted, weren't you?"
The word struck like lightning. The crowd erupted in whispers — some confused, others appalled.
Boosting — a shameful practice. Where one adventurer weakens monsters so another can land the finishing blow, absorbing the Falna and false strength without the true trial of combat. It built power, yes, but not skill. And to accuse a member of Freya Familia of that? Unthinkable.
Noga froze. His face drained of color, his fury trembling beneath humiliation. Slowly, his eyes darted toward the stands — and met Freya's gaze.
Her expression was cold. Disappointed.
Damien saw it. "Oh," he murmured, voice sharp as a blade. "She didn't know, did she? You snuck your way into Freya Familia… and never told them you lacked the skill to back it up."
"SHUT UP!" Noga roared, his fury detonating. "How dare you accuse me— AARGHH!"
His veins flared red. His skin darkened, bulging and pulsing with unnatural energy. His body grew larger — redder — monstrous.
Monstrification.
The crowd recoiled. Gasps echoed through the stands. Even the gods leaned forward, eyes wide. It was a rare, cursed skill — one that devoured life force in exchange for raw, savage power. And now, Noga was letting it consume him.
"I'll shred you to pieces!" he howled, charging with inhuman speed. His massive arms crashed down like hammers.
Damien sidestepped effortlessly. "Ah yes," he said dryly. "Turning yourself into an even more brainless, skill-less monster. You really got me now."
Mockery. Calm and lethal. His daggers appeared in his hands with a shimmer — blades black as night, edges whispering for blood.
That was when the audience realized something terrifying. Damien had fought all this time without even using his weapons.
The next few moments were a blur of sound and motion. Damien danced between Noga's wild strikes, daggers carving shallow lines across crimson skin. Not deep enough to kill — tournament rules forbade it — but enough to humiliate. To dismantle. To prove a point.
Cut after cut. Slash after slash. Over twenty shallow wounds scored across Noga's arms before Damien drove a kick straight into his face.
The giant toppled backward, the ground trembling as he fell.
Before the crowd could even process it, Damien landed beside his right arm — the same one Noga had broken on Welf — and brought his heel down with a vicious crack.
Bone snapped.
Pain ripped through Noga's body. His scream was primal, short-lived, and then silence — he passed out cold.
For a long, hanging heartbeat, no one moved. Then Ganesha's voice thundered through the arena.
"THE WINNER — DAMIEN ARDENT!!!"
The crowd exploded. Cheers, screams, applause — the air itself trembled from the sound.
The Falna-less adventurer, the outsider, the underdog, had defeated a near-Level 4 monster of Freya Familia.
And as Damien stood there, breathing steady, eyes calm amid the chaos, one truth became clear to everyone watching
Damien Ardent… Was The Future
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If you Like this story! Check out my other story's ! Sukuna in DC! and Dragon Slayer in Marvel!
AND
If you wish to read more or simply support me just because ? than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/Riadooo"
You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want !