The first Daba charged her again. Mira stood her ground until the last possible second, then dropped flat. The creature sailed over her, and as it passed, she drove her blade up through its belly, using its own momentum to tear a long gash through its underside.

The Daba landed in a spray of black blood, intestines spilling. It tried to rise, failed, and collapsed with a final wheeze.

One down for Mira.

Her clone finally lost its grip on the second Daba. The creature shook itself free and turned on the clone with savage fury, claws raking through its chest. The clone flickered once, twice, then vanished.

Now the Daba focused entirely on Mira.

It charged with desperate speed, knowing it was alone. Mira backpedaled, looking for an opening, but the creature was relentless. Its claws caught her forearm, opening a deep gash. She hissed in pain but kept moving.

The Daba lunged for her throat.

Mira twisted sideways, letting the creature’s momentum carry it past her. As it went by, she drove her blade through the back of its neck, angling up into its brain.

The Daba went rigid, then toppled forward like a felled tree.

Two down for Mira.

She turned, breathing hard, and saw Jelo still facing three Dabas.

—–

Jelo’s shoulder bled freely. His ribs ached with every breath. Skilled Guard was still recharging, and he’d already pushed Wing Burst to dangerous limits. His enhanced vision showed him every attack coming, but his body was too battered to dodge them all.

The big Daba feinted high, then swept low with its tail. Jelo jumped, but the shoulder-wounded one had anticipated the move. Its claws caught his leg mid-air, slamming him to the ground.

The spine-wounded Daba lunged, jaws wide, dragging itself forward with single-minded fury.

Dragon Claw.

Jelo thrust his hand into the creature’s open mouth, and the energy projection burst outward, tearing the Daba’s head apart from the inside.

Two down for Jelo.

But the effort cost him. The big Daba’s foot came down on his chest, pinning him. Ribs cracked. The creature leaned close, jaws opening for a killing bite.

“Jelo!”

Mira hit the big Daba from the side, her blade sinking deep into its ribs. The creature roared, spinning to face this new threat, its weight lifting off Jelo’s chest.

Jelo rolled to his feet, wheezing. The shoulder-wounded Daba charged him, sensing weakness.

He had one more Wing Burst left. Maybe. His body screamed at him not to try it.

He tried it anyway.

The world blurred. Something tore in his shoulder—something important. But he materialized behind the charging Daba, both hands already forming Dragon Claw.

The energy projections punched through the creature’s spine, one after the other, rapid strikes that shredded vertebrae and spinal cord. The Daba collapsed mid-stride, momentum carrying it forward in a tumbling crash.

Three down for Jelo.

He fell to one knee, vision swimming. His right arm hung useless.

Mira was still fighting the biggest Daba. It had caught her with a claw strike across the ribs, but she was relentless, darting in with quick strikes, opening cut after cut in the creature’s hide.

The Daba was bleeding from a dozen wounds now, slowing down. It snapped at Mira, but she ducked under its jaws and drove her blade up through its throat.

The creature staggered back, blood fountaining. It took one step, then another, then collapsed sideways and didn’t move again.

Silence fell.

—–

Mira walked over to Jelo. She had blood running down her arm and her ribs, and she was limping.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Tore something in my shoulder,” Jelo admitted, cradling his right arm. “Cracked some ribs. You?”

“I’ll live.” She looked around at the carnage—five Daba corpses cooling on the ground. “Three for you, two for me.”

“Barely survived,” Jelo said, laughing despite the pain in his ribs.

“Barely counts.” Mira offered him her good hand. “Come on.

Meanwhile, Atlas was looking for another opponent. He had learned a lot after fighting with Viper. The precision. The patience. The way Viper struck only when it mattered. Atlas wanted more of that pressure. More of that evolution.

He started scrolling through the Arena Nexus interface, names flashing past in holographic blue light.

IronMaul.

ShadowWitch.

BlazeFang.

TitanCore.

None of them stirred him.

Then he paused.

One name pulsed in deep crimson letters.

“Gravemind.”

Rank: C3

Win Ratio: 100%

Recorded Matches: 12

Match Duration Average: 43 seconds.

Atlas’ eyes narrowed.

And he even has a short tag beneath the name:

“You will kneel.”

Atlas felt that small thrill in his chest — not fear. Anticipation.

He tapped the screen.

“Match Request Sent.”

The system paused for half a second… then immediately responded.

Request Accepted.

Arena loading…

A faint smile curved on Atlas’ face.

“Good,” he muttered. “Let’s see what you can teach me.”

The world dissolved into light.

Atlas didn’t know Grave Man’s ability.

But he knew one thing.

Finishing almost every match in under fifty seconds wasn’t luck.

Winning every single fight without a loss wasn’t coincidence.

That kind of record meant one thing.

Dominance.

Atlas exhaled slowly as the Arena Nexus finished loading. He had never fought anyone above D-rank before. E-rank fighters were manageable. D-rank? He usually lost.

And now…

A C-rank.

This was, realistically, a guaranteed defeat.

But Atlas wasn’t here to win.

He was here to grow.

If he had to lose, then he would lose upward.

⸻

Grave Man’s ability was called Grave Dominion.

Within a certain radius, he controlled weight itself.

Not just physical gravity.

Burden.

Once you entered his range, your body grew heavier.

Your limbs felt like they were forged from stone.

Your thoughts slowed, like wading through thick mud.

Even energy-based attacks lost their speed and sharpness.

And the worst part?

The more you resisted, the heavier you became.

Struggle fed the pressure.

Panic accelerated collapse.

Then there was his most feared technique.

For ten seconds, Grave Man could declare a zone.

Inside it:

Gravity intensified.

Sound became distant and muffled.

Movement drained double stamina.

And anyone still standing felt an overwhelming urge to kneel.

It wasn’t mind control.

It was simply unbearable pressure generated by his energy output.

Pure suppression.

The perfect ability for breaking opponents down.

And Grave Man never rushed.

He let the weight do the work.

Then, once his opponent was slowed… bent… nearly kneeling—

He stepped forward.

And ended the match with a single, clean strike.

⸻

Atlas cracked his knuckles.

“C-rank,” he murmured.

The arena lights flickered.

Across the battlefield, a tall figure stood in silence.

And for the first time since entering the academy…

Atlas felt small.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep