Lian pushed himself up again.

Sand clung to the blood on his palms.

His left arm hung wrong—shoulder dislocated from the last impact, bone grinding against bone with every shallow breath.

He didn’t cry out.

He never did.

The darkness stayed empty.

No figure.

No shadow.

Only the silver thread far above, mocking him with faint, useless light.

He staggered forward one step.

The kick came from behind again.

Low this time.

Straight into the small of his back.

Something cracked—loud, wet, unmistakable.

A rib.

Maybe two.

His body folded forward.

Air punched out of him in a bloody spray.

He hit the sand face-first.

Vision whited out for a second.

When it returned, the pain was everywhere—sharp, pulsing, alive.

He rolled onto his side.

Coughed red onto the ground.

Tried to rise.

The next kick landed on his already-broken ribs.

The impact drove him sideways.

He skidded across the platform, sand tearing open the skin on his cheek and temple.

A femur snapped under the force—clean break, the ends grinding as his leg twisted unnaturally.

He screamed then.

Short.

Raw.

Cut off by another kick to the stomach.

Organs shifted.

Something inside tore.

He curled instinctively, arms wrapped around his middle.

Breath came in wet, bubbling gasps.

Blood filled his mouth, thick and copper.

He spat it out. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Tried to speak.

“I... am... Lian Yu...”

The voice answered.

Deep.

Calm.

Everywhere.

“You are weak.”

Another kick.

This one to the side of his head.

Skull rang like a struck bell.

Ear burst open—hot blood poured down his neck.

Vision doubled, then tripled.

He saw three arenas.

Three empty tiers.

Three silver threads.

He vomited again—mostly blood now, mixed with bile.

The kicks kept coming.

Methodical.

No anger.

No haste.

Just repetition.

Ribs.

Knees.

Spine.

Jaw.

Each strike perfect.

Each break clean.

Each word the same.

“You are weak.”

He stopped trying to stand.

He lay on his back.

Staring up at the impossible ceiling.

Breath shallow.

Ragged.

Every inhale fire.

Every exhale blood.

Bones protruded in places—white shards through torn skin on his forearm, his shin.

His left hand wouldn’t move at all—nerves severed or crushed.

Right hand twitched once.

Fingers curled weakly.

He whispered through cracked lips.

“I... will not... break...”

The kicks paused.

Silence returned.

Longer this time.

Heavier.

Then the voice again.

Closer now.

Almost inside his ear.

“You already have.”

A final kick—slow, deliberate—landed on his chest.

Sternum cracked.

Heart stuttered.

Vision narrowed to a tunnel.

The silver thread above dimmed.

Darkness rushed in.

But before it took him completely, Lian felt something else.

Not pain.

Not the voice.

Something older.

Deeper.

The watcher.

It did not speak.

It simply observed.

Patient.

Unmoved.

As if it had seen this moment a thousand times before.

And would see it a thousand times again.

Lian’s last thought before the black swallowed him was simple.

Quiet.

“I am Lian Yu.”

The arena listened.

It did not answer.

But the beating continued.

And the words never changed.

“You are weak.”

Again.

And again.

And again.