What he had thought was the reigning champion of the tournament, had apparently been a front. Days later, he received a message from the man that had hired him to take out the tournament’s champion. The true Mad Angel also apparently had a thing for theatrics, and had hired someone to stand in for him, making people believe that he had actually been defeated, only to show back up at the tournament days later. Mikajia crumpled the paper up before gathering his things and immediately heading to the arena.

When he arrived, he was met with a mixture of adulation and disdain. It appeared there were still some that hadn’t gotten the message that the man he had defeated wasn’t the actual Mad Angle yet, and were taking his victory over the fake rather personal. Meanwhile, there were others that were being downright embarrassing, shouting his name and saying shit like they loved him. He couldn’t care less about fame. He only wanted strength and power, enough to wipe away all obstacles in his way. And when something stood in his way, he took it personal. So, seeing as he had thought he was finished with this task and was ready to move on, only to find out that he hadn’t actually completed it meant that he was ready to give this fool a thrashing he would never forget.

As he expected, the fool could be spotted in the ring as soon as he spoke with the receptionist, his outfit, if it were even possible, even more dramatic than his stand-in’s had been. Something, no that’s wrong, everything about this man irked him. He wanted to absolutely crush the man, and not just his body, to irrevocably obliterate any chance the fool had of ever being an eyesore ever again.

WC = 300/1,000

The entirety of the tournament backdrop; the audience, the contestants, the stands and bleachers all faded into nothing around him. His focus was one-hundred percent focused on this poor unknowing fool that had attempted to put a kink in Mikajia’s plans. Everything else might have not even existed as far as he was concerned. He paid no attention to the fights at hand, his eyes instead glued to the ridiculous mask the Mad Angel wore. Seeing as Mikajia was the last victor of this tournament, he would only be fighting the person to beat all other contestants and challenge him.

Based on how things had been progressing so far, he knew the Mad Angel would be the one to challenge him and attempt to re-take his title. Mikajia assumed this had been his true goal. Let someone else stand in for him, make sure they were at least decently talented so they could stick around for a while, but knew they would inevitably lose, then in extra over-the-top fashion, make his dramatic entrance and sweep aside all other opponents before ultimately reclaiming his throne. His entire persona practically radiated this overconfidence. He truly thought he would ultimately be victorious again.

He could practically feel waves of rage rippling over his body while watching the man fight. He could tell that he was holding back and still managing to win his fights easily. It was clear that he had some decent skill, more so than any of the others in attendance so far. However, unless the man was hiding more than half his strength and skill, he would be extremely hard-pressed to actually win in a fight against Mikajia. However, that’s not to say that Mikajia believed he would win his fight against this man without taking a single scratch though.

WC = 600/1,000

Mikajia was confident this man was in fact skilled enough to land a few good hits on him when they would fight, but that definitely would be the extent of it. He watched every single tiny motion with cold and calculating eyes, taking in every single detail; which direction he would step for his feints, how far his feet pivoted before he would strike, the speed of his blows, his reflexes, everything. By the time the Mad Angel had defeated all the opponents necessary to challenge Mikajia, he had all but memorized the man’s heart rate, or his breathing rate.

And because of this, by the time he came to challenge Mikajia, he was even less certain the man would manage to land even one blow. The guy had some obvious talent and experience, but unless you were a true master, it didn’t matter what your skill level if your opponent already had a decent grasp of your skill level and fighting style. Mikajia’s observations were extremely detailed, he didn’t just focus on the obvious or superficial aspects of his opponent, that wouldn’t do him any good. He had been analyzing everything. So he knew the man didn’t have nearly enough in reserves to actually beat him.

The Mad Angel may have some talent yes, and of course a flair for the over-dramatic and theatrical, but he was far from a genius, or even an adept intellectual. If the man were, Mikajia would be far less confident in his capability to soundly deal with this dramatic moron. He hadn’t attempted to keep his cards close enough, instead practically showing his entire hand for all the world to see. His sheer level of tact just made Mikajia want to beat him all the more. He was a blight upon the world.

WC = 900/1,000

The audience members were shouting loudly, practically screaming for blood as the Mad Angel stood in the middle of the ring, raising his arms and opening them wide, as if trying to gather all the praise and adoration he believed he deserved. Mikajia simply ignored all the voices as he stood up and made his way down to the ring. He removed his jacket and tossed it aside before walking up the steps onto the ring. He was making sure there would be nothing to hinder his movements. He wanted to end this as fast as he could. The more quickly he could defeat this fool, the sooner he could get on with his previous tasks. And of course, it would utterly demoralize the man. But that was just an added bonus.

His focus was so intent, his rage boiling underneath caused his eyes to start burning red. He heard nothing from the audience; none of their banter, none of their cat calls, not even the positive ones or even the words from his opponent. He cared nothing of what they had to say, or what they thought. He merely stepped into the ring and readied himself, his rage practically sending a ripple around his body.

He barely saw the hand of the referee raise, signaling the beginning of the match, before he dashed forward. At the last second, right before he was directly in front of the man, Mikajia crouched then spun. He swung his leg out in an attempt to trip the man. However, his opponent was versed in dodging this. But Mikajia already knew that, and had planned for it. In one smooth motion, he came out of his spin and readied a kick. Bracing himself on the floor, he aimed a heavy kick at the man’s gut just as he came back down from his jump.

The man tried to block the kick to his gut, but only partially succeeded, the majority of the blow still landing hard. Mikajia removed his foot then launched into his assault, pummeling the man repeatedly with heavy blow after blow. He finally finished the target off with a massive uppercut, the strength of his hit lifting the man into the air a foot before he landed heavy on his back. He walked up next the side of the man before kneeling down and landing a blow on his solar plexus, instantly knocking the air out of him.

That’s when he leaned down next to the man’s head as he gasped, gripped his throat and said quietly next to his ear, “Get up, you die. Try to fight, you die. Try to use magic, you die. Never, show yourself around here again.”

With that, he stood back up and accepted his victory and his winnings, then left. Somehow, he felt this wouldn’t be the last time he would be visiting this place. But at least it provided some entertainment. On the bright side, almost no one was speaking after this victory. He simply continued to stare coldly ahead as he left. Nobody saying a word to him as he exited the arena.

WC = 1,421/1,000