Flashback – The Day Before the Elimination Round...
In the dark sanctuaries hidden beneath the surface of the city, in halls lit by low crimson lighting and echoing with the quiet hum of dormant power, each faction leader gathered their core members. It was the night before the elimination round—one that would shake the underworld to its roots.
Asano of the Black Crow stood atop a polished obsidian platform in the center of their meeting chamber. His black coat fluttered with each subtle shift in the air around him. His golden eyes, sharp like daggers, scanned the crowd of his loyal elites.
"You are not to reveal the full extent of your mutations," Asano said coldly, folding his arms. "Not yet."
A low murmur passed through the faction members, but none dared question him.
"Let the others bleed and struggle," he continued. "Let them think they have the upper hand. Our strength will remain a secret until the final hour, when their arrogance becomes our advantage."
Elsewhere, deep within the metallic labyrinth of the Crimson Pact, Dante Varek exhaled smoke from a half-lit cigar, lounging in his throne of rusted iron and bone. He gestured lazily to his lieutenants.
"Play with them. Show teeth, not fangs," Dante chuckled. "We don't go full primal until blood's dripping and the crowd is thirsty. That's when we devour."
In the Forgotten Dawn's hideout, Kiyoshi Takeda sat in solemn meditation while his followers knelt before him in silence. With his eyes still closed, he whispered, "Hold your curses and keep your true forms cloaked in shadow. We will be the final breath in their lungs—not the first."
And at the derelict theater-turned-headquarters of the Smiling Rats, Vera Corbin spun a jagged knife on her finger and grinned at her mob of twisted followers.
"It's not fun if you stab too early," she giggled. "Wait 'til the screams peak. Then we'll go wild."
All across the underworld, the strategy was unanimous: don't show your hand until the endgame.
---
Present – The Elimination Round Arena...
A thunderous roar shook the skybox as the elimination stage descended into chaos. Mutant abilities erupted like flares across the battlefield. The leaders of the underworld factions had shed their restraint, and their followers had taken the signal.
Renji ducked beneath a swipe from one of Dante Varek's enhanced enforcers, his senses overwhelmed by the sudden spike in aggression. A moment ago, the battle had been fierce. Now—it was carnage.
Kaito Nakamura unleashed a bolt of electric energy that lit the field, but it barely staggered a hulking Black Crow mutant charging with animalistic fury. "They're different now," he gasped. "They were holding back—before!"
"Watch your flank!" Takeshi Mori grunted, intercepting a triple-clawed mutant lunging for Mika.
Yumi Takahashi, flickering in and out of shadow, barely avoided a strike that would have torn through her ribs. Her voice was edged with tension. "They're not just leaders—they trained their members too damn well."
Mika's kinetic blasts began to crack the arena floor as she pushed back a wave of Crimson Pact mutants. Sweat rolled down her face. "It's like they've all awakened at once. They've been planning this."
And indeed, the strategy had played out perfectly for the factions. Overconfidence had been weaponized. The crowd of underworld spectators surged to their feet as the stage erupted in violence and color—an orchestra of power.
Inside the VIP observation booth, sealed behind glass and high walls, two figures sat silently. Iris, her silver hair cascading over her bare shoulder, leaned forward with her chin resting on her fist. Her eyes were locked on Renji.
Beside her, Draven's cybernetic fingers tapped lightly against his metal knee. He said nothing for a long time, then finally spoke. "He's losing his edge. His team is surrounded."
"It's not over," Iris said with a sly smile. "Look closely. The hunger hasn't fully surfaced yet. He's still holding something back."
Draven gave her a sideways glance. "You think he'll make it out of this round?"
"If he survives," Iris whispered, "it won't be by luck—it'll be by becoming something they don't understand. Yet."
Back on the battlefield, Renji's knees bent under pressure as he collided with a joint assault from Kiyoshi and Asano. His arms trembled from the blocks. His breath was shallow.
Then—
Something shifted.
His pupils narrowed, a low growl bubbled in his throat, and the inner hunger, that lurking abyss that had always remained a whisper beneath his skin, surged like wildfire.
The others felt it too. Not just Renji.
Mika's kinetic spheres glowed brighter, the recoil no longer straining her limbs.
Takeshi's muscles bulged beyond their limit as his body responded to the pressure.
Yumi's shadow aura darkened, thickened—sentient tendrils rising around her like a defensive ring.
And Kaito's punches crackled with thunder loud enough to silence part of the crowd.
From the observation deck, Vera Corbin laughed and clapped like a madwoman. "Oh, they're finally getting angry. I love when the weaklings start biting back."
Asano's eyes narrowed. Something about Renji had changed—and it wasn't just power. There was something else—something ancient. Familiar. Dangerous.
Dante Varek rolled his neck and prepared for another charge, but even he hesitated.
And in that breath between the onslaughts, the battlefield became a powder keg of expectation.
Whatever came next—would define the next stage of the tournament.
---
The chaos on the tournament floor had transcended mere battle. It was a clash of wills, evolution, and survival instincts roaring to the forefront. Smoke from ruptured kinetic blasts choked the air. Cracks webbed the black obsidian tiles of the underworld arena. The electric tension between mutants wasn't just felt—it carved itself into the air like violent graffiti.
And in the eye of this storm stood Renji.
His breath came ragged. His muscles trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the war inside. He was no longer sure if his body belonged to him. The thing inside—the hunger—gnawed at the edges of his sanity, begging, demanding, screaming to be let loose.
"Just a little more," it whispered in his ear like a lover, promising salvation in chaos, strength in destruction.
But Renji held on, barely.
A fist whistled past his face. Another caught him in the ribs—hard enough to stagger him. It was one of the faction members—skin etched with obsidian runes, eyes gleaming red with controlled mutation. Their restraint had fallen away. The real battle had begun.
Mika was down to one knee, her arms trembling as kinetic shockwaves struggled to find power against the ironhide of her opponent.
Takeshi bled from a gash across his chest, still throwing haymakers with broken knuckles.
Yumi's shadows flickered erratically, her focus breaking.
Kaito coughed up blood, trying to build up charge, sparks dancing from his broken gloves.
Renji's heartbeat surged, the pounding in his ears becoming deafening. And then—
Mikasa.
The image seared through his mind. Her smile under cherry blossom trees. Her annoyed face when he was late to dates. Her voice whispering "You're not weak, Renji. You're just afraid to fight for yourself."
And back then, he had been weak.
A man who kept his head down in the office, who thought stability was safety. Who thought love would save him from life's relentless chaos. Until Mikasa walked away, leaving behind a shell of a man just before the world collapsed. Just before dungeons swallowed cities whole. Just before the infection.
Now? He was a monster pretending to be human.
But his teammates weren't pretending.
They were fighting to stay alive. Not because they had monstrous power, but because they still believed.
They trusted him. Needed him. And they weren't giving in.
So neither could he.
Unless it was to save them.
Renji's jaw clenched. His back arched as the hunger erupted from his core, a searing pain coursing down his spine like white fire. Veins bulged. His skin split open in lines of black-red light. His right arm cracked and stretched, claws replacing fingernails. Bones shifted audibly under his skin.
Gasps filled the arena.
Underworld spectators surged to their feet. Some reeled back. Others cheered like lunatics.
"He's mutating!"
"No... he's evolving!"
Iris watched from the upper decks, eyes narrowing. "So it's true," she murmured.
Draven crossed his arms. "We might not be able to wait until after the tournament."
Down in the arena, Renji's scream finally tore loose, not of pain—but of release.
Power crackled in waves around him, making even the strongest faction leaders take a half-step back. The stone floor beneath him fractured under the pressure.
Black tendrils of energy danced from his shoulders. His mutated arm glowed with dungeon energy. His eyes gleamed—a haunting fusion of human sorrow and inhuman rage.
Asano of the Black Crow watched, stunned.
"That's not a mutation," he whispered, almost reverently. "That's a goddamn evolutionary leap."
Renji straightened slowly. The hunger was still there, but now he was no longer suppressing it. He was directing it.
He looked at Mika—still breathing, still holding back her opponent.
He looked at Takeshi, who now grinned through bloodied teeth.
Yumi, forming new shadows with renewed control.
Kaito, eyes sparking with electric resolve.
Renji exhaled.
Then vanished.
He reappeared beside Kaito in a blink, his mutated arm driving into the stomach of a faction member who had been moments away from impaling Kaito with a bone spike. The impact sent the man flying ten meters into a wall.
Kaito blinked. "Dude... you look insane."
"Let's win this," Renji replied. His voice was lower, grittier, but still his.
Renji moved like a predator among prey, weaving through elite mutants with a fluidity that bordered on terrifying. He no longer fought reactively—he was hunting.
Asano snarled. "I will not be overshadowed by some feral freak!"
But his blade met Renji's claws with a screech—and Renji didn't budge.
Crimson Pact's Dante Varek unleashed his demonic flame—but Renji's mutated form tore through it, screaming with the joy of freedom.
Vera Corbin of the Smiling Rats cackled as her swarm of rodents engulfed the field—but Renji's roar alone scattered them.
Even Kiyoshi Takeda of the Forgotten Dawn looked uncertain.
The tide had shifted.
But the battle wasn't over.
Renji looked at his teammates.
"Let's finish this together."
And the team rallied. United, broken, mutated—but more alive than ever.
In that moment, the tournament was no longer about factions.
It was about evolution.
About survival.
And Renji wasn't about to let go of either.