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One Shot

  Deng Shou didn’t wait for Yuan He to fully recover. Seeing his opponent struggle for breath only fueled his momentum. He planted a heavy, bronze-plated foot and launched himself forward again, his fist cocked back like a wrecking ball.

  "Stay down, trash!"

  The crowd roared, but for Yuan He, the world was narrowing down to a single point of impact. He wasn't looking at Deng Shou’s face anymore; he was looking at an asura wrapped in bronze.

  Panicking will get me nowhere. I just need to keep going!

  In his center, his dantian flared, dumping raw fuel into the system. The gears of his spiritual root, previously locked by fear, slammed into alignment and began to spin with a heavy, industrial hum. He sank into his stance, visualizing the Wood element extending through his soles like high-tensile steel pilings, biting deep into the foundation of the arena to anchor him in place. A surge of Fire followed, the heat in his pathways rising as he prepped his meridians to carry the massive load. As Deng Shou’s fist bridged the final inch, he activated the Earth element, turning his internal frame into a dense shock-absorber for the coming strike.

  The collision was deafening.

  Deng Shou’s metallic fist slammed into Yuan He’s crossed forearms with a sound like a sledgehammer hitting a heavy anvil. The shockwave rippled through Yuan He’s skeletal structure, every bone in his body vibrating at a frequency that threatened to shatter his teeth.

  He didn't fly backward. Using the Metal element to hold his skeleton in a rigid, unyielding lattice, he funneled the energy through his shoulders and down his spine. Finally, he used Water to flush the kinetic energy out through his heels and into the floor.

  The stone tiles beneath him couldn't handle the output. With a violent crack, the ground shattered in a web-like crater, dust and shards of rock spraying into the air as the arena floor absorbed the energy Yuan He refused to take. He had successfully completed the Grounded Circuit.

  The rebound was instantaneous. Because Yuan He hadn't moved, the kinetic energy that wasn't vented into the floor came screaming back into Deng Shou’s arm.

  CLANG.

  A vibrant, metallic ringing echoed through the arena. Deng Shou’s eyes widened in genuine shock as his own momentum was reflected back into his shoulder. His bronze-clad arm vibrated visibly, the "Iron Mountain" defense humming with a painful, high-pitched resonance. He was forced to stagger back three steps, his boots skidding on the ruined tiles as he tried to stabilize his own frame.

  Yuan He remained in his crater, his breath coming in a sharp, ragged hiss. His forearms were purple, the skin split in several places from the sheer pressure of the transfer.

  It worked, he thought, though the relief was cold and fleeting. But it's... not as effective as I'd hope.

  Compared to Zhao Hu, who had been tossed aside like a ragdoll by this same technique, Deng Shou had barely been pushed back. The bronze armor was absorbing too much of the reflected force. The anvil had held, but the mountain was still there.

  "What..." Deng Shou breathed, staring at his trembling hand. "What did you do?"

  Yuan He didn't answer. He couldn't afford the breath. He just stared back, his eyes cold and clinical, watching the bronze giant realize that the "trash" was no longer yielding.

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  Deng Shou shook his head, the metallic ringing in his bronze-clad arm finally fading. He looked at Yuan He—bloodied, standing in a crater, and silent—and mistook the physical toll for a total collapse of spirit.

  A slow, ugly grin spread across his bronze face. "You’ve got a sturdy frame, I’ll give you that," he said, beginning a slow, predatory walk around the edge of the shattered tiles. "But that trick just cost you everything, didn't it? You can barely breathe."

  Yuan He didn't answer. His right arm was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, the skin mottled and angry. He could feel the pathways in his arm reaching their limit; the friction of the last exchange had left his meridians feeling like they had been scrubbed with glass.

  I don't need a long-term strategy, he thought, his eyes tracking the center of Deng Shou's chest. I just need one clean punch on this idiot.

  "Zhao Hu was right about you," Deng Shou continued, his voice dripping with the arrogance of a man who thought the play was over. "He told me you were stubborn. That’s why I told him to break your legs before today. A shame he failed, but I suppose doing it in front of a crowd is more... educational."

  In the stands, Sun Ba leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

  Yuan He ignored the confession, focusing entirely on the interlocked transmission of his root. He forced the Wood element into a coiled, high-tension spring, building the raw torque needed for the sequence.

  "You should have stayed in the mud, Yuan He," Deng Shou mocked, closing the distance. "You should have known your place."

  Yuan He fed the Fire element into the rotation. The heat in his shoulder spiked to an agonizing degree as the coiled torque ignited, turning the potential energy into a violent, pressurized force. He added the Earth element next, giving the invisible pressure a crushing, physical mass.

  "My place?" Yuan He wheezed, his voice thin but sharp enough to stop Deng Shou in his tracks.

  "What?"

  Yuan He lunged. He didn't use a graceful martial arts stance; he threw his entire weight forward, leading with a fist that had become a crystalline, gray spike of Metal element. At the moment of impact, he flooded the circuit with Water, giving the rigid force the fluid, unstoppable momentum of a tidal wave.

  "My place is right here!" Yuan He roared. "Elemental Piledriver!"

  The sound was instantaneous—a sharp, deafening crack that echoed like a high-caliber gunshot through the stone platform. Yuan He’s fist connected squarely with the center of Deng Shou’s bronze chest-plate.

  For a heartbeat, time seemed to stutter. The needle-point focus of the strike seemingly ignored the defenses of the armored titan, driving deep into his bronze skin. Then, the energy didn't just stop; it expanded outward in a violent, shredding cone of internal pressure.

  Deng Shou’s eyes bulged. A choked, wet sound escaped his throat as he was launched backward, his feet leaving the ground for the first time in the fight. He hit the stone tiles ten feet away, coughing up a spray of dark blood that stood out garishly against his bronze chin.

  A collective, horrified gasp rippled through the stands. The jeering stopped instantly, replaced by a stunned, heavy silence. Even Sun Ba stood up, his smug expression replaced by a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. Nobody had expected the "trash" to draw blood from a "mountain."

  But physics demanded its payment.

  The massive kinetic rebound—the energy that hadn't been spent on Deng Shou’s chest—came screaming back into Yuan He’s own frame. He felt the impact travel up his arm like a lightning strike.

  The numbness hit first, a terrifying, static-filled void that swallowed his arm from the fingertips to the shoulder. He looked down and watched, detached, as the limb dropped to his side. It hung there, limp and useless, already swelling into a deep, sickly purple.

  Please, Yuan He thought, his vision blurring as he clutched his dead shoulder with his left hand. Please stay down. I don't have anything left.

  He watched the dust settle around Deng Shou’s prone form. For a second, there was hope. Then, a bronze hand twitched.

  With a guttural, metallic growl, Deng Shou began to push himself up. His chest plate was dented inward, and his breathing was a ragged, whistling wheeze, but the bronze sheen of his skin was turning a darker, more violent shade of red. He wasn't just hurt; he was humiliated, and the rage was flickering in his eyes like a furnace.

  Yuan He felt a cold pit of horror open in his stomach. He stood in the center of the arena, one-armed and drained, watching the wounded giant climb back to his feet.

  One shot, he thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. I only had one shot to end this... and he's still up.

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