Pain. That was the first thing he felt.
A searing, crushing pain that wrapped around his chest and throat, like he had been drowning in molten iron. Niran gasped for air, but his body refused to respond.
Was he dead?
No. Something was wrong. If he were dead, he wouldn't feel pain. And yet, every fiber of his being screamed, every heartbeat slammed against his ribs like a hammer on an anvil.
He opened his eyes.
Nothing.
Only darkness. A void, stretching infinitely, silent and empty.
Niran tried to move, but there was no sensation of limbs, no sense of weight or grounding. He wasn't sure if he even had a body anymore. His consciousness floated in the emptiness, disjointed and detached from reality.
Then, a voice broke the silence.
"I expected more from you. And yet, here you are, nearly getting yourself killed in your first real fight."
A deep, commanding voice, laced with amusement and disappointment.
Someone else was here.
A figure took shape before him, slowly emerging from the void. It was a man, tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing. His body was sculpted with raw muscle, covered in scars that told stories of countless battles. His dark hair was wild and unkempt, and his eyes… his eyes carried the weight of a warrior who had fought and conquered more than most could imagine.
Yet what struck Niran the most was the way he carried himself. Even standing still, he radiated power, like a beast coiled and ready to strike.
"Who… are you?" Niran's voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
The man studied him for a moment before chuckling.
"I thought you'd have a more dramatic reaction. Something like 'Where am I?' or 'Am I dead?' But alright, we can work with this."
He took a step closer.
"My name? You might have heard it before. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm inside your head."
Niran's breath caught.
Inside his head?
The man crossed his arms, watching him carefully.
"Yes. Now you're getting it. I'm the reason you're not completely dead yet. Or rather… your body is still deciding whether it wants to live or not."
A sharp pulse of pain surged through Niran's chest. His mind was still foggy, struggling to process.
"Are you… a hallucination?"
The man burst into laughter.
"If I were a hallucination, do you think I'd have a face this smug?"
He gestured to himself with a smirk, then shook his head.
"No, kid. I'm something more. I am a shadow of the past. A warrior lost to history. But for some reason, fate decided that you were worthy of inheriting my essence."
Niran swallowed hard. The pain was becoming more manageable, but the weight of this conversation was suffocating.
"And what does that mean?"
The man tilted his head slightly.
"It means that your blood awakened something ancient. A buried memory. When you stepped into that arena, when you fought with your very life on the line… you triggered a connection to me. Now, I'm here. And you're bound to me."
The memory surfaced. The fight. The betrayal. The moment before death. And now… this.
"So I've absorbed your memory? Your skills?"
The man smirked.
"Not so fast, kid. It's not that simple. I'm here to help, but my knowledge isn't a gift. It's something you'll have to earn."
He paused for a moment, then added:
"And to prove you're worthy… you have to survive."
A cold shiver ran down Niran's spine.
"Survive what?"
The man raised his fists into a stance.
"Withstand ten of my attacks."
Niran's eyes widened.
"Wait, what—?"
The man moved.
The void around them shattered.
Niran didn't even see the first strike.
He only felt it.
A force like a cannon blast slammed into his chest, sending him flying backward.
The pain was real. Devastating.
"One."
Niran struggled to breathe. He coughed, his vision blurring.
"What the hell—? Are you crazy?!"
"Two."
A kick struck his side. His ribs screamed in protest as he crumpled.
"Three."
A hook to the jaw. The world spun.
This was impossible. The sheer power behind each hit was inhuman. How the hell was he supposed to survive ten of these?!
Niran gritted his teeth. No. He couldn't just let this happen.
He had to fight. He had to find a way.
Then… he felt it.
Something deep inside him flickered.
A primal instinct. A burning ember waiting to ignite.
The fourth punch came. This time, he moved.
His body twisted, just enough to avoid a direct hit. The fist grazed his temple instead of smashing into it.
The warrior's expression shifted slightly.
"Interesting."
Niran didn't fully understand what had changed, but something in his perception had sharpened. He could sense the attacks before they landed.
The man stepped in again.
"Five."
A strike to the chest. The pain was unbearable, but Niran remained on his feet.
"Six."
A sweeping kick. He lowered his center of gravity. His legs buckled, but he didn't collapse.
"Seven."
An uppercut. Blood filled his mouth, but he clenched his fists.
The instinct inside him grew stronger. His movements were no longer just reactions. He was adapting.
"Eight."
He dodged, barely. The impact brushed past his shoulder.
"Nine."
He blocked. The sheer force numbed his arm, but he stayed standing.
The warrior watched him closely.
"Ten."
This time, Niran didn't just endure.
He countered.
With a sudden burst of motion, he drove his knee upward, aiming for the man's ribs.
The warrior grinned, catching the strike with his forearm.
Silence.
Then, a nod of approval.
"Not bad. Not bad at all."
Niran gasped for air, his chest heaving. But something inside him had changed.
"This… was just the beginning, wasn't it?"
The man smirked.
"Oh, kid. This was just the warm-up."
The void around them dissolved.
Niran's eyes snapped open.
He was still lying on the bloodstained floor of the underground arena. The pain was still there, but… it was different now.
He wasn't alone anymore.
The warrior's voice echoed in his mind.
"Get up. We have work to do."
Niran's fingers twitched.
It wasn't over. Not until he took back everything they had stolen from him.