Malik's frown deepened, his lips split, a line of blood dribbling down from the corner of his mouth—only to sizzle, then vanish into ash the moment it touched the searing air.
But his eyes burned brighter than ever.
Fury pulsed behind those crimson irises, the kind forged not from rage alone, but from humiliation. What he saw standing across from him was not another opponent.
Not another contestant.
This was something different.
Vess had disintegrated the moment she stepped into his radius, her vines turned to ash before even tasting his flame.
Grugrim had tried to meet fire with force, had roared and charged like the brute he was—only to lose both arms and his pride in a single, unforgiving instant.
But this?
This thing in front of him?
This human named Alex Knight?
He didn't crumble under the heat.
He didn't burn.
He stood—calm, composed, surgical in presence—as if Malik's inferno wasn't even worthy of acknowledgment.
And that grin.
