The First Ring

The wind outside Majuro’s hut carried the faint hum of rustling leaves — a rare sound in the quiet desolation of the land. Inside, a soft white glow emanated from Majuro’s hand as he turned toward Hiroshi.

“So, that’s what happened,” Majuro said quietly. His calm tone carried a trace of sympathy. “You thought they betrayed you... but they didn’t. Also—” he extended his palm, revealing a small glowing white item, “—you shall have this.”

The White Blaze Ember floated above his hand, its faint light pulsing like a heartbeat.

Hiroshi’s eyes widened slightly as he reached out and took it. The ember was warm — alive — and for a brief second, he felt something stirring deep within him, like a dormant flame reawakening.

“So, how will it get absorbed?” Hiroshi asked, curious. “Do I have to meditate or something?”

Before Majuro could even answer, the ember dissolved into tiny threads of light that darted into Hiroshi’s chest. His veins flashed a blinding white as the power coursed through him. A sudden rush of energy surged in his body — crisp, sharp, electric.

“Woah!” Hiroshi exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise as his hands trembled slightly, white streaks of light dancing beneath his skin.

Majuro smiled faintly. “You now have obtained the power of fast reflexes. Try to dodge these.”

He raised his hand. The air shimmered as several spoons and forks around the room levitated, trembling for a moment before shooting toward Hiroshi at nearly lightning speed.

Clang! Clink! Shing!

Each metallic projectile whistled through the air — but Hiroshi moved effortlessly, weaving through them like a gust of wind. Not a single one grazed him. When the last fork fell clattering to the floor, he straightened up, barely out of breath.

“One out of seven powers!”, Hiroshi said with a small grin. “Cool. Never thought that getting my own power back would feel so good.”

Majuro nodded approvingly. “There’s something else that Bajuro left for you.”

Hiroshi tilted his head. “What is it?”

Majuro pressed a button hidden beneath his desk. A low hum filled the air, followed by a mechanical whirr. From beneath the wooden floor, a futuristic cold-storage box rose smoothly, surrounded by faint mist. Inside it lay a neatly arranged set of clothing — dark and elegant.

“Here is your own suit,” Majuro said. “This will reduce any damage you take by over seventy-five percent, and it can repair itself after being damaged. These are purely handcrafted by Bajuro.”

He began listing the pieces with care — “A black T-shirt, a red Haori-type coat, black jeans, a white belt, black boots with matching socks, and—” he raised a brow, “—some new undergarments for you to wear.”

Majuro handed the outfit over. Hiroshi blinked twice, looking around the tiny hut.

“Huh? You know that this hut only has this single room, right? ...RIGHT???” he exclaimed. “How am I supposed to change clothes here!?”

Majuro crossed his arms, utterly unfazed. “There is nothing I haven’t seen in this world. Just change already.”

“Are you serious!?” Hiroshi’s face turned red with embarrassment. “I can’t change in front of you!”

Majuro fell silent, expression blank.

“At least turn around!” Hiroshi demanded.

Majuro sighed. “Okay, okay.”

Turning away, he waited while Hiroshi quickly changed. The faint rustle of fabric echoed in the quiet hut. Moments later, Hiroshi exhaled, stretching his arms.

“Woah...” he murmured, looking down at himself. The outfit fit perfectly, as though it were crafted specifically for him. “This is my perfect fit! How am I looking in this?”

Majuro turned. For a brief second, his eyes widened. Then, with quiet reverence, he bowed slightly.

“As grand as always, Hiroshi.”

“C’mon, don’t do that...” Hiroshi said, scratching his cheek with an awkward smile.

Majuro straightened. “Alright, Hiroshi. You should head out now.”

“Wait,” Hiroshi said, pausing at the door. “I need one last help.”

“Yeah? Tell me.”

“According to what you told me, Ryumi has my blood. So she might still be alive... if the Tyrants haven’t killed her. Can you locate her for me?”

Majuro nodded slowly. “Sure. Chances are low, but I’ll try my best. You should head toward the Ring now.”

“Alright, Majuro.”

“Also, take this cloth to cover your face... and these Varkoins.”

Hiroshi blinked. “Varkoins? I’ve heard that word before from the Raiders. What is it?”

“The new currency set up by the Varkonians,” Majuro explained. “Each Varkoin is worth one hundred U.S. dollars of the past time.”

“What!?” Hiroshi’s jaw dropped. “That’s so much!”

Majuro chuckled softly and handed him a small pouch. “You’ll need these — fifty thousand Varkoins. Now go.”

Hiroshi nodded. “you're too generous, old man. See ya.”

He left the hut, the wind brushing past his coat as he made his way toward the Ring.

[Few Minutes Later]

[at the First Ring]

Hiroshi wrapped the cloth tightly around his face, concealing his identity. As he approached the massive circular city known as the Ring, the hum of noise grew louder — laughter, footsteps, and the distant chatter of Varkonian merchants.

But as soon as he stepped inside, something caught his eye — a crowd, large and tense, gathered near a fruit stall

“Huh? What’s that crowd for?” he muttered, stepping closer.

Pushing through the people, he froze at the sight before him — a small boy, bloodied and trembling, being beaten by a group of men while others simply watched.

“Hey!” Hiroshi shouted, stepping forward. “What are you doing!? He’s just a kid!”

A bulky Varkonian with green skin turned toward him, glaring. “He’s no kid — he’s a human pest!” the fruit vendor spat. “He was trying to steal fruits from my shop!”

The boy coughed weakly. “S-sir... my siblings and I... haven’t eaten for days. We just needed some fruits... I only took a banana and an apple...”

A man in the crowd yelled, “A thief is a thief, regardless of the reason! Punish him!”

Hiroshi’s eyes hardened. “Wait. Mr. Vendor—” he stepped forward, his tone calm but firm, “—I would like to buy your entire fruit stall. How much is this worth?”

The vendor blinked in confusion. “Uhh... Six Varkoins?”

Hiroshi reached into his pouch and tossed him all the coins Majuro had given him. The crowd gasped.

“From now on,” Hiroshi said, his voice deep, commanding, “whenever this kid or any kid like him needs fruits, you will give it to them — for your entire life. If you break that promise...” He turned to the crowd. “The entire crowd standing here will beat you to death. Am I right?”

“YEAH!” the crowd roared in unison.

The vendor’s face paled. “A-Alright! I’ll feed all the homeless kids in this ring for life!”

He hurriedly gathered crates — a crate of bananas, another of grapes, two of oranges, and one of apples.

The boy trembled. “B-but... how will I carry this?”

Hiroshi smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll carry these for you. Guide me to your house. What’s your name?”

“My name’s... Kunjo. Follow me.”

[At Kunjo’s House]

Kunjo led Hiroshi through the narrow alleys of the Ring until they reached a small slum. The ground was muddy, the roofs made of thin rusted metal sheets, full of holes. Yet beneath that fragile shelter sat several small children — pale, hungry, yet smiling when they saw Kunjo.

“Brother!” a boy shouted.

“Brother!” a little girl cried, running toward him.

Four kids rushed forward, hugging Kunjo tightly.

“Brother, have you brought food?” the girl asked, her eyes wide with hope.

Hiroshi stepped forward, setting down the crates. “Yeah. Enough for a couple of weeks.”

The girl blinked. “Who are you?”

Kunjo smiled faintly. “I don’t know him either... but he’s a saviour for us. If he weren’t there, those people would’ve killed me. He ensured that we get food for life!”

The kids’ faces lit up. They jumped around, laughing and clapping. Hiroshi watched quietly — a small, genuine smile spreading across his face for the first time in a long while.

Kunjo turned back. “Sir... I don’t know who you are, but you’ve helped me a lot. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“No need to repay me,” Hiroshi said softly. “Just take care of your siblings. That’s all I want.”

He adjusted the cloth on his face — but a sudden gust of wind tore it loose. The fabric fluttered away, revealing his scarlet-red eyes and striking features.

Kunjo froze. His eyes widened. “T-those scarlet eyes... that hair... that face... You are... the Flame Demi-God — Hiroshi Soraya!”

“Wait...” Hiroshi frowned. “How do you know me? Also, I’m not a demi-god or something.”

Kunjo shook his head, trembling with awe. “My grandmother used to tell us stories — stories of a legendary man who stood against the Varkonians and fought for Earth’s freedom. His name was Hiroshi, the Flame Demi-God. You alone made them tremble. But one day, you were captured... She always said you’d return. And you did!”

“What!?” Hiroshi thought, stunned. “There are stories about me...? That’s... unexpected.”

Kunjo looked up, tears forming. “I remember those eyes, that hair — exactly as my grandmother told me.”

He took a deep breath. “Can I be any help to you, sir?”

“Actually, yes,” Hiroshi said. “Do you know where the Blood Tyrant, Riyaku resides?”

Kunjo nodded quickly. “He lives in the central building of this Ring. But there’s no way to enter directly. You’ll need to sneak in from a way I know. Follow me.”

They both walked away.

Kunjo led Hiroshi to an alley, where the ground was cracked and half-covered by rubble. Beneath it was a narrow tunnel.

“This is a tunnel that an inmate dug to escape the jail,” Kunjo explained. “You can enter the jail from here and reach the top floor. That’s where Riyaku will meet you. Only a few have survived him... They say once you reach the top floor, he’ll teleport you there.”

He pointed upward at a massive spherical structure hovering above the city. “That’s Riyaku’s Arena. Every Tyrant — except the seventh — has one. I’ve heard it’s powered by something called a ‘Blaze Ember.’”

Hiroshi’s eyes narrowed. “Blaze Ember... That’s what my powers are sealed in.” He thought, remembering Majuro's words.

“Be careful,” Kunjo said. “There will be guards. Take them down, and then take Riyaku down. Best of luck!”

Hiroshi nodded. “Thanks. Take care.”

He crouched and entered the tunnel. “Ugh... This place is so cramped! I wonder how that inmate escaped!”

After several minutes of crawling, he emerged into an empty jail cell. The silence was eerie.

“Huh? Where are all the inmates?” he muttered, pushing against the metal bars. They snapped apart with a loud clang.

He descended to the ground floor — only to find figures forming out of liquid blood. Swordsmen, their weapons glinting crimson.

“Are these the guards Kunjo told me about!?” Hiroshi said, pulling both his daggers. “It’s showtime! HUNTER RUSH!”

He surged forward like a storm, his movements a blur. One by one, the blood soldiers were cut cleanly in half before they could even react.

“Easy!” Hiroshi grinned — but more appeared.

He exhaled. “Fine then. RAPID CLAW STRIKES!"

His daggers slashed through the air like wolf claws, striking down every last one. As their bodies collapsed, the blood faded from their faces — revealing human prisoners beneath.

Hiroshi froze. “Oh no... What have I done... That monster turned these poor prisoners into his guards.”

He knelt slightly, lowering his head. “Sorry... But I had to kill you. Rest in peace.”

Then he sprinted up the stairs to the second floor.

This time, dual-sword users formed before him — faster, stronger. Hiroshi glanced up and noticed a massive chandelier swaying above.

He whistled loudly. “Oye! Come here!”

As they charged, he jumped, grabbed the chandelier’s chains, and snapped them free. The heavy metal links crashed down, tangling and binding the enemies in one swift motion.

“Now... the Tyrant.” He exhaled, climbing to the top floor.

But as soon as his foot touched the final step, a suffocating pressure filled the air — thick, oppressive.

“Ah...” A voice echoed behind him. “You are here.”

Hiroshi spun, throwing a punch — but before it could land, everything around him warped. The floor vanished. The air twisted.

He was teleported.

[Inside Riyaku’s Arena]

When his vision cleared, Hiroshi’s stomach twisted. The arena was alive — made entirely of bones and flesh. The walls pulsed faintly, veins crawling like vines, and every step squelched beneath his boots.

“What!?” Hiroshi grimaced. “This whole place is made up of flesh and blood and bones... like a living being’s insides!”

A slow clap echoed.

From the shadows emerged Riyaku — young, around twenty-three, wearing an untucked black shirt and dark jeans. A grey crown rested on his head, its red jewels glimmering like drops of blood.

“So... the Flame Demi-God, Hiroshi Soraya, has finally returned?” Riyaku’s voice was smooth, almost amused. “And is here for revenge?” He smirked. “I knew I should’ve killed you as soon as I took your blood long ago.”

“I will not let you Varkonians rule the Earth!” Hiroshi shouted, fire burning in his eyes.

Riyaku chuckled. “First, care about yourself. You came here to kill me on your own. But you will leave only with my permission.”

His smile turned sharp. “I will torture you for eternity. This is my arena... and you—” his gaze hardened, “—will never make it out alive.”

The ground pulsed beneath Hiroshi’s feet. The air thickened. Flesh stirred. He tightly grabbed both his daggers.

The battle was about to begin.

To Be Continued...