CHAPTER 90: CHAPTER 10.18 : JOHAN VS RUDI

The evening, before the battle took place, the sun painted the sky in shades of gold and crimson, its fading light spilling across the worn, abandoned hut hidden deep within the secluded wilderness of Makazhar—an isolated region so obscure that only a handful of people even knew of its existence.

BWOSSHH!!

A violent plume of smoke erupted from the hut. From within that thick haze, two silhouettes slowly emerged. The smoke coiled and swirled as the evening breeze carried it away, revealing the two figures bit by bit. Their gradual appearance was like that of towering giants rising from the abyss of darkness—each step heavy and deliberate, yet emanating an overwhelming sense of menace, a pressure strong enough to make even the smallest living creatures in the area freeze and tremble.

Out from the suffocating cloud stepped Jogo and Rudi, their upper bodies bare. The transformation was staggering. Both of them looked vastly different from before: their physiques were more upright, their frames sturdier, their muscles well-defined and bulging with vigor—even Rudi, who was infamous for rarely engaging in any form of physical training, now possessed the body of someone who had lived in the gym for years.

They looked far more mature than their actual ages, as though the very essence of their youth had been sacrificed—burned away in exchange for something they were never meant to grasp.

Every movement of their steps sent ripples through their muscles, the fibers twitching like coiled serpents ready to strike. With each stomp of their feet against the earth, the ground seemed to shudder, and the very air itself tensed. The leaves of nearby trees quivered, rustling as if bowing in reverence—or perhaps in fear—of the new monstrous power that had been birthed.

Jogo stared at his own arms with a mixture of awe and disbelief. He clenched his fists tightly, then opened them again, the knuckles cracking one after another like brittle bones breaking under pressure. The sound alone was enough to send chills crawling up one’s spine.

On the other hand, Rudi’s reaction was disturbingly different—he laughed, not with joy but with a sly, twisted delight, a laugh that reeked of greed and arrogance, as if even he himself could not believe that such terrifying strength now coursed through his veins.

Without warning, Jogo planted his feet firmly on the ground, positioning himself into a martial stance. His sharp eyes locked onto a massive boulder in the distance. His body tensed, and then he threw a powerful punch into the empty air. A surge of dark energy poured out of him, flooding into his fist before bursting forward.

DUARRR!!!

The boulder, untouched by any physical contact, instantly exploded into countless fragments. It shattered spectacularly, obliterated solely by the shockwave unleashed from Jogo’s strike.

The stone dust filled the air, carried by the breeze, and when the crimson light of dusk pierced through the drifting haze, it painted the scene like a battlefield drowned in the aftermath of destruction.

Jogo looked down at his trembling hand, astonished beyond words. Meanwhile, Rudi crossed his arms over his chest, his chin tilted upward, lips curling into a smug grin that radiated superiority. His entire posture declared his readiness to unleash the new strength bestowed upon him. Both of them chuckled lightly, their laughter mingling with the ominous atmosphere.

A cold, deep voice sliced through their amusement.

"It seems the ritual was a success."

The ground trembled faintly as heavy footsteps approached from behind the smoke. A looming shadow stretched forward, growing larger with every step until Daraka finally appeared, flanked by several of his subordinates.

Jogo and Rudi turned their heads toward him, faint smirks playing on their lips.

"With this, none of your so-called generation will be capable of standing against you," Daraka proclaimed, his tone carrying both certainty and disdain. "Not even that boy, David. And as for the pitiful child named Al... tonight marks the end of his story."

The wind of dusk blew gently across the trees, but in the ears of those gathered, it sounded like the resounding gong heralding the beginning of war.

Jogo and Rudi locked eyes, then nodded silently. To them, this sacrifice was worth it. They felt as though they had already taken a giant step closer—no, not merely a step, but just a mere inch away from standing at the very peak, at least within their generation.

Their drastic physical metamorphosis made them appear more valiant, more imposing. Yet within their hearts lurked far baser desires.

Jogo’s mind involuntarily conjured the image of Rina nestled in his embrace, while Rudi, intoxicated by lust, fantasized about dozens of the most beautiful girls being reduced to his personal playthings—the Virellano daughters, David’s fiancée Nayala, the mysterious beauty Yura, and of course, Miss Aiza, who had recently ignited his hunger to unbearable heights. The mere thoughts sent him into a shameless daydream, saliva almost dripping from his lips.

"Assist them in preparing for tonight," Daraka ordered coldly, his eyes sharp as blades, his gaze carrying the weight of an executioner delivering a death sentence. "You two will follow him. Prepare yourselves. Tonight shall be the most exhilarating night of your lives."

Jogo and Rudi answered with brief nods, followed by low, smug laughter as they began to trail after Daraka’s subordinate. Their steps thundered with confidence, each stride leaving behind puffs of dust that scattered with the wind, as if even the earth itself recoiled from bearing their weight.

Moments later, their figures vanished from sight.

And then, from within the darkened hut—now swallowed by the encroaching night—another being stirred. A humanoid creature stepped out of the shadows. Its form vaguely resembled a human, yet was unmistakably inhuman. Its outline blurred with the darkness, its shape indistinct, but one feature shone vividly: glowing, piercing blue eyes that burned like embers in the night, watching Daraka with an enigmatic, unspoken intensity.

The creature whispered, its voice composed of sounds incomprehensible to human ears.

"Tell him the two boys are ready," Daraka replied without hesitation, his tone unwavering. "The supply of energy will flow in abundance once the chaos they create begins. Tell him to prepare."

The entity dipped its head in acknowledgment, then dissolved back into the shadows, vanishing without a trace.

A cruel smirk spread across Daraka’s face.

"Fools. They don’t even realize they are nothing more than sacrificial pawns, offering themselves up for the sake of false love and petty revenge."

He pulled a photograph from his pocket, staring down at it. The image was a formal portrait of Al, used for the school’s administration records. Daraka’s fingers slowly curled, crumpling the paper, the sound of it tearing faintly under the cold night breeze.

"And this... this will be your end, boy. You and every last one of your so-called protectors." His voice carried both irritation and venom.

Yet, strangely, as he stared at Al’s face, a flicker of discomfort stirred in his chest. Whether it was anger, unease, or something entirely foreign, he could not tell. Regardless, he dismissed the thought. Whatever it was, it did not matter. The plan must succeed. It would succeed.

---

Back to the present moment—the battle within the chaos of the café had already begun.

The café, once filled with noise from customers and the clinking of cups, had descended into chaos. Tables lay overturned, shattered glass littered the floor, and the air vibrated with raw killing intent.

In the middle of that turmoil, Al still sat quietly on the floor. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, yet his eyes were half-narrowed, sharp like blades, observing the developing confrontation with unnerving calm. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the ground, as though counting or calculating something within his mind.

"These two fools really won’t stop pestering me..." he muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the masked figures—which were actually Jogo and Rudi, already transformed into monstrous versions of their former selves.

Without anyone noticing, a faint ripple of silver energy spread from Al’s body. He had already activated an invisible magical barrier, wrapping it discreetly around certain people still present in the café. It wasn’t flashy; there was no dazzling light or thunderous aura. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, like a warm breeze brushing against one’s skin. His intent was simple—to minimize the collateral damage, to protect those who had no part in this battle. After all, extracting Armin, Zaza, and Karen in the middle of this pandemonium would not be easy.

The silvery aura flowed like a gentle current, weaving through the battlefield. To the untrained eye, it was nothing more than air shifting from the heat of the fight. But in truth, it was a shield, a whisper-thin wall between life and death.

Grab!

"Eh?" Al blinked, startled by the sudden tug.

He turned his head slightly, brows furrowed, shoulders rising instinctively in reflex.

It was Karen, clinging to him tightly, pulling him backward with all her strength. Her small frame trembled as fragments of debris rained down from the escalating battle. Together with Zaza, she dragged Al behind the cover of a toppled sofa.

"Al, get down! Hide! It’s dangerous out there," Karen exclaimed, her voice quivering yet filled with determination. "Let Rina and Johan handle this. They can win. Don’t put yourself in the way. It’s safer if we hide."

Her breath was uneven, strands of her hair messy and disheveled. Her small hands clutched Al’s arm with desperate force, as if letting go would mean losing him forever.

Al, for once, was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected this. It was clear that Karen, Zaza, and even Armin—who crouched behind a table in the far corner—placed their complete trust in Johan and Rina. More importantly, they instinctively chose not to become burdens in the midst of this deadly confrontation.

For the moment, Al let them do as they pleased. He leaned against the overturned sofa, watching quietly. The three of them crouched low, anxiously searching for an opportunity to escape while silently praying for Rina and Johan’s victory. Across the room, Armin lifted his head slightly from behind the barricade of splintered wood, exchanging tense glances with them. Their hearts pounded like war drums, while the sounds of shattering glass, exploding wood, and furious roars drowned the atmosphere in dread.

"Al... was it you who saved us earlier?" Zaza asked suddenly, her voice barely audible above the din. Her eyes widened in astonishment, her body leaning closer as though seeking the undeniable truth.

"Me? How could that be possible?" Al replied flatly, his gaze never leaving the raging battle. He adjusted his posture, bracing one hand on the torn edge of the sofa, positioning himself for the best view. His expression remained calm, almost detached, as though he were merely a spectator.

"But I swear I saw it!" Karen interjected breathlessly. Her voice carried the sincerity of someone who had witnessed a miracle. "I saw you leap toward us. And then—boom! An explosion. I felt our bodies tossed aside, and when I opened my eyes, somehow Zaza and I were already here. Safe." She pointed frantically toward the wreckage of a broken table, then to their current position. Her explanation was fragmented, stumbling, yet her conviction was absolute.

Al gave no response. His lips pressed into a thin line, silence his only answer. Only the sound of his steady breathing remained, starkly contrasting with the storm of violence surrounding them.

And the fight had already reached a fever pitch.

---

Johan vs Rudi

The clash between Johan and Rudi erupted like thunder.

Originally, Johan had wanted to face Jogo, for their physiques were similar—both large, both brimming with strength. But Rina had already moved toward Jogo, forcing Johan to confront Rudi instead.

It quickly became clear, however, that Johan possessed the edge in combat experience. His movements were precise, efficient. He slipped through attacks with fluid grace, retaliated with sharp bursts of offense, and kept his footing stable no matter how chaotic the battlefield became.

His body moved like a shadow. Each step left faint skid marks on the wooden floor. His shoulders dipped low when dodging, his eyes flashing with clarity as he read every opening, his arms snapping forward like whips. His rotations were smooth, elegant even—almost like a dancer weaving destruction across a war stage.

Sweat dripped down his chin, splattering onto the floor before evaporating from the sheer heat radiating off the battle. His breathing remained steady, every action the product of years of discipline and relentless training.

But Rudi was not to be underestimated.

Though less skilled, he possessed an unnatural exploitation of his newfound energy. His power manifested explosively, violently, his strikes tearing through the air with feral abandon. Each punch seemed to rip at the very atmosphere, detonating like cannon fire.

Whenever his fists missed, the air still boomed with shockwaves, the pressure rattling furniture, cracking glass windows, and sending the chandeliers above swaying wildly. His body, though smaller, darted with startling speed. Muscles bulged unnaturally, veins throbbing along his neck, while his grin stretched wide—feral, deranged, intoxicated by battle. His eyes shone with the hunger of a predator savoring the hunt.

At one point, Johan blocked one of Rudi’s monstrous strikes. The impact rattled his bones, his arms trembling violently. Pain shot across his face as he grimaced, barely holding the line. The sheer force hurled him backward, nearly slamming him into a nearby table. The energy alone reduced the wooden furniture to splinters.

Despite the setback, Johan’s instincts screamed at him to press on. His experience gave him openings even when pressed against the wall. With a sharp exhale, he lunged forward once more. Sweat streaked his face, blood smeared the corner of his lips, but his eyes blazed with unyielding determination.

He clenched his fist tightly, energy spiraling around it—dark yellow streaked with black. The aura roared, wild and powerful. His lips curved into a thin smile, a silent declaration: This fight isn’t over yet.

Martial Art Skill: Tiger Roaring Fist!

BOOMMM!!

The devastating blow struck true. Johan’s fist connected solidly with Rudi’s chest. The unrefined fighter, whose entire style revolved around raw destruction, had left himself open. His lack of defensive training betrayed him.

The impact sent Rudi hurtling backward, crashing through broken furniture. Blood spurted from his mouth, splattering onto the floor in a gruesome arc.

But it wasn’t enough to finish him.

Rudi staggered to his feet, wiping the blood from his lips, his expression twisting from pain to revelation. That strike had awakened him—it taught him the brutal truth that battles weren’t simply about unleashing destructive force. Strategy, defense, adaptability—all were necessary for survival.

Johan surged forward again, throwing another powerful punch.

This time, however, Rudi dodged. He leaped sideways with surprising agility, landing lightly, his breathing heavy yet stable.

Johan narrowed his eyes. He could see it clearly now—Rudi was learning. In the midst of the battle, he was adapting at a terrifying pace. Born into wealth, Rudi was accustomed to harsh lessons, especially in business. Spoiled as he was, he still carried the ability to learn quickly when forced. His reactions, once clumsy, were beginning to sharpen. His instincts were starting to respond.

The two locked eyes, neither willing to yield. Johan inhaled deeply, steadying his breath. Rudi stomped down, the wooden floorboards cracking under his heel. And then—

Bang!

Both launched forward simultaneously.

Their fists and kicks collided, unleashing bursts of energy that lit the café in flashes of black and yellow. Each clash sparked miniature explosions, ripples of distorted air radiating outward. The room quaked as though deities themselves waged war within its confines.

The café, once a humble gathering place, had become a battlefield of gods.

---

Meanwhile, on Rina’s side, an emotional clash had just unfolded between her and Jogo.