Chapter 11: The Price of Power
The dim corridor groaned as the cell door creaked open.
Light—faint, cold, unforgiving—spilled in, casting long shadows across Ryo's face. His eyes, bloodshot from sleepless nights and silent grief, slowly adjusted. The guards didn't speak. They didn't need to. Their presence was the signal.
Another fight. Another test. Another beast.
Ryo stood without a word. His joints screamed in protest, his muscles aching beneath the weight of wounds and time. But his mind was clear now—sharper than it had been in days. Chapter 10 had unearthed the ghost of his brother, and Ryo had embraced it. That hope, fragile as glass, was what carried him forward now.
Down the corridor, the sound of chains dragging echoed like a grim warning. Whatever lay ahead… it wasn't human.
The arena was different this time.
Gone were the roaring crowds, the lights, the spectacle. What awaited Ryo was a dome of cold steel and silence. A private fight. An experiment, perhaps. Something the organizers didn't want anyone else to see.
Taro stood at the far end, arms folded, face grim.
"They're sending you against him," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "He's gone too far with the serum. There's barely anything human left in him."
Ryo stepped forward. "Then why show me this?"
Taro looked him dead in the eye. "Because this is what you'll become if you keep using it."
The gate behind Ryo slammed shut, sealing him in. The room dimmed, then pulsed with a deep red glow as a heavy steel door across from him hissed open. Smoke spilled out.
And from within it, came a nightmare.
The fighter—if he could still be called that—was massive. His body grotesquely swollen, muscles bulging in unnatural patterns, veins glowing faintly blue from the overdosed serum. His eyes were hollow. His jaw slack. He moved like a rabid dog unleashed, trembling with rage, driven by nothing but instinct.
Ryo's gut turned.
This wasn't just a test of strength—it was a prophecy.
The beast charged.
Ryo dodged, barely avoiding a swipe that would've torn through flesh and bone. The creature's speed didn't match its size—it surpassed it. Every movement left gouges in the metal floor, each roar shook the walls.
Ryo struck—once, twice—but it was like punching stone. The beast didn't even flinch.
A backhand sent him flying, crashing into the wall. Pain erupted through his ribs. He coughed, blood pooling in his mouth.
He lay there, breathing ragged, watching the monster snarl and claw the floor, waiting for him to rise. In that moment, Ryo knew: without the serum, he wouldn't last five more seconds.
His hand trembled as it reached for the vial strapped to his belt. His last dose.
He hesitated.
"I promised you, Ren…"
If he took it, he'd survive. Win. Live to fight again.
But at what cost?
The image of Ren's twisted smile flashed before him. The shadow of the brother he once knew. The strength that had consumed him.
Ryo bit down on his tongue until it bled. He didn't have time to deliberate.
He injected.
The world sharpened instantly. His senses exploded. His muscles surged with power, the pain washed away in a wave of cold fire. The price of the serum was silence—the silence of reason, of restraint. Ryo could feel it already: the way his thoughts dulled, his emotions thinned. His humanity, peeling away.
He launched himself forward with a speed that shocked even the beast. Blow after blow rained down, each one cracking bone and tearing flesh. For a moment, Ryo wasn't fighting for survival—he was dominating.
But the monster didn't fall.
It grinned.
And in that grin, Ryo saw something horrifying—recognition. This thing, once a man, knew what Ryo was feeling. It had been there too. It had once thought it could control the power. That it was strong enough.
Now it was nothing more than a warning.
Ryo staggered. The serum's euphoria was warping into rage. He screamed, driving a fist into the beast's chest hard enough to cave it in. The monster finally dropped, convulsing.
Silence returned.
But Ryo didn't feel victorious. He stood over the body, chest heaving, his knuckles raw and bleeding. The red glow faded, but in its place came a suffocating darkness.
His knees buckled.
He fell beside the body, shaking. Not from exhaustion, but from fear—of himself.
How much longer could he walk this line?
Would he be able to pull himself back the next time?
Would there be a next time?
The chamber opened slowly. Taro approached, eyes scanning the scene. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
Ryo's expression said it all.
"I'm still me," Ryo muttered, more to himself than to Taro.
"Are you?" Taro asked quietly. "Because I knew that man once. Before the serum took him. He said the same thing."
Ryo's head bowed.
The silence pressed in again, thicker this time. He wanted to scream, to cry, to believe that he was still fighting for the right reasons.
But something inside him had changed.
He could feel it.
The price of power wasn't death.
It was forgetting who you were while still being alive.