The Descent of a God

The announcement for the second main event echoed through the arena, and wave after wave of cheers rose from the stands.

"Next, the second match! Contestant Chen He versus—Contestant Bangpote!"

Bangpote was a towering Muay Thai fighter covered in bulging muscle. He had battered his way through the preliminaries with vicious knee strikes. Now, standing in the center of the ring, he slapped his thick, steel-like body while casting a sidelong glance at Chen He as he climbed onto the stage.

But the way Chen He climbed onto the ring was simply too strange.

Fifty times gravity felt as though two enormous magnets had been attached beneath his feet. Every time Chen He climbed another step, the muscles in his calves tightened to the point of near spasm. With his internal organs enduring terrifying pressure, he had to pause for half a second and draw in a deep breath with every step.

His breathing was heavy and tinged with the scent of blood, sounding especially piercing amid the noise at the edge of the arena.

"Hey, kid, are you sick? If you can't do it, get the hell off the stage!" Bangpote grinned viciously and rolled his neck. The other man looked ready to collapse at any moment—practically free points delivered to him.

Chen He ignored him and stopped at the edge of the ring. Beneath his black training uniform, the dark vest that distorted even the air around it was cinched tightly against his chest. Without the system, he could no longer monitor his stamina through a status panel and make adjustments. He could only rely on sheer willpower to adapt to the suffocating sensation. The sense of danger brought by losing control stirred the ruthless pragmatism deep within him completely awake.

It doesn't matter who notices... as long as the power remains in my hands. Chen He coldly recited in his heart.

Below the ring, in the contestants' section.

At some point, Tien Shinhan had pulled his hands from his sleeves. His fingers clutched the wooden railing tightly enough that his knuckles had turned pale.

Although the third eye on his forehead remained shut, his other two eyes were fixed firmly on where Chen He placed his feet.

"He's gotten slower again... No, the burden on his body is growing heavier." Tien Shinhan's heart pounded wildly in his chest. He was no fool, nor was he some mediocre fighter who lacked discernment. Every time Chen He set his foot down, the thick wooden boards of the ring let out an agonizing creak, and even fine debris scattered across the bluestone base.

That was not a sound any normal human could make.

"What exactly is he fighting against? If he suffered internal injuries, then why hasn't his ki weakened? Why does it feel more like a wall, pushing away all the air around him?" Tien Shinhan gritted his teeth. Ever since he was young, he had stood above the rest as an unrivaled genius of the Crane School. Even Uncle Mercenary Tao had praised him as a prodigy seen only once in centuries.

Yet now, as he watched the black-haired youth on the stage, who had not even lifted his head, the pride belonging to him as a martial artist was being gnawed away little by little by an unprecedented irritation and panic.

"Tien Shinhan, his ki... it feels like it's about to crush all my chestnuts," Chiaotzu said softly, drawing in a breath as he fearfully shrank farther behind Tien Shinhan. He had already been somewhat drained after fighting Krillin, and now that he was this close to Chen He, his entire body felt cold.

Nearby, Goku leaned against the wall with his arms folded, not cheering for his companion as carefree as usual.

"Krillin, if Chen He takes that weird thing off later... what do you think will happen?" Goku suddenly asked in a low voice.

Krillin was wiping the sweat from his head with a towel. His hand paused at those words, and he gave a bitter smile as he shook his head. "I don't know, Goku. I only know that when Senior Brother Chen He walked past me earlier, I felt like I was facing a dinosaur that could swallow me whole at any moment. Yamcha still hasn't recovered from it."

Yamcha leaned back in his chair with his eyes shut. Though some color had returned to his face, his tightly pressed lips revealed the turmoil within. He had once believed himself to be a martial artist of considerable renown, but today he finally understood that before true monsters, so-called hard work and techniques were nothing more than a joke.

"Match—begin!"

At the referee's command, Bangpote let out a roar. Like a ferocious tiger charging down a mountain, he strode forward and launched a powerful flying knee straight at Chen He's temple!

He put all his strength into that attack, and it even tore through the air with a piercing howl.

Chen He stood where he was. Under fifty times gravity, when his retinas caught the opponent's movements, they carried an incredibly sluggish delay. He could see Bangpote's knee drawing closer inch by inch. He could smell the pungent stench of sweat on him.

Too slow. Even with his own movements slowed fiftyfold, the other man still looked as though he were crawling through a swamp.

Chen He made no unnecessary movement. He merely forced himself through the crushing pressure inside his body, pressure that nearly seemed capable of snapping his bones, and pulled his right arm from his pocket with a low rumble like muffled thunder. Then he drove an utterly ordinary palm forward.

BOOM!!

There was no glow of an energy wave, no flashy technique.

It was simply a localized explosion of air created by the instantaneous movement of his own raw foundation!

A visible milky-white blast of wind pressure erupted outward in a hemisphere. Bangpote, standing at the very center of it, did not even touch Chen He's palm before he was struck head-on by an invisible ten-thousand-pound hammer. His muscles warped instantly under the crushing wind pressure, and he spat out a mouthful of blood.

Then the massive man, weighing over two hundred pounds, flew straight backward like a fallen leaf swept up by a gale. With a thunderous crash, he smashed through a brick wall on the far side of the arena and vanished completely amid the billowing dust.

The aftershock did not stop. The violent gust of force ripped several thick wooden planks straight from the surface of the ring, turning them into countless splinters that slammed into the railing of the contestants' section with shrill whistles.

CRACK!

The wooden railing before Tien Shinhan was sheared cleanly in half by a piece of splintered wood.

The entire arena fell silent. The cheers of tens of thousands of spectators caught in their throats like a flock of ducks being strangled. The referee's stopwatch dropped to the ground and shattered, but he did not even think to pick it up. He merely stood there with his mouth agape, staring blankly at the young man on the ring who was still breathing faintly.

Chen He slowly withdrew his palm and gulped down air in great breaths. His blood and ki surged violently within him after that outburst. Extreme gravity drained his stamina even faster than he had expected. With just one strike, he could already feel that a third of his strength was gone.

Yet a satisfied, icy gleam flashed in his pitch-black eyes.

I can still hold on for two more matches.

Chen He tugged the collar of his training uniform apart. Without even looking at the Muay Thai fighter buried in the ruins, he turned around and walked down from the ring at an unhurried pace, each step leaving a deep footprint and producing an agonizing creak.

"The second match... the winner, winner! Contestant Chen He!"

Only after Chen He's figure had completely disappeared into the shadows of the corridor did the referee's stammering voice finally sound through the loudspeakers.

In the contestants' section, Tien Shinhan stared at the broken piece of wood by his feet, its severed face smooth as a mirror. At some point, a fine layer of cold sweat had formed on his forehead.

"One palm... compressed the air pressure to that extent..." Tien Shinhan's voice trembled slightly. He had thought Chen He's sluggish movements were caused by injury, but now it seemed that was not an injury at all. It was more like a god using the crudest, most unreasonable method possible to make some incomprehensible declaration of violence atop an Earthling tournament ring.

He glanced at Jackie Chun beside him and saw that the famous elder was clenching his fists tightly. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes were filled with shock and bitterness that he could not conceal.

From this moment onward, this Martial Arts Tournament had completely become that monster's personal show.