Chapter 107: Shameless Psychopath

Chapter 107: Shameless PsychopathChapter 107

"Dark Essence Mode: Activate."

As Aiden spoke, a wave of black energy surged over his body. His limbs, chest, and wings were instantly coated in an inky darkness, a smoky aura rising off him like mist from the abyss. Only his face remained untouched—calm, youthful, and eerily serene. It was as if he wanted his opponent to see exactly who was about to dismantle him.

The man narrowed his eyes, skeptical. "So what, you changed your skin tone?" he muttered. "That’s not going to win you this fight."

Without wasting a second, he charged forward, fist cocked back with the full weight of his strength. First to strike, last to fall, he told himself.

But Aiden was ready.

His wings, now encased in Dark Essence, folded forward like twin black shields. The man’s punch slammed into them, unleashing a thunderous shockwave that kicked up debris and cracked the ground. Yet instead of launching Aiden backward, as expected, the impact barely pushed him a few meters.

The man’s eyes widened. What...? That should’ve sent him flying...

Before he could recover, Aiden’s wings parted—and a claw, jagged and gleaming with black energy, shot out like a lightning bolt.

The man reacted on instinct, raising his arm to block—but the claw tore through his flesh like paper. Blood sprayed into the air as he screamed and staggered back, clutching his shredded arm.

The pain was unlike anything he had felt before. It wasn’t just the injury—something about the essence in Aiden’s attack made it worse, gnawing at his nerves like fire laced with poison.



Panting and pale, he stared at his bleeding arm, then up at Aiden... who still wore that unsettling, kind smile.

A chill crept down his spine.

If I had known this brat was a monster, I never would’ve taken this fight...

Realizing the odds were now entirely against him, the man did the only thing that made sense—he turned and ran.

He assumed Aiden would be too injured to chase. After all, they had exchanged brutal blows. No sane person would risk chasing now...

But Aiden wasn’t like anyone else.

He smirked.

Without a word, he bent slightly, taking a sprinter’s stance. His legs shifted, morphing into the sleek, muscular limbs of a high-speed beast, their dark hue matching the rest of his form. Then—boom—he kicked off the ground with immense force, his wings flaring to add momentum.

He didn’t just run. He launched.

The fleeing man heard the sound and instinctively twisted mid-run, barely dodging a claw strike aimed to cleave him in two. His eyes were wild with fear. He’s not letting me go...!

He didn’t stop running, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Aiden adjusted mid-air and boosted forward again, flapping his wings with unnatural power. The second strike came in faster than the first—this time, the man’s back was turned.

He didn’t stand a chance.

The claw slammed into him with devastating force, sending him crashing into the ground like a missile. The earth split beneath him, forming deep craters from the impact. Dust rose. Bones cracked. Blood oozed.

The man lay there, groaning, trying to move—but nothing obeyed. His vision blurred. He coughed up a mouthful of blood, tasting iron and despair.

Aiden landed gently in front of him, casting a shadow over his broken body. That smile was still there—calm, cheerful, inhuman.

The man’s mind scrambled for a way out. He wasn’t ready to die here. Not like this.

Then... an idea struck.

"W–Wait!" he said quickly, raising a trembling hand. "Taking me out won’t help you! There are hundreds of fighters left in this selection tournament. But if you spare me... I’ll serve you. Help you win the Tournament of Power!"

He coughed again, desperate but calculating.

"With your power... and mine... we’d be unstoppable in the Blue Portal Zone. Think about it—we could dominate."

Aiden tilted his head, placing a hand under his chin, thoughtful.

The man saw it—a flicker of hesitation. Hope.

He kept talking—spouting benefits, promises, and endless reasons why sparing him would be the smart move. The more he spoke, the more Aiden appeared to consider it. At least, from an outsider’s perspective.

Aiden nodded occasionally, thoughtfully tapping his chin.

To the man, that was all the confirmation he needed. He’s going to let me go. I knew it.

Then Aiden spoke, his pleasant smile never fading.

"Alright. I’ve made my decision."

The man exhaled in relief, a grin already forming on his bruised face.

"I’ll let you go," Aiden continued.

The man’s grin widened.

"But," Aiden added, "on one condition."

The man tensed. "What condition?"

"Give me your shard," Aiden said simply. "Then I’ll let you walk away."

The man blinked. "My shard? Why do you want that?"

Aiden looked at him like he’d asked why humans breathe air.

"Isn’t it obvious?" Aiden replied, voice calm but laced with malice. "To crush it."

The man’s stomach dropped.

He looked into Aiden’s eyes—and what he saw wasn’t a negotiator or a warrior. It was a cold, unfeeling abyss behind a friendly smile.

A lunatic... a complete psychopath...

"If you destroy my shard, I’ll be eliminated from the tournament!" he said, voice rising with desperation. "How am I supposed to help you win if I’m out?"

Aiden tilted his head. "You won’t."

"Then—"

"Oh, I don’t need help from someone who just got destroyed by a teenager," Aiden cut in smoothly. "That’s not exactly the resume of someone I want as an ally."

The man’s face soured, his ego crumbling.

"Come on," Aiden said with a cocky grin. "If you think that’s unfair, get up and fight me again."

The man wanted to scream. Get up? Fight again? I can’t even feel my legs!

This brat who beat him half to death was now shamelessly offering a rematch—as if the first round hadn’t left him a twitching wreck on the floor.

Too shameless.

Still scowling, the man reached into his pocket with trembling hands, pulled out the glowing shard, and reluctantly handed it over.

Without hesitation, Aiden crushed it in his palm. The crystal shattered into fragments, vanishing into the air like sparks.

Without another word, Aiden turned and began walking away.

The man stared at his back, full of hatred and regret. Why did I ever fight this lunatic? Wait—he picked the fight! Dammit!

Muttering under his breath, he growled, "He’s not human. That damn smile... he’s a devil. A demon with a baby face..."

He froze mid-sentence.

Aiden had stopped walking.



No way he heard that, the man thought. We’re too far apart...

Unfortunately for him, Aiden wasn’t ordinary.

His senses were enhanced to terrifying levels.

"I understand your frustration," Aiden said cheerfully, turning his head slightly. "But I don’t think your judgment is very fair."

His foot lifted.

Boom.

A single strike. One kick to the head. The man was knocked out cold.

Aiden stared down at him, still smiling. "Sure, maybe I act like a devil sometimes," he said to no one in particular. "But at least I’ve got a friendly face."

Then he thought for a moment. "Now Ronan... he’s got the real devil face. Wonder how he’s doing on his side?"

---

Somewhere in the Pink Portal Zone...

A man stood frozen, drenched in sweat. His heart pounded like a war drum.

He wasn’t nervous—he was terrified.

Terrified of the lone figure standing ahead, if you could even call him a "teenager."

Amidst a pile of groaning bodies stood a young man, dual blades dripping with blood. Dozens of opponents surrounded him—none of them dead, but all writhing in pain, unable to move.

Despite the chaos, not a wrinkle marred the young man’s clothes.

He hadn’t just fought. He had tortured them harshly.

And now... he was looking straight at him.

"H-he... he’s a monster," the trembling man whispered.

No one corrected him.

Because no one could.

Few Minutes Ago... (Flashback)

Two men stood at the center of two opposing groups, locked in a heated conversation. One tried to reason with the other, urging him to avoid conflict—for the sake of both their groups. But the aggressive leader was having none of it. His voice rose with each word, and his stance grew more hostile by the second.

Then, out of nowhere, a young man dressed in black walked past them, his expression unreadable. He didn’t even glance their way, as if they were beneath his notice.

The aggressive leader, already on edge, couldn’t take the slight. He stormed toward the teen and grabbed his shoulder with a firm, almost threatening grip.

What he didn’t expect... was to lose his arm seconds later.

Panic flared in his eyes. Before he could process the pain, rage took over. He lashed out at the young man—but the retaliation was swift, brutal, and far beyond anything he anticipated.

Within seconds, it was clear who held the upper hand.

The confident leader, who always dominated his opponents, now found himself completely outmatched. He called for help from his group—but they stood frozen, stunned by the sheer speed and ferocity of the youth’s counterattack.

Their hesitation proved costly.

The leader fell hard.

Snapping back to reality, the first group surged forward in anger to avenge him—but the expressionless young man held his ground. Despite their superior numbers, he wasn’t just surviving—he was pushing them back, slowly but steadily suppressing them with sharp, efficient movements.

The second group, still on the sidelines, watched it all unfold.

Arrogant brat, they thought. If he had just asked for help against the first group, we would’ve gladly joined in. But no... he walked past us like we were nothing. Fine. Let’s see how he fares against both groups.

The second leader tried to intervene, sensing danger—but it was already too late.

They joined the fray.

With twenty-plus fighters now attacking the lone teen, the tide began to turn. He was being forced on the defensive, overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

Just when they thought they had him cornered—he vanished.

In the blink of an eye, he switched places with one of their own, causing the poor soul to take the full brunt of an incoming attack meant for him. The unfortunate fighter collapsed, writhing in pain, barely clinging to consciousness.

At first, they thought it was a fluke—an illusion, maybe.

Then it happened again.

And again.

Each time, the mysterious teen used the technique to devastating effect, dodging their attacks and punishing them ruthlessly—like a teacher disciplining unruly students.

The second group’s leader could only watch in horror as one teenager dismantled over twenty fighters singlehandedly, leaving them broken, groaning, and barely conscious.

No one had died—but at this rate, it wouldn’t be long.

---

Back to the Present...

Ronan calmly wiped the blood from his dual blades before sheathing them. Around him lay the battered remains of two once-confident groups, their shards shattered, their pride broken.

Only one remained.

The leader of the second group stood frozen, trembling as Ronan slowly turned toward him. His mouth went dry. His legs nearly gave out.

With shaking hands, he held out his pink shard.

Ronan said nothing. He walked closer—each step making the man’s heart pound louder, faster.

"Calm yourself," Ronan said flatly, walking right past him. "You’ll die of a heart attack before I even touch you."

The man flinched.

"I only hurt those who hurt me... or try to," Ronan added, his voice low and emotionless.

And just like that, he was gone—disappearing into the shadows of the portal zone, leaving only silence behind.



The man stood still for a moment, listening for any sound.

Nothing.

He dropped to his knees, clutching his chest as if trying to calm the storm inside. Then, in a surprising move, he crushed his own shard.

There was no point in continuing.

Not with that kind of monster still in the tournament.

But no... monster didn’t even begin to describe him.

A monster would rage. A monster would scream. A monster would at least show some emotion.


Ronan didn’t.

Even as he dismantled two groups by himself, his expression never changed—that cold, unreadable face. That demon’s face.

He isn’t a monster, the man thought before his vision darkened. He’s a demon in human skin...

He collapsed, unconscious.

To be continued....