A shadow on the sun

Chapter 1

The crowd was a blur of noise and shadows, their cheers and jeers mingling into a cacophony that reverberated through the wide, dimly lit warehouse. The makeshift ring was a patch of cracked concrete surrounded by rusted metal fences, illuminated only by a few flickering bulbs strung overhead. This was Cain Thorne's world—a place where fists spoke louder than words and every hit brought him closer to another day of survival.

Cain, standing just over six feet with a lean, muscular build, was focused, his pitch-black hair damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. His sharp green eyes locked onto his opponent—a hulking brute with more muscle than sense. The man's fists were like hammers, his breath coming in short, angry bursts as he prepared to charge.

At nineteen, Cain had already seen more of life's brutality than most. Orphaned at four, sold off by a father broken by grief and drink, Cain had learned early on that the world was cruel and unforgiving. There were no miracles, no saviors. Only fists, blood, and the cold comfort of money earned the hard way.

Street fighting wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills. For a C-ranked energy user like him, there were few options. His energy quality and capacity were middling at best, nowhere near the level required to make serious money raiding Domains. Illegal fights were a last resort, but one he had become all too familiar with. Cain's years on the street had honed his skills beyond what his energy levels suggested, his fists moving with precision and deadly intent.

The crowd fell into an expectant hush as the referee—a wiry man with a scar running down the side of his face—called for the fight to begin.

His opponent, a man known as "Bulldozer," was a known figure in these underground circles. Bulldozer had a reputation for flattening anyone who stood in his way, using sheer brute strength to overwhelm his opponents. But Cain wasn't intimidated. He had faced monsters like this before.

The moment the referee dropped his hand, Bulldozer charged, his massive frame barreling forward like a runaway train. Cain waited, his body loose, his senses hyper-focused. At the last possible moment, he sidestepped the charge, his movements fluid and effortless, as if he were dancing rather than fighting.

Bulldozer's fist swung wide, missing Cain by inches, the force of the blow enough to shatter bone if it connected. Cain pivoted on his heel, driving his elbow into the side of Bulldozer's ribs. He felt the satisfying crunch of bone beneath the impact, but Bulldozer only grunted, his thick skin absorbing much of the blow.

Cain didn't relent. He followed up with a sharp jab to the jaw, his fist crackling with a faint, barely visible layer of energy. It wasn't much, but it was enough to give his strikes an extra edge. He knew how to use what little energy he had to his advantage, conserving it for moments like this.

Bulldozer stumbled back, surprise flickering in his eyes. He hadn't expected Cain to be this fast, this precise. The crowd roared, sensing the shift in momentum, and Cain pressed the attack.

But as he moved in for another strike, Bulldozer recovered, swinging his massive arm in a wild arc. Cain barely had time to react, his reflexes the only thing saving him from a direct hit. The punch grazed his shoulder, the impact sending a jolt of pain down his arm.

Cain gritted his teeth, pushing the pain aside. He couldn't afford to get hit again. His opponent's energy might be low-grade, but his raw physical strength was nothing to scoff at.

Cain ducked low, his movements a blur as he slipped past Bulldozer's defenses, landing a flurry of punches to the man's midsection, aimed at weak points he had identified earlier. His green eyes were cold, calculating.

Bulldozer roared in frustration, swinging wildly, but Cain was always a step ahead. He dodged, weaved, and struck with a speed that belied his C-rank status. It wasn't just about strength—it was about skill, experience, and the will to survive.