Page 4 of Celestial Combat

Tony chuckled, breaking the stare-down. “Zane, this is Meisa.”

My eyes didn’t leave hers. “That your real name?”

“Fight name,” Tony supplied.

Before I could ask for her real one, she spoke first.

“You don’t need to know anything about me except that I know the consequences and consent to getting into the cage.”

Bold. No hesitation.

I addressed Tony, though my eyes never left hers. “You vouching for her?”

“She’s one of my best.”

I exhaled slowly. “A’ight.”

Tony stretched his neck, rolling his shoulders. “We’ll be coming here to prepare for Fight Night.”

My gaze slid back to Meisa, finding hers still locked on mine.With motive.

I smirked. “For sure.”

Chapter 3

14 years old

Tokyo, Japan

THE WIND WHISTLED THROUGH THE broken ribs of the abandoned temple, whispering secrets in the shadows.

I could barely feel my fingers anymore. The skin was raw, blood crusting in thin lines across my knuckles. The wooden floor, once sacred, was now stained with sweat and pain. Dust curled in the air like ghosts watching in silence.

Sensei’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“Again.”

My breath rasped out of me. My arms trembled as I lifted them into stance. Moonlight sliced through the broken slats in the ceiling, casting harsh silver angles across the floor. I hit the wooden man post.

“Your stance is weak. Again.”

My legs burned. Every motion screamed. My heartbeat pounded like war drums in my ears, deafening me to everything but his voice. The temple was half-rotted – walls crumbling, statues missing heads or arms – but his eyes were sharper than any blade I’d seen. And colder.

“You hesitate.” He circled me. “You’re soft.”

I hated that he was right.

The silence in the room thickened. I could feel his stare, even though he stood behind me. I could feel the question before he spoke it, like thunder pressing against the skin.

“Do you truly wantvengeance?” His voice was quiet. Not gentle.

I said nothing.

The word formed in my mouth, stuck to my tongue, died in my throat. I looked down at my hands – so small, so young, soweak.

I remembered the blood. I remembered being too late.

I stepped forward. Into the pain.

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