The Irish leader wildly swung his hammer in a wild, devastating arc aimed straight for James's smug face. James didn't move. He didn't even bother activating his ability or the Circle of Pillars.

Instead, he simply sidestepped with a mischievous smirk on his lips. The hammer crashed into the stone wall behind him, shattering rock that hurled towards the five unconscious members.

"You missed, you blind bastard," James sneered, arrogantly. "What, can't hit a stationary target? Must be all that Guinness rotting your brain, you alcoholic ape."

The leader pulled his hammer free, but before he could retort, James lunged. Not with finesse, but with raw, overwhelming brutality. He grabbed the nearest Irish Adventurer, the wind woman, still clutching her dislocated shoulder, by the throat.

Her eyes widened in terror as James lifted her one-handed, her feet dangling off the ground. She gasped, trying to summon a gust, but James squeezed, crushing her windpipe with a guttural crack.

Blood dripped from her mouth as he hurled her body like a rag doll into the wall, her skull splitting open on impact.

The other Irish froze for a split second, horror embedded on their faces. "You monster!" the telekinetic shouted, flinging a wave of force at James. Chunks of stone and debris hurtled toward him, amplified by sadness.

James laughed, batting aside a flying boulder with his bare forearm as if it were a feather. The impact didn't even bruise him. He charged through the barrage, grabbing the telekinetic by the front of his shirt.

The man yelped, trying to push James away with invisible force, but James headbutted him square in the face. Bone crunched, blood exploding from the telekinetic's nose and mouth.

James didn't stop; he drove his knee into the man's gut, rupturing organs, then slammed him down onto the floor. The telekinetic's spine snapped audibly, his body twitching once before going still.

"Pathetic," James muttered, wiping blood from his forehead. "Next."

The fire-wielder, his thigh still bleeding from Nova's earlier strike, ignited his hands and charged. Flames came to life, engulfing his fists as he swung wildly. James caught one flaming punch mid-air, the fire searing his skin but leaving no mark.

He twisted the man's arm until it popped from the socket, eliciting a scream that bounced off the walls. With his free hand, James punched through the fire-wielder's chest, fingers piercing flesh and cracking ribs like dry twigs.

He yanked out a handful of bloody viscera, the man's heart still beating faintly in his grasp. The fire-wielder gurgled, flames dying as James crushed the organ and let the body drop.

The vine-user, hobbling on his injured knee, summoned thorny tendrils from the ground, whipping them toward James in a desperate frenzy. They lashed across his arms and torso, drawing shallow scratches that healed almost instantly.

James's evolved body regenerating faster than the damage could set in. He stomped forward, ignoring the thorns that tore at his clothes, and seized the vine-user by the hair.

"Useless green-thumbed git," James growled, smashing the man's face into the stone floor repeatedly. "Do better next time, bitch." Blood sprayed on the ground with each smash, until the face caved in, with the brain mixing with the blood to make a gruesome pot of stew.

The melee fighters, one with a sword and the other nursing a shoulder wound, rushed in tandem. The sword-wielder slashed at James's neck, but James parried it bare-handed, the edge biting into his palm but not deep enough to matter.

He ripped the sword free, snapping the man's wrist in the process, then drove the hilt into his eye socket. The fighter howled, staggering back, as James turned to the other. This one came at him with fists, enhanced strength making his punches like sledgehammers.

James took one to the jaw; his head snapped back, but he grinned through the pain. "That's all you got, you muscle-bound muppet?" He countered with an uppercut that lifted the man off his feet, jaw shattering into fragments.

As the fighter fell, James stomped on his throat, crushing the windpipe and leaving him to choke on his own blood until death.

The lightning user, barely conscious from Nova's earlier assault, tried to rise and fire a weak bolt. It crackled harmlessly against James's chest, more spark than strike.

James strode over, grabbing the man by the ankles and swinging him like a club into the nearest wall. Bones broke on impact, the body going limp mid-swing. James dropped the corpse, kicking it aside like trash.

The healer, wide-eyed and trembling, backed away. His hands glowed with restorative energy, but fear paralyzed him. "Please... mercy..." he whimpered, crying.

James tilted his head, a demonic grin embedding his face, then said maliciously: "Mercy? For a fucking coward like you? You lot started this mess, thinking you could play with the big boys."

He grabbed the healer by the collar, lifting him effortlessly. The man cried, trying to channel healing into James as if to appease him, but James punched through his abdomen, fingers emerging from the other side coated in blood.

The healer gasped, his life fading as James twisted his hand, shredding the internal organs. He tossed the body aside, watching it bleed out slowly, the healer's own ability failing him in the end.

Throughout the slaughter, the leader watched in stunned horror, his hammer trembling in his grip. His team, his brothers and sisters in arms, lay broken and dead around him, their blood pooling into a brilliantly handmade stew of organs and blood, with the added seasoning of brains.

James hadn't used a single ability; just brute strength, speed, and sadistic efficiency. James Mahe turned to the Irish leader now, cracking his knuckles, his clothes torn and bloodied, but his body unscathed.

"You... you spared me?" The leader's voice broke, rage and confusion deafening his mind. "Why?"

James chuckled darkly, stepping closer, which turned into a sad, sadistic laughter, which seemed to have vibrated through the dungeon, with all the other teams hearing it. "Spared? Nah, not out of kindness, you thick-headed twat." He said, his earlier grin turned into a fierce void of madness, completely serious to the point of no return. "I want you to live with this. Go back to your rainy little island and tell everyone what happens when you fuck with the Americans." He smiled again, easing himself. "You're the message, you worthless survivor. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind and turn you into paste."

The leader hesitated, glancing at the unconscious Americans, Nova twitching in some fevered dream, the others still and battered. Hatred burned in his eyes, but survival won out. He backed away, hammer dragging on the ground, before turning and fleeing deeper into the labyrinth, where he was eventually teleported outside the labyrinth into the real world.

James surveyed the carnage, his expression one of mild annoyance rather than triumph. Bodies littered the ground. He nudged Michael's form with his boot, confirming the S-rank was out cold but alive.

"What a mess," he muttered. "All this for some stupid tournament."

Back in the real world, screens across the globe flickered with the live feed. Gasps and murmurs rippled through crowds as the brutality unfolded.

In Ireland, screams of outrage filled pubs and homes; in America, a mix of shock and reluctant cheers for their guild's dominance. Commentators stumbled over words, the violence too raw for narration.

Then, a voice echoed from the tournament's ethereal announcers, resonating in every viewing portal and stadium: "The Irish team has been eliminated."

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