Raiden Alaric

  The arena halls were quieter out here.

  Not silent, just distant. The roar of the crowd still hummed behind the walls, muffled like thunder through heavy curtains. The marble floors were spotless, polished to a gleam, and the overhead lights gave everything that faint golden glow that made the whole place feel like it was too expensive to sneeze in.

  I walked with no real destination. I just strolled as I buttoned my shirt back up. Just a man out for some fresh air… and maybe a snack.

  The concession stand wasn’t hard to find, half the nobles inside probably didn’t even know it existed, hidden just past a row of gilded columns like a secret reserved for the common-folk and staff.

  The cashier looked up, “What can I get for you?”

  “Popcorn,” I said. “Extra butter.”

  He nodded. “Yes, sir—right away.”

  A few minutes later, I had a massive paper bag in hand, warm and buttered to oblivion.

  Perfect.

  I took a slow bite as I stepped back into the hallway, walking like I had all the time in the world.

  One bite.

  Two.

  Three.

  Then I felt it. The weight behind me. Not footsteps.

  Just… presence. That weird sixth sense you get when someone’s watching you for too long.

  I didn’t look back and just kept walking. Waited for it to get close enough. Then, without turning, I popped another piece into my mouth and said to myself:

  “Took you long enough, Herbert.”

  I didn’t stop walking and didn’t look back. Just kept moving with that same casual ease, one hand in my pocket, the other holding the bag like it was sacred treasure.

  But my ears were wide open. My senses, sharper now. Something was off. Not just the presence behind me, though that alone was enough to tighten my grip on the popcorn. No, this wasn’t just one follower. It was too… coordinated. Too neat.

  They kept a perfect distance. No scuffed steps. No stumbles. Just that feeling you get when the space around you is too symmetrical.

  So I started testing. I tilted the bag ever so slightly and let a few kernels drop behind me.

  Crunch.

  A half-second pause. Then a quiet, calculated step around them. Not clumsy. Not rushed. Just enough care to avoid noise. Staff wouldn’t do that.

  I turned a corner, wide and lazy, like I had no real goal, and glanced up at one of the curved golden light fixtures overhead. Not just decorative. The crystal in the center was polished like a mirror.

  There, one face too close. Eyes flicked away a second too late. Another turned their back like they just happened to be inspecting a potted plant near the wall.

  I dropped another piece of popcorn.

  Crunch.

  That one was farther back. Heavier boot. Not a noble’s walk.

  I turned my head slightly as I walked, adjusting my pace, not to get away, but to pull them in. Tighten the formation. Make them commit.

  And they did. Three distinct patterns now.

  One always dipped out of my sight when I adjusted.

  Another kept pretending to be a janitor, even had the mop and everything, but he never cleaned anything beyond where he stood. One never let his reflection stay in the same angle for more than a few seconds. Always dipped his head. Always turned just enough to blur the features.

  Smart. Too smart for just staff.

  Which means… I chewed slowly, glancing up again to catch the flicker of motion behind me in another mirrored panel.

  That’s why he was late.

  He was bribing and giving instructions. Since you're at an academy the variety of skills you could hire increases. Herbert hadn’t just shown up late to be dramatic. He’d been buying pieces and setting them in place.

  I let the corner of my mouth lift. It was almost flattering. He thought I was worth planning for.

  Alright, let’s test the limits.

  The hall opened up into a stretch lined with vendor displays, glassed-in cases showing off memorabilia from past tournaments. Old uniforms, weapon replicas, even shattered fragments of arena floor marked with names and years. The cases were angled just enough to reflect movement from across the walkway.

  I slowed.

  Tilted my head toward one display like I was admiring the plaque beneath it. But I wasn’t reading. I was watching.

  There… a reflection, just at the edge of the case. A shoulder turning too quickly. Another glance ducked just a beat too late.

  I stepped forward, then turned sharply like I’d changed my mind. The shape vanished behind a pillar before I could “see” it.

  I kept walking. Another corridor. Narrower. Less foot traffic.

  A pair of decorative archways flanked the center of the walkway, each built around vertical chimes that gently swayed above a central stone bench.

  Subtle wind aura made the chimes stir every time someone passed beneath.

  I stepped under one. No sound.

  But as I kept walking, I dropped another piece of popcorn, and didn’t hear it land. Someone caught it.

  Ah, smart move.

  Now I crossed through a slightly raised walkway, glass floors below and stone above, with two alcoves flanking either side. Most people didn’t notice the way sound bounced differently in here. I did.

  Chronos had taught me about sound bleeding, how someone’s movement could echo across hard surfaces if they didn’t compensate for their own weight.

  I walked ahead five more paces. Then I stopped. Suddenly. Not a dramatic turn. Just a clean halt.

  And there it was, the faintest whisper of a foot scuff on polished stone. Too quiet for the average person. But not me.

  I took a slow, deliberate breath through my nose and exhaled. Training my senses is paying off more and more by the day.

  Pressure.

  Tension.

  Intent.

  I’d been surrounded before. Crushed under that weight. I knew the signs. But this wasn’t a brawl waiting to happen. This was a wonderfully staged event. And I was walking the spotlight.

  This surprise birthday gift is gonna bring a tear to my eye.

  I took a step toward one of the alcoves. Another glass case, this one holding a gold-inlaid ceremonial gauntlet. The back of the display was mirrored.

  I leaned in as if admiring the craftsmanship. And caught the face behind me clear in the reflection.

  It wasn't staff, nor could it have been a noble. His face was too alert. Shoulders too set.

  His eyes snapped away the moment they met mine, through a reflection, no less.

  Which meant he was trained. But I wasn’t here to fight him. Not yet. Not until he made the first move.

  So I took another bite of popcorn. Then muttered, just loud enough for the hallway to hear: “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Herbert.”

  I didn’t turn around after the Herbert comment. Didn’t need to. Let them chew on it.

  I say that but they probably have no idea who I’m talking about.

  If they sped up, I’d hear it. If they backed off, I’d feel it. I just kept walking, slower now. A little more relaxed. Maybe even a little careless.

  Let them think I’m winding down.

  Then I spotted him.

  A dwarf. He was hunched over on a bench near a corridor junction, reddened face, heavy arms, full ceremonial outfit crumpled like he’d been peeled out of a wine barrel.

  My guy… did you pre-game before coming here?

  He looked up, bleary-eyed.

  “Ey... 's a fancy shirt y’got,” he slurred. “Think m’guts are tryin’ t’sue me.”

  I approached with an easy gait and crouched slightly.

  “You alright, old man?” I asked.

  “Eh, floor's movin’ too much. Either I’m drunk, or it is.” He let out a wet burp. “Might be both.”

  “I got you. Let’s get some air.”

  He groaned in dwarvish, something about his stomach declaring war, and I slid his arm over my shoulder. He was heavier than he looked, but that helped sell it.

  I started walking him toward the maintenance corridor off the main ring. It was built for staff to move equipment, so it stayed mostly empty. No foot traffic, no noble patrols. Just privacy.

  Behind me, the footsteps stayed faint and distant. They weren’t moving yet, but they would. Letting me take this corner. Waiting until I was nice and boxed in.

  Good.

  We reached the corridor, dimmer and narrower. The dwarf burped again and mumbled, “If I hurl, s’not my fault.”

  “Please don’t get it on my shoes,” I muttered, pushing the door open with my back and dragging him halfway through.

  Once inside, the hallway tightened. One light overhead flickered every few seconds, and the buzz of electrical wiring filled the air.

  I positioned him near a small drain grate beside a service door and patted him on the back. “There you go. Let it all out.”

  He gave a grateful grunt and leaned forward, dry-heaving into the corner with a performance worthy of an award. I stepped back slowly. Let the door fall half-shut behind me.

  I exhaled. Not from relief. From timing. I was alone now. The dwarf was occupied, facing the wall. And my shadows think I just isolated myself to help a drunk puke in a service hall.

  Which meant they’d follow me in. They had to. Because the only thing worse than missing their shot, was waiting too long to take it.

  I stood near the dwarf, who was still hunched over the drain, mumbling curses about nobles and fermented root liquor. The hallway buzzed with ambient noise, dim lights flickering slightly, just enough to keep the edges in shadow.

  Then as the scrolls foretold. A soft click echoed behind me, the door opening just wide enough to let the pressure crawl in.

  Footsteps followed. Three at first. No… four.

  They didn’t storm in. They didn’t bark threats. They dripped into the corridor like oil, quiet, calculated, unshakable.

  The first two looked like official attendants, pressed uniforms, matching tunics, those slim utility belts with just enough function to blend in. The kind of people who held doors open and bowed at the right angles.

  But something was off. Their posture was too rigid. Their eyes flicked too often toward the exits. And their hands? Always loose. Always ready.

  Their hands are the dead giveaway. Loose yet slightly trembling. No clipboards. No comms. No reason to be there.

  One of them had already reached back to quietly slide the lock on the door. It was clear they weren’t going to be participating. They were plugs in the dam. Leaks being sealed with bribes and panic. They were nervous. Trying hard not to show it.

  One stayed planted near the door like a hinge. The second walked forward, arms crossed, stopping a few paces from me. He looked like a man halfway between bored and burdened, like he’d rather be anywhere else, but this was still part of the job.

  At the price of $100 - $200.

  “You’re really making this harder than it needs to be,” he said.

  I didn’t answer. Not yet.

  He kept going. “This isn’t about you, Alaric. It’s about knowing your place.”

  There it was. That tired, recycled tone like I was supposed to melt under the weight of his vague authority.

  “Let me guess,” I said, still watching the dwarf dry-heave in the corner. “You’re here to offer me wisdom and maybe break a leg?”

  His jaw tensed. “You think this is a joke?”

  “Yes. Honestly I’m starting to get impatient. Where’s the rest?”

  He took a step forward. That’s when I finally turned to face him, slow and deliberate. Eyes locked. Not a flicker of fear, just casual boredom.

  Then the third stepped in. Then the fourth. Tight formation. Deliberate spacing. They weren’t here to threaten. They were here to surround.

  Aww just like they’d rehearsed.

  Then more arrived.

  A broad-shouldered dwarf in polished leathers, his beard threaded with rings, cracked his knuckles as he stepped in like he was already bored of waiting for the fight to start. His stance screamed brawler, low center of gravity, fists like hammers.

  Behind him came a pair of high elves, both wearing dark tailored combat jackets, not ceremonial robes. One had short-cropped silver hair and a subtle limp. The other wore a smirk like he thought he’d already won. They moved with that duelist’s swagger, the kind born from elite training and no real consequences.

  Last came a beastkin, tall and lean, with mottled grey fur and a long, slow gait. His wolf-like ears twitched at every sound, and his golden eyes locked on me with cold, wordless calculation. He said nothing. Just stood to the side, breathing in the tension.

  Six now.

  I have to say though, I am impressed. A diverse ensemble of borrowed power and bought pride. I honestly expected only elves and then sprinkling in some humans.

  Then came the real shift. Another presence entered, louder steps, but no urgency. Just ownership. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

  Herbert.

  He passed through them like they weren’t even there, his little chess pieces waiting for someone to move them. He stopped just a few feet from me, arms folded behind his back, eyes smug beneath that polished smile.

  “I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” he said, tone dripping with false sympathy. “Truly. But I suppose we all reap what we sow.”

  I tilted my head. “You brought six hired hands to escort a drunk dwarf to the bathroom?”

  He ignored it. “You’ve made your point, Raiden. Loud. Clever. But this path you’re on... it’s not yours to walk.”

  “Should I pretend to know what you’re yapping about? You are making it sound too ambitious.”

  He stepped forward half a pace. “You think you're protecting her. That you're giving her freedom. But you’ve only pulled her into a storm she doesn't deserve. And deep down? You know it.”

  His smile faded just enough to show what was underneath. “She’s not yours to keep.”

  I let that sit. Hung in the air like wet rope. Then I reached into the popcorn bag. Popped a single kernel into my mouth. Slowly chewing, then after swallowing I just wave my hand at him.

  “So this is the part where you say something about your family name or who is backing you right? Followed by threats and sweet nothings about how you’ll compensate me for the trouble?”

  Herbert’s smile thinned. “You need to give her up.”

  “Give her up,” I echoed. “Did she tell you that?”

  His jaw clenched.

  “No? Huh.”

  I stepped forward, just enough to let him feel the line being crossed.

  “Funny how you keep talking about what she deserves, what she needs… but I haven’t heard you actually ask her once.”

  His hands tensed behind his back, but I didn’t stop.

  “If you want to settle this here I don’t mind. But if you think I’ll walk away because you brought backup and a practiced speech... then you really don’t know me at all.”

  I started to move around him, then paused.

  “By the way,” I added without looking back, “if you’re going to send people after me... don’t send the ones who flinch at popcorn.”

  I looked around, really looked.

  The dwarf cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, clearly eager.

  The elves had already begun to spread, slow and quiet, like a pair of blades looking for openings.

  The beastkin stood motionless, but that was the worst part. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t blink. Just watched. Waiting.

  I let out a soft breath. I walked over to the nearest wall and gently, very gently, set the popcorn bag down on a storage crate.

  “Don’t touch that,” I said to no one in particular. “That’s my snack.”

  Shit cost me $10. These prices are outrageous.

  Then I reached up and began to undo the top few buttons of my shirt.

  “You know,” I muttered, “this isn’t even my shirt.”

  My voice carried just enough. I shrugged off the outer layer, folding it over my arm like I was doing laundry and not preparing for violence.

  “So if this gets ripped? You’re paying for it.”

  The dwarf scoffed. One of the elves smirked. Herbert said nothing, but I could feel the way his smugness twitched, like he wasn’t sure if this was confidence or madness. Probably both.

  I finally let my eyes sweep the room.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. I counted them again. Including Herbert? Seven.

  My heart thudded once, hard, and suddenly the stillness around me sharpened. The air tasted electric. The way it always did before something real began.

  My pulse picked up. Faster. Hotter. But not out of fear, it was excitement. Because I hadn’t had a fight this uneven in a long time. Every part of me had been waiting for this.

  I took one more breath in, slow and deep, and let a grin spread, not wide, just... honest.

  I almost said it. Almost looked at Herbert and told him: “I appreciate this, really.”

  But I didn’t. Didn’t want to ruin the moment.

  So instead I just turned, rolled my shoulders once, and said, “Well then.”

  I tapped the floor twice with the side of my foot, loosening my stance. “Let’s see if you bought enough bodies.”

  I didn’t wait. Didn’t give them the courtesy of a signal. Because fights like this… You don’t ask for permission. You set the tone. And I did by moving first. Fast.

  My eyes had already marked him: the wolf beastkin. He was tall, his footing was balanced, his tail was also still. His breathing hadn’t shifted once since walking in, which meant he had the best control. Likely the most experience as well.

  If anyone here was going to be a problem, it was him. So I sprinted forward and went for the problem first. I usually like to keep the best for last, but I need everyone to realize I’m not going to just sit and take it.

  His eyes widened, just barely, before I closed the gap in two clean steps and drove a sharp elbow straight toward his midsection.

  He blocked, instinctively. Which told me enough. He wasn’t surprised I attacked. He was surprised how fast I was.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  I could be faster if I didn’t have these fucking Anchors on.

  The impact rang out through the narrow corridor, my elbow connecting with his forearm with a meaty crack, but I wasn’t done. I twisted mid-motion, using the momentum to snap a knee up toward his ribs. He turned, just in time to absorb it… but I felt the stagger.

  Good.

  As I backed off to reset, the rest finally reacted. One of the elves cursed and lunged. I spun to keep the beastkin between me and the others just long enough to steal a breath.

  Only two of them were wearing binds.

  I caught it earlier, tucked under their sleeves, those obsidian rings etched with suppression sigils.

  The dwarf wasn’t wearing one. Neither was the other elf. Which meant I couldn’t assume they were unawakened.

  Smart play, Herbert.

  He brought a mixed set, some with Aura suppressed to seem weaker. Others who could go all out. Not that they could, but there’s really nothing that could stop them from subtly sneaking in some power into their limbs. If they were talented enough to do so.

  That just meant I had to keep a close eye on them. If I’m lucky they are only Green Rank.

  I planted my feet again, keeping low. Let them surround me. Let them think I hadn’t planned for this. But I already knew their tells. Their spacing. Their hesitation.

  Now it was time to take someone out of the game.

  They came at me all at once. No hesitation now.

  The beastkin lunged again. He came at me like a blade, just as his claws raked through the air where my head had been a second earlier. I shall now call you, Gavren.

  I ducked, barely, only to catch a jab to my ribs from the elf on my left sharp, precise, aimed to break flow not cause damage. Your name is Tirien.

  Then the dwarf, I’ll call him Korrig, roared and came in swinging a heavy fist wrapped in calloused knuckles, his center of gravity low, footwork unrefined but powerful.

  I spun, blocked, stepped, twisted. A flurry of elbows, knees, half-formed counters. I was barely keeping up.

  One of the fake staff stepped in, Marlo. I remembered him from earlier. His stance was too clean to be just staff. His build is more along the lines of a bouncer.

  I parried his strike and slammed an elbow into his throat. He staggered, which was good, but not enough to get him out.

  You’re name is… Jannik, the second elf, feinted right, then ducked low. I felt his heel smash into the back of my calf and I dropped hard, right into Korrig’s hook.

  The hit rattled my skull. My vision danced. I rolled. Heard a grunt. Someone cursed. Tirien’s voice.

  I twisted onto my back, kicked up, and drove both feet into Marlo’s chest. He hit the wall with a wheeze and slumped.

  One down.

  My heart pounded in my ears now. Sweat blurred my sight. My breath came in sharp bursts. I was blocking. Dodging. Countering. But they were trained. These people are no amateurs, this was a coordinated strike, and I was slipping.

  Blows started landing. A strike to my shoulder, Korrig. A boot to my back, Tirien. A clawed rake across my ribs, Gavren. I grunted and staggered, teeth gritted. Pain lanced through my chest. Blood warmed my side.

  And still… Still I kept moving.

  I can’t stop, not yet…

  Every hit lit a spark. Every stagger dragged me deeper into that pulse-pounding rhythm I craved. I wanted more. But wanting wasn’t enough. I needed to turn the tide.

  The rhythm was starting to break. Not theirs, but mine. Every movement felt heavier now. Every block rattled. Every breath scraped through my chest like gravel.

  Then I saw it.

  Korrig drew a short axe from beneath his coat, rough steel, single edge, clearly enchanted at one point, now chipped from use.

  Tirien followed, sliding a slender blade from his hip, not a dueling weapon. An actual blade. Which could only mean one thing. They were escalating.

  So this is how badly Herbert wants me gone.

  I raised my arms just in time to catch the flat of Jannik’s heel across my forearm, but the angle still forced me to stumble back.

  That’s when Gavren moved. He didn’t slash. He grabbed. One heavy clawed hand caught my arm, the other slammed into my side and lifted me, slammed me into the nearest wall like I weighed nothing.

  Air fled my lungs. Pain flared bright and immediate across my ribs. The popcorn bag spilled somewhere behind me, forgotten.

  NOOOOOOOOO! NOT MY OVERPRICED AND OVER-BUTTERED POPCORN!!

  There was no time for grieving. I barely twisted in time to avoid the axe as Korrig brought it down. It kissed the wall just beside my head with a violent crunch.

  Tirien came in next, blade aimed low, fast, heart-line sharp. I kicked out, sloppy but fast, and caught his shin, just enough to break the rhythm.

  I rolled forward, breath wheezing, barely on my feet before another hit came. This one landed clean. A punch across the jaw. Don’t even know who threw it. The world tilted. My legs buckled. My shoulder caught the wall again, and this time I felt something twist wrong in my knee. I grunted. Bit down a scream. There was blood in my mouth now.

  Ribs, maybe cracked. My vision doubled. They noticed me faltering and circled. Weapons drawn and ready.

  My own heart felt like it was trying to break out of my chest—but I was still standing. Still moving. Still here. I dragged the back of my hand across my mouth. Felt the wet.

  They brought weapons right? So then that means…

  I didn’t have to hold back either. But I was slipping.

  Every strike took more out of me. Every breath came with fire. And the worst part? I could feel it.

  The edge of something. The cusp of my revelation. It was there, just out of reach, but no matter how hard I fought, how much pain I bled into the floor…

  It wouldn’t come.

  Why?!

  I sidestepped a blade, barely. Parried a strike, but left myself open to a punch that landed deep in my ribs. I gasped. My vision blurred. My legs trembled.

  And all I could think was—

  Why am I so slow?

  Why am I still dragging?

  And then I felt them again. The Anchors.

  Around my wrists. The dense pressure. The limiters I’d worn for years, weights I’d trained with, slept with, lived with. Everyone thought they were training tools. They were beginning to feel like shackles. Holding me back.

  Chronos drove home the idea that I needed them. That they’d make me stronger over time. But all they’d done was hold me down.

  I could feel the pressure tightening as my movement slowed, like I was swimming inside my own body, every motion delayed, every thought dragging chains behind it.

  I’m tired of dragging this dead weight.

  Another strike slammed into my side. I barely reacted.

  I’m tired of being the one behind.

  A blade grazed my shoulder. I didn’t even blink.

  I’m tired of carrying all of this and getting nothing back!

  I didn’t scream aloud.

  But inside? I roared. Fury crashed into fatigue, into failure, into frustration, spiraling—

  CRUNCH.

  The sound split the air like a bone snapping through silence.

  I flinched, confused by the sound I just heard.

  What the hell was that?

  It didn’t come from them. I looked down.

  My arms.

  My wrists.

  Bare.

  I blinked, not fully registering it. My mind stuttered, trying to catch up. Then I saw them. The Anchors. Both lying on the ground, motionless, unshackled, like they’d just… fallen off. The tile beneath them had cracked, spiderweb patterns radiating out from where they’d landed.

  The air held its breath. The room froze. Even the ones mid-strike paused, stunned.

  Gasps fluttered through the corridor. Eyes darted to the broken floor. To me. Back to the weights. Back to me again.

  I stared at my hands, my free hands, like I was seeing them for the first time. The skin looked… strange. Like it belonged to someone else. Lighter than I remembered. Unburdened.

  I turned my palms over slowly. Flexed my fingers. Still unsure if they were really mine. Like my body hadn’t caught up to the reality yet. Like a prisoner suddenly standing outside his cell, wondering when the door opened.

  "Was he wearing those the whole time...?" someone muttered.

  “I thought those were just for the aesthetic…”

  “They were real?” Another voice.

  I didn’t answer them. I couldn’t. Because I wasn’t even breathing. I was standing inside a moment so quiet it felt like I’d left the world.

  Then, slowly, the corner of my mouth twitched. My shoulders dropped, relaxed for the first time in weeks.

  And I laughed. Quiet at first, like air escaping a cracked dam.

  Then harder.

  Louder.

  Unrestrained.

  Manic.

  Free.

  The kind of laugh you give when you realize the chains weren’t locked, that they were just waiting for you to stop believing in them. Someone lunged, panic or impulse, I didn’t know. Didn’t care. I moved. No—I flew.

  My body slipped sideways like a breeze had caught it. My feet kissed the tile once, twice. Their strike missed by feet, not inches.

  I turned before they even landed. Twisted. Flicked my wrist, and punched. My fist collided with their chest. The sound was like a hammer smashing into a drumhead.

  They flew, lifted clean off the ground and slammed into the far wall with a sickening thud.

  I blinked.

  Stared at my hands again. My body hummed. Not with power. With clarity. My limbs were air. My thoughts were razor-sharp. Every twitch, every stagger, every breath around me slowed to half-speed. And for the first time since this fight began… I wasn’t catching up. I was already ahead. And I could do more.

  So much more~

  The silence cracked like ice beneath my feet. Everyone in the hallway had stopped for a second too long, just long enough to feel it. The weight that had been dragging me down was gone.

  And I could move. Celestial’s wings, I could move.

  Korrig charged first, axe raised, face twisted in that stubborn, dwarven fury like he was going to end me in one swing.

  I stepped toward him. Not back. Toward. His swing came down like a guillotine. I wasn’t there. I was already at his side, too fast, too smooth. My elbow cracked across his temple with a clean, brutal snap of motion, he dropped, unconscious before his body hit the floor.

  The axe clattered beside him.I didn’t stop. Tirien blinked. He actually blinked like he’d missed a frame in reality. He slashed high, too slow. I ducked low, grabbed his arm, twisted, and drove my knee into his ribs, once, twice, three times until he crumpled with a strangled gasp.

  I pivoted to the sound of footsteps behind me. Gavren. Still the most dangerous one here. Still watching. But now I was ready for him.

  He lunged with a clawed swipe, fast, controlled, feral. I let the motion carry me back, sliding along the floor and then springing upward into a spinning hook kick that caught him across the jaw.

  He staggered.

  I followed up with a straight punch to his gut, it landed deep, and before he could recover, I swept his legs out from under him and sent him crashing to the floor. My hand landed on his face as I slammed his head down with more force.

  Three down.

  Jannik made a sound, half shout, half curse, and tried to run in from the side. I didn’t even look. I heard him. The rush of air, the shift of his weight.

  I spun, caught his wrist mid-swing, and flipped him over my shoulder with more strength than I thought I had. He slammed to the ground and didn’t get back up.

  Four down.

  Marlo, the one I’d stunned earlier, tried to crawl away. My heart was steady and my breathing smooth. Every motion felt perfect. Like I’d finally pulled the weights off my soul and stepped into the version of myself I was meant to be.

  Meanwhile Herbert was still standing there. Watching it all. Jaw tight. Eyes narrow.

  I smiled at him. Didn’t say a word. Just stood there. Waiting. I stood in the aftermath of the first wave.

  Cracked tile beneath my feet. Bodies groaning, unmoving, or wisely staying down. My chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, calm, measured. My body hummed with clarity, every nerve sharp, every breath smooth. And still, Herbert didn’t move. Not yet.

  His lips curved again, that smug little twitch that meant he’d been holding something back. Of course he had.

  “You know,” he said softly, almost conversational, “I did wonder if the first group would be enough.”

  Yes… give me… more!

  He lifted two fingers and snapped. Footsteps echoed from the corridor behind him.

  Six new figures emerged. Moving as one. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just pure presence. This time it actually was all elves. I guess he gave up on subtly.

  And in front of them was a familiar face. Nico.

  The same guy from that rooftop drop-in during the not-quite-date with Ella. Sleek dark hair, lean muscle, cheshire cat grin, and eyes that held the kind of sharpness that made you feel like he’d already read the ending of your story.

  He walked in slow, casual. Hands in his pockets. Like this wasn’t a trap, it was a favor.

  “Remember,” Herbert said, his voice cold and commanding, “no Aura. Not a drop. Keep it clean.”

  A few of them nodded. One of the others hesitated for a heartbeat too long before schooling their posture. Nico didn’t acknowledge the order at all. He just kept walking, gaze lazily drifting across the broken floor and battered bodies… until it landed on me.

  He smiled. Not cruel. Not smug. Just… interested. Like this was the part of the story he’d been waiting for.

  I’ve also been waiting for this~

  The others spread out behind him. Six in total. All unbound. All deadly. And not one of them needed their Aura. Or so they think.

  Herbert stepped aside like a proud little conductor.

  “These ones won’t underestimate you,” he said. “They’ve been briefed.”

  I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t need to. Because I could feel it in my bones, this was the real fight.

  I rolled my shoulders once, testing the new weightlessness in my limbs, the way the blood moved faster now, like it knew what was coming.

  Then I smiled back at Nico. “Good,” I said. “I was just getting warmed up.”

  From behind Herbert’s smug little formation, Nico stepped forward.

  “Well,” he said, voice as smooth as ever, “I tried to warn you. But I guess listening isn’t your strong suit?”

  My grin twitched.

  “You know,” I said, “I was wondering when they were going to pull you out of the broom closet.”

  Nico chuckled, like this was all a game. “I’m only here when necessary, also you look like shit.” he said, tilting his head as his eyes scanned the bruises and blood. “Little roughed up. A lot louder than last time.”

  “And you look the same,” I said. “Like a Tom Ford ad that came to life and got bored.”

  The other six were still spreading out behind him, forming a half-circle. But Nico didn’t posture. Didn’t rush. He just gave a casual, almost lazy roll of his shoulders, and the pressure hit.

  It was thick and subtle. Like gravity wrapped in silk. Not overwhelming, but deep, like standing too close to a thunderhead.

  “You ready to dance?” he asked, arms still crossed like he hadn’t just dropped the temperature in the room.

  I stared back at him, pulse steady.

  “I was born with rhythm,” I said. “Let’s see if you’ve got the steps.”

  My body was already in motion before the first blow landed. Nico stayed still, he’s clearly the last resort. The others moved first. They weren’t untrained nor did they carry themselves in a way that said they were fodder. These were real fighters. Skyhaven members I bet.

  The first to strike was a tall high elf with hair tied back in a silver knot. His technique was flawless, tight footwork, low feints, precise hand speed.

  I ducked his hook, twisted under a second strike, and landed a palm against his ribs. The contact was light, but he stumbled, caught off-guard by how fast I’d pivoted from defense to aggression.

  Another closed in, a human this time, shorter but solid, with boxing footwork and explosive bursts. He threw a three-strike combo, and I caught two on my forearms. The third cracked my jaw.

  My head snapped. Pain flared. My feet adjusted instantly and I grinned.

  I could still move. Faster now. Cleaner. Lighter.

  No more anchors~

  The others collapsed in, striking in unison, trying to overwhelm me. And they almost did.

  My breath came faster. I took a kick to the thigh. A punch to the ribs. Blood sprayed from my lip.

  I didn’t slow. My body burned and my heart thundered. Like it was dragging something up from the depths.

  Something big. Something true.

  My laughter slipped out, cracked and breathless at first, then louder. I ducked a spinning heel, caught a wrist, and snapped it before its owner could blink.

  They fell back. I surged forward. Every step felt cleaner now. No drag. No weight. No lies.

  The seal pulsed.

  I felt it—slamming shut like a prison door.

  You’re not ready. You’re not enough. You can’t break it.

  But I grabbed it anyway. Clawed into the tension. Pulled. It screamed across my nerves like white fire, but I didn’t let go. I couldn’t let go.

  Another blow struck me, this one across the ribs. I didn’t fall. I just laughed harder.

  “C’mon,” I growled, voice ragged and electric. “You’re all so damn strong—make me better.”

  I weaved through a strike from Nico now, he was testing me, faint steps and flashes of movement, not committing.

  Smart.

  He knew I was building towards something. And he was waiting to see what would happen when I finally hit it.

  So I gave him a show.

  I dropped low beneath a spear thrust, slid forward, and crushed my elbow into the knee of a high elf girl coming in at my flank. It cracked. She screamed. I kept spinning, rolled over my shoulder, kicked off the wall, and punched the floor to launch myself into the next opponent.

  Every hit was a step. Every breath was a scream.

  The revelation was close, I could feel it, but the seal fought like a beast in chains.

  I stumbled for half a second. My vision flickered.

  The pain isn’t enough. The struggle isn’t enough.

  I needed more. More pressure. More risk. More fight.

  Nico stepped in now, serious. His grin was gone.

  He didn’t flare his Aura, he wasn’t allowed to. But he didn’t need it. He darted forward with a speed that made the others look like statues. His strike came from above, clean and devastating.

  I crossed my arms to block—

  BOOM.

  It knocked me flat. Cracked tiles shattering beneath me. Blood in my throat. Chest heaving. The seal slammed down again, harder.

  “Stay down,” someone muttered.

  I coughed. Laughed again.

  Then whispered through clenched teeth, “No.”

  I shakily stood, my smile still wide on my face.“You haven’t even seen what I’m really like yet.”

  Then Nico moved again. His footwork, tight, efficient, reactive. Every strike had precision, flow, intention. And something else.

  Familiarity.

  My eyes tracked him. His shifting guard. His anchor foot. His weight transfer.

  It hit me.

  Delvan Aren.

  When I fought Delvan, his movements had felt foreign, like a language I’d never heard but somehow understood pieces of. This was the same dialect. It’s a shame I didn’t get to fight him long, but now I have a new toy.

  Nico’s version was different, sharper, refined, more offensive, but the bones were the same.

  Same lineage. Same core philosophy.

  My lips parted slightly. And then I adapted.

  I slipped under one strike. Counter-pivoted the second. Tried to trap his arm on the third, but missed the rhythm. His elbow caught my ribs. Hard.

  I stumbled, gasping, but my hands moved again.

  Another exchange. I dodged. Deflected. Absorbed. I was starting to understand. His movements weren’t just attacks. They were equations. And I was solving them in real time. Every clash fed me. Every pattern sank into my bones.

  I could feel it building. The knowledge. The replication. The consumption. The seal inside me trembled again, resisting, fighting back. But I was learning too fast. And I wasn’t going to stop.

  Another fist grazed my cheek. I didn’t dodge fast enough. Didn’t matter. The sting felt real, anchoring. My feet slid across the tile as I twisted with the force, using the momentum to redirect the next attacker’s spear.

  My breathing was ragged. My chest screamed. But my eyes were sharp. My mind was spinning, fast and wild, but not losing control.

  I was circling something. A thought. No, a truth.

  Why am I doing this?

  Why did I want to awaken so badly? Not for protection. Not for honor. Not even for vengeance.

  I ducked beneath a blade and kicked its wielder in the gut, hard enough to fold them.

  Still not it. Still not enough.

  I felt the seal trying to pull me down again, slamming chains across my chest—not yet, not ready, not yours.

  “Shut up,” I muttered to no one. Or maybe to myself.

  “Strength isn’t... it’s not something you reach…”

  THUMP.

  Another strike. I twisted under it. A second came, I caught the arm and dislocated it in one clean jerk.

  I was breathing harder now. Laughing again. Talking through blood and adrenaline and clarity.

  “It’s not... not a destination.”

  THUMP.

  I punched a beastkin square in the throat. They dropped while gasping for air.

  My eyes locked onto Nico, still watching. Still waiting. Still not moving. Until he did.

  He stepped forward, not fast, not urgent. Just… precise. A moment later, he was in the middle of the fray. A blur between attackers. He didn’t yell. Didn’t draw attention. But he moved straight toward me.

  And I could tell, it wasn’t to win. It was to interrupt.

  He weaved between his own teammates and cut me off mid-motion, throwing a quick combination, tight jabs, short hooks. I blocked two, dodged the third, but stumbled on the fourth, my stance slipping out of rhythm.

  My chest heaved harder. My thoughts, scattered for a second too long. He wasn’t hitting hard. He was hitting deliberately.

  My seal trembled again, like it was both trying to crack open and being forced shut at the same time.

  He was throwing off my focus.

  “It's a horizon, isn’t it?” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else.

  THUMP.

  Two more rushed me. I twisted between them, one blade grazing my ribs. Didn’t care.

  “Strength is... something you chase.”

  THUMP.

  Another hit. Another distraction. Nico circled, always just outside my reach. Keeping me moving. Keeping me reacting.

  “Forever… challenge it.”

  THUMP.

  Why do I want it? Why do I keep standing back up?

  My feet planted. My eyes opened wide. And for a second, I saw it.

  The phrase, not spoken to me. But from me.

  From the deepest part of me, forged in every moment I stood back up, every time I picked a fight I couldn’t win, every time I smiled through broken teeth.

  “Forever... challenge the unyielding sky,” I said aloud.

  THUMP.

  The seal shook. I felt it crack. My body lit up like lightning ran through my bones. And I froze. Completely still.

  Surrounded. Bleeding. Exhausted. And grinning like I’d just found the cheat code to existence.

  Then I laughed.

  Loud.

  Unhinged.

  Free.

  I tilted my head to the sky above the arena ceiling, eyes wide, voice shaking with exhilaration.

  “I get it…”

  I whispered it first, barely louder than my breath. My hands trembled, not from fear, but from charge, like my blood had turned into static. My fingers twitched open and closed like they weren’t used to the weightlessness.

  “I finally get it…”

  I laughed, short, shaky, a stuttering crack in my chest. My knees buckled for half a second and I dropped to a crouch, one hand bracing on the ground as the world tilted around me. The floor pulsed beneath my palm, like something under the surface was waking up with me.

  “I can do it…”

  I rose again, slow and deliberate. My eyes wide, wild. Shoulders back. My pulse was pounding so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. I opened my arms out at my sides like I was welcoming a storm, daring it to come.

  “I can Awaken.”

  The words left my mouth like a declaration, not a realization. Like I wasn’t asking for permission, I was stating a fact that the universe would now have to catch up to. I began to speak it. My revelation.

  “I—”

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