The crowd's cheers were ear-rupturing. The day they had waited for had finally arrived— the first round of the Tournament of Dawn.
Every seat was filled. Not a single space lay empty. People from every walk of life, every nation, every creed crowded together to witness the rise of the strongest new generation. This was the day when legends first began to take shape.
From the center stage, Zephyr Ceto stepped forward.
The arena exploded.
Shouts. Screams. His name hurled from tens of thousands of throats.
Zephyr grinned and raised a hand.
"I know you're all just as excited as I am for the first round of the tournament!" he called out. "We've got a few new faces and plenty of returning fighters. I hope they give you a show even better than the one four years ago. Now— enjoy."
The cheers rose again, a tidal wave of sound as the first battle approached.
The announcer's voice boomed across the city-wide arena.
"The wait is over! And our first matchup is a good one! Everyone, please welcome... the champion of the last Festival of Dawn— now finally stepping into the world with a name... Sorren Leos!"
The stadium erupted.
A tall, pale, almost skeletal figure stepped into the light. Wrapped in a long trench coat, Sorren Leos walked with the disinterest of a man who had already seen this outcome. His violet eyes were dull—glazed over, as if something far away occupied his mind more than anything in this world.
"And his opponent—our first new contestant of the year! Everyone give a warm welcome to... Jhenga Krown!"
Despite being unknown, the crowd welcomed him with the same thunderous love.
A fit man with soft pastel-blue hair strode into the arena. His musculature was carved from meticulous training, confidence radiating from every step. He eyed Sorren carefully— wary, but unshaken.
"You don't seem right in the head," Jhenga muttered, cracking his neck. "I'll make this quick."
Sorren gave no reply. Only the faintest twitch passed through his eye.
The announcer raised his hand.
"Three...! Two...! One...! Fight!"
Jhenga vanished.
In the same instant, he reappeared inches from Sorren—leg whipping toward the man's head. Sorren's arm morphed in a burst of flesh and bone, reshaping into a blade that caught the kick with effortless precision.
"Tch. You're quick," Jhenga hissed, disappearing again.
A storm of kicks followed, a blur of motion as he blitzed around Sorren from every direction. Each strike was blocked— parried— deflected— by that single mutating arm-blade.
And then, as suddenly as it started, the blitz ended.
Jhenga crashed down from above, leg descending like a guillotine. Sorren's arm rippled, shifting from blade to shield. The impact cratered the arena floor beneath them— but didn't budge Sorren an inch.
Jhenga flipped away, landing lightly and narrowing his eyes.
"Durable bastard..."
To his surprise, Sorren finally spoke.
"My turn."
His arm reformed— once again a razor-sharp blade.
Down in the arena, the fight had devolved into a wild hunt.
Sorren tore after Jhenga with manic glee, blade-arm cleaving through the air as a deranged smile stretched across his face. Jhenga stomped the ground, ripping a stone wall upward between them— only for it to be sliced into ribbons a heartbeat later.
Sorren lifted his left hand.
It writhed—mutated—shaping itself into a living cannon. Chi condensed in the chamber, humming violently, before he fired a sphere of raw energy. Jhenga barely rolled out of the way as it detonated behind him.
"What the hell kind of Aegis is that!?" he yelled, darting further across the battlefield.
This time, he stopped.
His chi surged— hard.
"Heavenly Cloud!"
The arena trembled as his power spiked. His skin darkened, veins bulging and pulsing as the forbidden technique roared through him. The Heavenly Cloud was a double-edged blade—unlocking reserves of chi the body was never meant to use... while tearing that same body apart.
His speed exploded.
In the next instant, Jhenga blitzed across the arena, slamming his heel into Sorren's face with enough force to send the pale man skidding across the tiles.
The crowd went feral—shouting, clawing the air, losing their minds at the sudden reversal.
Sorren pushed himself off the floor, head tilting.
And then—
He laughed.
A quiet, bubbling, broken sound that promised nothing good.