The day burned on.
After Jay's match, the air in the arena never quite returned to normal. There was tension in every breath, silence between every match, and unease behind every cheer. Even the sun seemed to dim slightly, like it, too, had witnessed something beyond reason.
The tournament continued, but it wasn't the same.
One by one, names were called.
Fighters came and went—some limped away, others didn't get the chance.
And I watched it all.
From my seat high in the stands, beneath the cool mask hiding the storm within me, I observed, memorized, and measured. Each fighter was different. Each aura, unique. And I could feel them more than ever now.
Maybe Elivyne's vision awakened something in me.
The next match:"Dai of the Iron Fangs" vs. "Helra the Thorn Queen."
Dai was built like a wall, wielding twin axes crackling with lightning. Helra danced with poison-tipped vines, her elegance hiding fatal intent.
They clashed like thunder and storm—brute strength against nature's wrath.
But in the end, Helra made one wrong move.
Dai roared, "Steel bends for no one!"—and split the ground beneath her feet.
Victory to Dai.
Then came Rin Talvas, a blind swordsman who used echolocation with clicks of his tongue, dancing through battle like wind.
His opponent, Kavix the Flame Scribe, was a mage whose fire was calligraphy, each spell a letter, every flame a sentence.
They dueled in elegance—fire and steel whispering like poetry.
But when the final bell rang, Rin stood above the ashes.
Another match:Loka the Chain Priest vs. Mira Vale, the Screaming Star.
He summoned chains from the ground, the sky, even shadows. She sang—a song that summoned meteorites. Their battle was deafening, spectacular. Stars fell, but the chains caught them all.
Loka knelt after the match, hands bleeding, whispering, "Forgive me, Father. I fought without mercy again."
As I watched them, my hand drifted to the mask on my face.
So many of them had stories etched into their scars. Reasons to fight. And here I was—caught between lies, bloodlines, and the question of who I even am.
A voice echoed in my mind.
"You're a Crimson. A demon. A mixbreed. You're something the world isn't ready for."
I stood, just for a moment, and whispered low so only the wind could hear:
"Let them call me whatever they want. Demon. Crimson. Monster. In the end… I'll write my own story in the blood of history."
The matches raged on.
Tess of the Thousand Eyes—a sniper with magical vision, who never missed a shot.
Garrel Bonegrinder—a gladiator who laughed with every blow, blood drunk and maddened.
Vin and Varn—twins who fought as one, blades in harmony.
Sirra—a girl who danced barefoot, summoning sandstorms with every twirl.
Each battle added more heat to the fire rising in the crowd.
But my eyes always drifted back to two people.
Jay. Silent, unmoving. His energy still pulsing like a low hum.
Kuro. Smirking every time someone lost, as if all this was a warm-up act before his real show.
And me?
I was still waiting.
Waiting for my name to be called.
Waiting for the chains on my heart to snap.
Then, the announcer's voice rose once more.
"Tomorrow… we'll begin the second phase of the tournament. The top 128 warriors have been selected. You survived the culling. You survived the purge."
He paused, looking toward our section of the stands.
"And now… you'll fight for something greater."
The crowd erupted. Roars. Screams. Cheers.
Fireworks lit the sky again.
But I remained quiet.
Tomorrow, I'd be on that stage.
Tomorrow, the mask would become my face.
And behind it… the truth would begin to crack through.
As the crowd began to leave, I muttered under my breath:
"Let them laugh. Let them cheer. Let them scream."
"But when I step onto that arena floor... the world will know exactly who I am."
"My name is Jae Hoon."
"And I'm no one's pawn anymore."
To be continued...