The arena was quiet.
Not silent—just waiting.
The way a storm waits before tearing through the sky.
I stood at the center, still as stone. The remnants of Jay's victory still hung in the air like ash. Everyone knew something was coming.
But even I didn't expect this.
"Hush."
The word came like a whisper from beneath the earth—low, cracked. The ground trembled, and a thick plume of black smoke began to rise from the cracks in the floor, swirling like a serpent coiling for the kill.
The announcer's booming voice cut through:
"Ah… seems our final contestant has finally arrived."
"Give a warm—well, maybe not warm—welcome to the smoke-born phantom… Mavren Nyx!"
A figure rose through the smoke, cloak dragging, face veiled in grey gauze. The air recoiled from his presence.
He didn't walk.
He glided.
Eyes glowing faint violet behind the mist as he stepped into the arena like it belonged to him.
"Tarek Alviris…" he said, voice calm, disgusted. "A fake name. A fake mask. A fake fighter."
I narrowed my eyes. "That smoke clogging your lungs, or is that just your personality?"
He smiled lazily. "All this power, and yet I smell doubt clinging to you like rot."
I took one step forward. "You talk like you've already won."
"No," he said, voice turning to venom. "I talk like I've already buried you."
"BEGIN!"
The announcer dropped his hand—and the ground detonated in smoke.
I lunged, but it was too late.
Mavren vanished.
He wasn't just fast—he was everywhere. Clouds of smoke zipped around the battlefield like phantoms, flickering in and out of vision. I spun, trying to read the terrain.
Too late.
WHOOSH—!
A blur shot past me.
He was at the flag.
Already.
Climbing the pole in a wisp of smoke, body splitting and re-forming midair, he snatched the flag with a cruel grin.
"Timer started!" the announcer yelled.
60 seconds.
I charged forward, weaving through the smoke—slashing at air, hearing him whisper from every angle.
"You're too slow."
"This isn't your story."
"Go back to being a nobody."
45 seconds.
I couldn't touch him.
Not even see him.
Every strike passed through illusion. He reappeared ten feet away, leaning against the pole like he was bored.
"You really thought you could win this?"
I was panting. Knees bent. Aura flickering.
30 seconds.
The flag stayed clutched in his hand.
His mist wrapped around the arena, curling over the crowd like a shroud.
"All these people watching you fail," he whispered. "You're not the protagonist. You're the obstacle."
20 seconds.
And for a second...
I believed him.
I felt the weight in my chest again—the doubt. The voice inside me that always told me I wasn't enough.
Why am I even here...?
What if I really am just pretending?
10 seconds.
I dropped to a knee, hand gripping the dirt.
"Just give up," Mavren said, descending from the smoke like a ghost. "Let the story end here."
I closed my eyes.
The noise of the crowd faded.
And then—
"Son…"
The voice was gentle. Warm. A whisper like sunlight through leaves.
"Get up."
I gasped.
Eyes wide.
The world seemed to pause.
My blood began to burn.
White Flame Awakens
Light exploded around me.
Hair turning white as moonlight. My teeth behind my mask turned into fangs, splitting through my teeth. My aura ignited—red—silver, flickering like living flame.
WHOOSH—!
The smoke around the arena was devoured.
Even Mavren froze mid-air.
"What… what are you…?"
I didn't answer.
I moved.
Not like before.
Faster.
Faster than the smoke could twist.
Faster than the eye could follow.
2 seconds.
I appeared behind him, blade glowing with silver light.
He spun, too late.
1 second.
I ripped the flag from his hand just before the timer hit zero.
"FLAG CAPTURED! Timer reset to 60 seconds!"
The crowd went insane.
Cheers like thunder. Chants rising from every corner.
I stood tall in the center of the arena, white hair whipping in the wind, holding the flag like a sword.
Mavren hit the dirt, gasping, eyes wide in shock.
I didn't say anything.
I didn't need to.