The arena was quieter now. The broken ones had been carried out, leaving only us — eighty survivors who had clawed through three trials. Punching, aura, and the rain of spears.
The professors stood above us like executioners. None of them looked impressed.
"This is it," the announcer said, voice sharp as a blade. "From here on, you will fight until you can't fight anymore. One versus one. Win, and you advance. Lose, and you are eliminated."
The words sank into the crowd like lead. My heartbeat quickened, not with fear, but with fire. This was the moment I had been waiting for.
A box was brought forward, filled with smooth, rune-etched stones. Each bore a number. The professor shook it once, then set it on the pedestal.
"Step forward. Draw your fate."
The line moved quickly. Each student reached in, pulled out their stone, and glanced at the glowing number carved on its face.
When it was my turn, I dipped my hand into the box. My fingers brushed against cold stone, and I pulled one out. Etched on the surface: 47.
"Forty-seven, huh…" I muttered under my breath.
Behind me, Rex grinned as he held up his own. "Seventeen. Looks like I'll get my warm-up before we clash."
I smirked. "Don't lose before that, Rex."
He snorted. "Like I'd ever."
The last stones were drawn. The announcer raised a sheet of parchment, where the numbers were already beginning to glow and pair off.
The crowd hushed.
"Match One!" the announcer roared. "Number 1 versus Number 2!"
Two students stepped forward. One was a stocky boy with scarred knuckles, veins bulging on his arms. The other, a slender girl with crimson eyes that gleamed like blades.
"Begin!"
The boy charged instantly, fists swinging. The girl flowed like liquid, sidestepping, claws sprouting from her fingertips. She slashed once, clean and precise. Blood sprayed. The boy collapsed.
"Winner, Number 2!"
The audience erupted.
The matches rolled on. Each fight showcased strange powers, wild beast transformations, or weapon mastery. Some fights ended in seconds. Others dragged on, brutal and bloody.
But none drew more attention than when the announcer called:
"Match Five! Number 19 versus Number 20!"
From the crowd, a tall, sleek figure stepped forward. His hair was spotted like a predator's coat, his pupils narrow, glowing yellow. His lips curled into a snarl as whispers rippled through the stands.
"The cheetah kid…"
"They say he's uncontrollable."
"Fastest in the preliminaries."
His opponent looked pale, clutching his weapon nervously.
The referee signaled. "Begin!"
The cheetah blurred. One heartbeat he was at the starting line, the next he was in his opponent's face. A vicious strike, a scream, and the poor boy flew back, smashing into the arena barrier. Blood burst from his mouth before he even hit the ground.
"Winner, Number 19!"
The cheetah stood trembling, chest heaving, his eyes still wild with fury as if the fight hadn't ended. He snarled, looking ready to attack anyone who dared step forward.
Students shifted uneasily. This wasn't just a fighter. This was a predator in human skin.
I clenched my fists, heat crawling up my arms. If I fight him… it won't be easy. But I want to test myself against that speed.
And so the tournament began.