The wind swirled through the arena, kicking up dust and remnants of dried blood. The sun hung overhead, relentless and uncaring. The crowd? They were a force of nature roaring, hungry, chanting. Yet in the middle of it all, time felt like it was stretching out. Soren's grip tightened, not flawless, but filled with intent.
He didn't leap forward.
He didn't rush in.
He simply observed.
The twins moved in perfect sync like reflections of speed and elegance, but also with their own unique patterns. He had a noticeable preference for his right foot, while she had this little twitch in her wrist just before every upward swing.
They weren't without their flaws.
Just quicker.
More seasoned.
But they weren't unbeatable, Soren thought.
High above the chaos, in a sleek black booth glowing with neon lights, Aspen V leaned in over the mystical microphone set into her desk. His voice poured out through every speaker embedded in the stadium walls. "Ladies and gentlemen, can you BELIEVE this? We're witnessing one of the bloodiest, most unpredictable matchups of the day the guy who killed Gaynis oops I meant Zeriaus versus the Camacho twins!"
With a snap of his fingers, a vibrant screen zoomed in on Soren's face bruised, cut, but laser-focused. Another screen displayed one of the Camacho twins stalking him with a fierce glare. "This, my delightful sadists, is exactly why we can't underestimate the underdogs. You thought Zeriaus was just a fluke? Just another rookie with decent stamina? THINK AGAIN."
Next to Aspen, a holographic co-host appeared—Syla, a former champion.
"Honestly, Aspen, the kid lacks technique. He swings like he's never even held a butter knife."
"Exactly! Just look at him SURVIVE, Syla. You don't see that kind of intensity in a polished swordfight."
"And yet, the Camacho siblings are top-tier. They were meant to dominate Tier C fighters. But this? This is a bloody opera."
"You heard it here first, folks. BLOOD. OPERA."
As they chatted, the cameras zoomed back in on the arena.
Vincente was the first to strike.
CLANG!
Soren raised his weapon to block, but the impact still sent him stumbling back. Catalina was right behind him, aiming a low slash. Sparks flew. He leaped, twisted in mid-air, and barely missed her head with a kick. She slid beneath him, forcing him to awkwardly twist to avoid her upward swing.
He swung wildly.
She evaded.
He made another attempt.
Vincente deflected the blow and then landed a punch to Soren's ribs.
CRACK.
Soren gasped, reeling from the sudden pain that shot through his chest. He dropped to one knee, looking surprisingly vulnerable. Catalina sprang forward. In a swift motion, he twisted and drove the pommel of his sword upward crashing it into her jaw. She staggered back, stunned. Blood trickled from her mouth. "You bastard "
Vincente charged at him once more.
Soren wasn't exactly prepared for this. His swordplay was rough around the edges wild swings and frantic stabs. But with every miss, he picked up something new. Each failed slash taught him how to grip the sword better. Every time he parried, his timing got a little sharper.
He took hits more than a few. A blade nicked his side. A boot slammed into his leg. Vincente shoved him to the ground, his knee pressing hard into Soren's chest. But Soren refused to stay down. He rolled, kicked, and kept pushing forward. "Why won't you just die?!" Catalina snarled. "You first," Soren shot back, blood trickling from his lip.
She swung at his neck. He ducked just in time. Her blade grazed his shoulder. He retaliated with an upward swing. Caught her right in the ribs. Blood spilled. She screamed, stumbling back.
"NO!" Vincente shouted. He charged forward. Soren barely managed to block him. Their swords clashed, faces inches apart. "She's not dead," Soren grunted.
"She's hurt because of you!"
"She came at me first."
Their blades scraped against each other, sparks flying. Soren pushed back. And then he took off running. He wasn't the fastest. But Vincente was absolutely furious. The arena blurred around him as Soren darted past two other fighters who were caught up in their own struggle. He rolled under a swinging spear, snatched a chain from a fallen body, and kept pushing forward.
Behind him, Vincente was closing in.
"YOU DON'T GET TO RUN!"
At the last moment, Soren spun around and hurled the chain. It wrapped around Vincente's legs, tripping him up. Not for long but just enough. Soren lunged at him. Fists flew. Elbows struck. It was pure desperation. The sword slipped from his grasp. They tumbled in the blood-soaked sand, each fighting for dominance.
Vincente growled. "She's all I have!"
"Then you shouldn't have brought her here!" Soren yelled, smashing his head into Vincente's nose.
Crunch. Blood. Screams. Vincente snatched his sister's fallen dagger and slashed it across Soren's back. Soren howled in pain. Then he kicked the twin square in the face and rolled away. Both were bloodied. Broken. Trembling. And still far from finished.
Catalina rose once more.
Dizzy. Hurt. Furious.
She spotted her brother, bloodied and weak. She saw Soren, unsteady on his feet. With determination, she raised her sword. Vincente noticed her approach. "Wait " he called out. But Soren, confused and panicked, moved aside. Catalina's blade missed its mark. It sliced cleanly through her brother's ribs.
Time seemed to freeze. Her eyes widened in shock. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. He stared at her, disbelief etched on his face.
"...You—"
And then he fell. Soren stood there, paralyzed. So did the sister. The crowd erupted in chaos. And then, everything fell silent.