The rain in Realm 3 never let up. It didn't just whisper or tap gently; it came down hard, as if the sky was determined to wash away the grime below. The children born under its relentless downpour never knew how to smile. Their lullabies were the rumble of thunder, and their first words were curses. Their prayers? Just screams that echoed unanswered.
In a dilapidated district filled with rust and decay, under crumbling buildings and flickering neon lights, two children entered the world behind a black market clinic. Catalina and Vincente Camacho. Twins. Fighters. Survivors. But above all, they were each other's reason to keep going.
Their mother died right in front of them.
A deal gone wrong. The wrong package at the wrong time. They were just five years old. Camila watched as the man pulled the trigger. Reyes tried to scream, but no sound came out. Only blood spilled from his sister's hand, which was clamped over his mouth so tightly that her fingers shook.
She didn't want the world to hear him. She didn't want anyone to know they were still alive. She understood how this worked. That night, they lay beside her lifeless body, cold, wet, and silent. No tears fell; they didn't even know how to cry yet.
They were treated like livestock. One carton of dried protein meat. A cracked battery cell. A favor owed. The man who bought them had scars over his eyes, making it hard for him to see them clearly. He called them "rat twins." Then, he tossed them into a pit.
There were others there too. Kids. Older. Stronger. All watching, betting, laughing. Catalina took the first punch. Her tooth landed in the mud. Vincente retaliated by biting off the attacker's ear. They won, but it didn't feel like a victory. That night, Camila lay on the cage's ceiling, whispering, "We don't stop. If they want monsters, we'll show them monsters." Reyes didn't quite grasp the words, but he nodded anyway.
Their hands were small and calloused, stained with someone else's blood. Catalina picked up a shard of broken glass and sliced a line across her palm. Vincente followed suit.
"Swear it," she urged. "Swear it now."
"We don't die unless it's both of us."
"We kill anyone who tries to split us apart."
Their blood mingled, sealing their pact. They were good.
Too good.
A noble from the core sector of Realm 3 took notice. Dressed in clean robes, with a fake smile and eyes that cut like knives, he offered them a new life. Adoption, sponsorship, safety. Regular meals. Soft beds. Vincente hesitated, but Catalina didn't.
"We're not dogs you can collar."
She spat on his shoes. That night, Vincente asked her why she did that.
"We could've slept in peace."
Camila's voice was a low whisper, laced with fury.
"I'd rather starve on my feet than live kneeling beside them."
Vincente never brought it up again.
Another fight. Another round of screams. But this one felt different. The crowd was bigger. The blood was thicker. And the man they were up against? He was a killer. A former Tier-A Exile. Missing fingers. Grinning like the devil. Catalina took him down in just seven moves.
Vincente shattered his spine with a jump-kick off the cage wall. When it was all said and done, the announcer declared them: "The Camacho Twins — Children of Carnage!"
And for the very first time, the crowd chanted their names.
It came in the night.
A blinding light seared through their skin. Vincente screamed. Catalina stayed silent.
As the pain subsided, the mark was unmistakable on their wrists:
Judgement Rank – F+ Exile.
They had been chosen. Invited. The Tournament was waiting. "Should we go?" Vincente asked. Catalina's expression didn't change. "We don't fit in anywhere else. Might as well carve out our place at the top."
Vincente grinned. "Race you there." Their room was cold. Sterile. New bedding. A real mattress. Silence for the first time in weeks. Camila sat up while Reyes snored beside her. She watched him sleep. The scars. The burns. The old wound on his shoulder she had given him during a practice fight.
She whispered, barely audible:
"If you die before me… I'll never forgive you."
Vincente rolled over.
"Then don't let me."
She smiled.
"Idiot."
She was gone.
Catalina. The one who had protected Reyes since the day he was born.
Gone.
And it was his hand that dealt the fatal blow. The blade she stepped into was meant for Soren. A feint. A trick. Vincente screamed too late. Catalina's body took the hit. Blood. So much blood. He caught her as she fell. She smiled. "Don't hesitate." Her last words. And then…
Nothing.
He didn't remember standing. Or shouting. Or how he clawed at the ground beside her lifeless body. He just remembered the silence. The noise of the arena faded away. Soren's face, stunned. Vincente didn't blame him. He blamed himself.
He recalled when they were nine and she made him promise.
"You fight. I plan."
"You protect me."
"If I fall, you make it to the end."
He kept her name locked away in his heart. And lifted his gaze. Toward the boy who deceived her. The one he would take down last. The arena had transformed. The blood remained, as did the heavy silence that followed the violence. But now, there was an emotional weight that even the blood-soaked dirt seemed unable to absorb. Soren stood there, panting and bruised, his blade hanging limply from fingers that had almost forgotten how to grip it.
Catalina Camacho's lifeless body lay crumpled in the dirt, the crimson from her twin's blade still oozing from her chest. Vincente didn't budge. Not yet. High above the chaos, in a floating booth surrounded by multi-angle projection screens, Aspen leaned in, barely able to contain his excitement. Her white suit sparkled under the stage lights, and her grin practically lit up the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen," She announced, her voice booming into the crowd, "we just witnessed what can only be called a HEART-RENDING turn of events. One sibling accidentally kills the other! A tragedy! A spectacle! A masterpiece of chaos!"
She turned to a crew member off-mic. "Zoom in on the kid's face. That's the money shot. No closer. I want to see him BLEED guilt through his pores."
Soren's expression was frozen in that damned look. Not fear. Not horror. Just… confusion. That wide-eyed, brow-furrowed, 'what the hell just happened' look. Like the universe had tossed him into a battle royale with no rules and then handed him a punchline.
Aspen chuckled. "This is why I LOVE the rookies. They never realize what they're capable of until it's too late." She turned to the feed tracking public reactions. The crowd? Absolutely losing it.
Social media was buzzing:
"The pretty boy survived again?!"
"HE MADE THE BRO KILL HIS OWN SISTER??! WTF."
"Someone get that confused-ass reaction on a T-shirt."
Aspen grinned.
"Ratings just hit a new peak."
Vincente's POV
He felt frozen. Not truly moving. Still kneeling there. Still staring at his sister's face her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open as if she had something to say in that last moment. But all that hung in the air was silence.
No do-overs.
Not this time.
His blade fell to the ground next to her body. He hadn't even realized his grip had loosened. The chaos around him was a cacophony: weapons clashing, bodies hitting the ground, the low hum of the arena. But it all felt far away, like he was submerged underwater. He had trained with her. Shared laughter. Fought side by side.
She always told him:
"No one else matters, Vince. Just us."
He could still picture their childhood, huddled together in the ruins of their village, Catalina gripping his hand, softly assuring him that everything would be alright. That she would keep him safe. That they were twins. And twins never abandon each other. But now she was gone. Because of him.
He didn't even mean for it to happen. That wasn't the plan at all. It was just supposed to be a simple opening move.
He'd dodged, letting Vincente lunge only for Catalina to leap in front at the last moment. And the angle was just… off. He hadn't intended to pit them against each other like that.
Or had he?
Soren was starting to doubt himself. He fixed his gaze on Reyes. The guy wasn't blinking. His breathing was all wrong. Soren's stomach twisted.
Is he about to lose it?
Is he going to break down?
Or worse
…Is he going to come after me?
But nothing happened.
Vincente just stood up. Slowly. Deliberately. He glanced at Catalina one last time. Then turned. And walked away. Aspen nearly choked on her wine. "WHAT?! He's just WALKING AWAY?!" He whipped around to the camera crew. "Follow him! Track him down! If he disappears and shows up at the final round with a new haircut and a vendetta, we need B-ROLL!"
He slammed a button, broadcasting her voice throughout the entire arena. "71 fighters remain! Camacho is out! Her brother Vincente has… left the field?! Will this shocking turn of events change the course of the next battles?!"
He turned, muttering to himself: "Of course it will. Tragedy always has a way of doing that." Three watchers were huddled around a hologram orb in one of the upper Realms' lounges. The screen was frozen on Soren's stunned expression.
"Man looks like someone just told him socks are a food group," one of them chuckled. Another mimicked the look: "Huh?! I just unlocked trauma DLC!?" The third remained silent.
Then:
"He's going to win the whole thing, isn't he?"
The others blinked in surprise.
"That pretty boy? No way."
"Bro, he made a guy accidentally kill his sister. By accident. That's some final boss energy." Soren sat beside a crumbled column, his blade resting across his lap. Blood smeared his knuckles, arms, and chest some his, some not.
He didn't feel victorious. Didn't even feel alive. He let out a slow breath. "I didn't want to kill her." The arena didn't respond. It never did.