The arena wasn't just a place—it was a warning carved in white granite. From the polished floor to the massive ring where the Celestes would fight, everything gleamed with a sterile, unforgiving beauty. The ring was massive—wide enough for someone to run for their life and still not find escape. Encircling it were thick, brutal rods of reinforced steel, spaced so tightly that not even a breath could slip through. Beyond that stood a monstrous glass barrier—so thick it looked like it could hold back time itself. It wasn't there for aesthetics. It was built to contain destruction.
Above it all loomed something even more terrifying—the roof. Heavy, silent, and waiting. Inside it hid the 1000-ton Emergency Crusher. A last resort. A God-mode kill switch. If a Celeste ever broke free—shattered every wall, every layer—this roof would descend without hesitation and erase them from existence. No delay. No debate.
And the spectators? They were precious cargo. Each seat held a secret—an emergency airbag system designed to swallow the person whole in a second, shielding them from anything that might come their way. The seats were spaced perfectly, spotless and extravagant. Even the last row made you feel like you owned the world. But it came with a price—tickets started at 80,000 Ns. Just for a glimpse of chaos dressed as glory.
Meldenma and Vita climbed to their assigned row—Row Five. What they found wasn't ordinary seating, but two sealed boxes. Sleek. Cold. Futuristic. A slim slot on top invited their tickets. The moment the thin cards disappeared inside, the machines awakened—scanning, confirming, unlocking. The box shifted with a mechanical hiss and bloomed into a luxurious recliner, built for both comfort and survival.
Meldenma slipped into hers, eyes narrowed.
"So this is where all that money goes..."
Vita laughed, her voice echoing softly through the vast space.
"Exactly. And don't act like this is water or air. No one needs this. People come here to forget reality, to taste danger from a safe distance. If you're rich, you witness the truth. If not... you just survive on twisted rumors and secondhand gasps."
Meldenma gave her a sideways glare.
"Trust you to turn murder-sport into philosophy."
Vita leaned back, smirking, her fingers folding behind her head.
"Give it five minutes. You'll be hooked. Just like the rest of us."
A low hum filled the air as the lights dimmed... and far below, the gates of the arena creaked open.
Something was coming.
Something inhuman.
Meldenma frowned, arms crossed as she leaned forward in her seat.
"I still don't get it... With that much power, how does a match even last 45 minutes? It should be over in ten. Fifteen max."
Vita gave her a long, amused look.
"Melma... Seriously? How long have you even lived here?"
Meldenma shrugged casually, eyes still on the arena.
"Over twelve years."
Vita raised an eyebrow.
"And you still don't know the rules?"
Meldenma rolled her eyes.
"I've spent more time fighting my own battles than watching others. Why would I care about this system? Sure, I know every Celeste and their Duces inside-out... But I don't need the full story. I only care about the ending—who breaks, who survives. The rest? Irrelevant."
Vita leaned in, smirking.
"Alright then, Miss 'I only care about the blood', let me give you a quick 5-minute crash course before the action gets too real."
She held up a finger.
"First round: 10 minutes. Called the Bare Fight. No weapons. No tech. Just raw strength and your default system. It's the real test of body and will."
She raised another.
Vita continued, her tone now darker—more serious.
"After the first round, there's a mandatory five-minute rest period."
She glanced at Meldenma, her eyes narrowing.
"But it's not just a break. It's where they recover—every burn, every fracture, every torn muscle. A special team rushes in, patching them up like they're precious war machines. But it's not about healing. It's about preparation."
"Preparation for what?" Meldenma muttered.
Vita leaned closer.
"Round Two. The Weapon Fight."
Her voice dropped a note lower, laced with both awe and horror.
"This is where they remember every injury from Round One—and use it as rage fuel. Every Celeste enters this round fully geared. Customized weapons. Upgrades. Systems loaded. You see them move, and it's like watching a storm rip open the earth."
"And after that," she whispered, "comes the chaos."
"Another five-minute break. Only this time... it's not rest. It's panic."
Her eyes shimmered with a strange mix of fear and thrill.
"This is the part where the audience screams the loudest. The arena buzzes. Bets double. Security tightens. Why?"
She paused.
"Because what follows isn't a fight. It's a reckoning."
"The Third Round— Hidden Inside —15 minutes of raw, unleashed horror."
She exhaled sharply.
"Celestes reveal their true form. Their final system. Special electric charges are injected into their bodies—right into their machine cores. Think of it like giving cocaine to a heart ready to explode. They go beyond controllable."
Meldenma's brows furrowed.
"That sounds suicidal."
"It is," Vita said coldly.
"In this round, they use their deadliest, most forbidden weapons. No mercy. No rules. And here's the cruel twist—"
She locked eyes with her.
"It doesn't matter how many years you've been a champion. Or how much your Duces invested in you. If you show weakness—even for a second—you're dismantled like scrap metal. Screws included."
"And if... by some miracle, you survive?"
Vita's voice dropped to a whisper.
"You don't walk out. Your own Duces might press the kill switch. They'll call the Crusher. End you on the spot. Why? Because to them... money isn't power. Strength is. If you're no longer useful..."
She made a soft clicking sound with her tongue.
"You're disposable."
Meldenma folded her arms, her voice flat and sharp.
"I swear, this is my first and last time here."
Vita grinned, completely unbothered.
"Then don't you dare blink. Enjoy every second of this madness."
Meldenma sighed, her chest tightening as her eyes scanned the brutal ring.
"I already feel it—the pain they'll suffer... and somehow, I feel it in my bones."
Vita rolled her eyes, smirking.
"Oh, please. No need to grow a bleeding heart now. I know you, Melma. If you had your way, you'd be in that ring with the Celeste. And honestly? You'd wreck them worse than the Crusher ever could."
"I'm not a monster," Meldenma muttered under her breath.
Vita raised an eyebrow.
"You're not exactly less than one either."
Suddenly, the arena's ceiling lights flickered and cut out.
A loud, sharp red alarm echoed across the chamber.
The silence that followed was electric.
Then, a chilling female voice rang out through the speakers, calm yet haunting:
"Tonight... the wait ends. The once-a-year bloodmatch begins. And remember—it's not the fighters who risk the most... it's the ones watching."
Vita gave a sarcastic smile as red warning lights danced on her face.
"Honestly, I trust those rods, that glass, and that Crusher more than I've ever trusted my boyfriend."
Meldenma didn't answer.
She just shot her a long, cold stare.
Deadly. Silent.
And then—
BOOM.
The massive gates rumbled open, blasting white-hot spotlights directly onto the center ring.
Smoke. Roars.
The air was thick, charged, trembling.