They built the Arena of Ash inside a god that never woke up.
Not a real god, of course—just WAR-GOD 9, an orbital cannon platform designed to erase cities during the Collapse. It fell before it ever fired, leaving behind a hollowed-out wreck twisted into the dust east of Neo-Ilium.
A half-buried satellite dish. A broken prayer of metal.
Now, it was a coliseum.
No Corp oversight. No kill licenses. No chi tracking. Just blood, heat, and memory.
And tonight, Jian Lin had been summoned.
---
He stood on the catwalk above the pit, staring down at the floor of scorched alloy and bone dust.
All around him, the coliseum pulsed with heat. Ancient lights flickered. Spectators jeered from tiers carved out of machine wreckage—mercenaries, rogue disciples, debt-soldiers, whisper monks, syndicate warlords.
They had gathered to watch style versus style.
A duel of legacy and divergence.
Jian's HUD blinked.
> [ACTIVE STYLE: GLASSFIRE PULSE v0.1 – INITIATION COMPLETE]
[SEED PATH: 21% SYNCED]
[WARNING: MATCH LOCKED | OPPONENT: "KIRIN"]
His chest tightened.
He hadn't heard that name in years.
---
The gates opened.
The arena roared.
He descended the ramp slowly, boots crunching on alloy shavings. His breath burned with recycled air and incense. Sweat rolled down his back despite the chill.
Across the pit, a figure stepped from the shadow of a ruined core chamber.
The crowd silenced. Then murmured.
The opponent wore gold-trimmed robes and a chi-stabilizer harness embedded directly into his spine. His arms were sleeveless, his movements graceful but sharp.
His chi flared—cool, clinical, perfect.
Jian froze.
He knew that stance.
Kirin.
Once a brother. Once a training partner.
Now... Corp-forged.
---
Kirin's face had changed—new skin, new implants—but the way he carried his weight was the same. The way he flexed his fingers before a fight.
Jian spoke first.
"Kirin."
The other man tilted his head. "You still use that name?"
"It's mine."
Kirin smiled faintly. "Not anymore."
He tapped his wrist. His HUD projected for all to see.
> [ACTIVE STYLE: HEAVEN-FROST PALM v4.1 | JADE PATH LICENSED]
[CORPORATE SPONSOR: HYDRACORES – TIER 1 COMBAT LICENSE APPROVED]
The crowd responded—gasps, whistles, digital bets locking in.
A Tier 1 Corp style. Refined. Polished. Perfect.
Jian's HUD flickered, trying to assess weaknesses. It found none.
No predictable openings. No exploitable drain points.
He'd have to improvise.
Again.
---
Kirin struck first.
No words. Just movement.
A sweep of his hand unleashed a ripple of chi so cold the air crystallized around it. Shards of frost bloomed midair, then exploded toward Jian in a fan of death.
Jian launched into Glassfire Pulse, chi igniting around his limbs like quicksilver flame.
He twisted under the volley, dragging heat through his bones, releasing it in a controlled pulse that melted the ice before it hit.
Steam hissed off the arena floor.
The crowd howled.
---
What followed was less a duel and more a storm.
Frost and flame. Silence and sound. Style and un-style.
Jian's strikes carved heat trails in the air, his movements irregular, broken—an artist sketching with violence. He didn't repeat motions. He didn't follow rhythm.
He responded.
Kirin fought with precision—his style recursive, stable, designed for reaction control. But Jian kept slipping through the pattern.
A high hook turned into a flame sweep. A shoulder roll disguised a grounded chi burst. He used unpredictability as weapon.
And for the first time, Kirin hesitated.
"You're not copying anymore," he said between panting breaths. "You're... composing."
Jian's voice was steel. "They tried to overwrite me."
He drew in chi.
"But I kept the backup."
---
He stepped into a new motion—one even he hadn't rehearsed.
Flame coiled around his fingers, but instead of pushing it outward, he collapsed it inward, letting it swallow Kirin's next frost pulse and invert the force.
The energy snapped, creating a reverse implosion that struck Kirin in the chest like a hammer of fire-wrapped silence.
Kirin flew backward, crashed into the outer barrier wall, and lay still.
The coliseum went silent.
Then erupted.
---
Jian stood in the center of the storm, shoulders heaving, smoke trailing from his wrists.
His HUD flared:
> [STYLE EVOLUTION DETECTED – GLASSFIRE PULSE v0.1 → MIRRORED FLAME FORM v0.0]
[NEW NODE CREATED: COUNTER-REACTIVE THREADING]
[SEED PATH: 26% SYNCED]
Across the pit, Kirin rose—slowly.
His golden robe was torn. His lip bled. But his eyes were… smiling.
"You really did it," he said.
Jian stepped forward and extended his hand.
"Get up."
Kirin took it.
---
Later, deep in the bowels of the arena, Jian sat alone in the dim Archive Bay beneath the stands. Fighters laughed in distant chambers. Bets were being paid. Matches queued.
His HUD pinged.
A message burned across the interface:
> You've been noticed.
Your seed path is not alone.
The next city is watching.
Travel to Iron Root.
There, the Forged Sect awaits.
They burn scrolls for fuel.
And they're waiting for you to light the match.
Jian leaned back, eyes closed.
The flame inside him was no longer random.
It had shape.
It had purpose.
And it was spreading.
---