The hour passed quickly—too quickly.
I stayed in the waiting chamber just below the arena, surrounded by warriors, mages, and mercenaries from across the continents. The air smelled of bloodlust and polished steel. Some sharpened their blades with methodical calm; others muttered incantations under their breath. All of us were waiting for the moment our names would be called.
Crystalline screens floated overhead, flickering with the tournament brackets. My name—Tarek Alviris—glowed in pale silver next to another unfamiliar name: Boro the Iron-Eater.
A mountain of a man stood across the chamber, stuffing what looked like a chunk of raw ore into his mouth and chewing with loud cracks. He must've seen the bracket too, because he glanced over and grinned—his teeth jagged and grey like forged iron.
Great.
I didn't even get time to fully prepare my mana core. It was still recovering after that last spar with Elarion. And now I was going up against someone who probably bench-pressed horses for fun.
A bell chimed.
The door slid open.
"Combatants: Boro the Iron-Eater versus Tarek Alviris. Please report to Arena Circle Three."
I stepped forward, hearing soft murmurs trail behind me. Most had already seen Kuro mock me. Now they were waiting to see if I'd crumble like a joke... or bite back.
I walked out into the sunlit arena circle. The smaller sub-arena was carved from obsidian stone, sealed off from the main coliseum by towering energy walls. Floating runes rotated around the space, ensuring nothing—no blast, no blade—escaped the perimeter.
Boro stomped onto the field, his bare chest covered in soot and burn marks, like he'd walked out of a forge. He cracked his knuckles, then grinned. "You look like a twig," he called. "Hope you snap loud."
I didn't answer. I simply activated my mana flow.
A red shimmer, faint but burning, coursed through my body. The Crimson blood inside me stirred, eager for release. I couldn't go all out. Not yet. But I could use enough to survive.
The announcer's voice rang out again:"Begin!"
Boro charged.
Fast. Much faster than I expected for a man of his size.
I narrowly dodged a fist the size of a boulder. The air screamed as it passed my face. I twisted and countered with a low strike to his ribs, mana coating my palm.
My hand connected.
And nothing happened.
It was like punching an anvil.
Boro grinned. "Bad move."
He brought his elbow down—and I rolled to the side just in time. His blow shattered the obsidian floor where I had been.
I stood quickly, breathing harder. My core was still unstable. My usual channeling wasn't responding the way it should. I had to fight smart. Not strong.
He charged again, his fists swinging like warhammers. I ducked under one, sidestepped the next, then unleashed a flurry of jabs at his legs. I didn't need to break him. I just needed to wear him down.
But then he did something unexpected—he stomped.
The ground beneath us erupted with metallic shards. Boro laughed. "I eat metal, boy. I sweat it too!"
One of the shards grazed my shoulder, slicing through my cloak. I gritted my teeth and kept moving.
"Fine," I whispered to myself. "Let's push just a little further."
I opened the first Crimson gate.
Not fully. Just a sliver.
Red energy pulsed from my chest, then burst into my limbs like lightning. My speed multiplied. I vanished from Boro's line of sight and reappeared behind him.
I landed three strikes to his back, each coated in condensed mana.
Boro stumbled.
I spun and slammed my heel into the side of his head.
He staggered, his iron teeth clattering.
The crowd above roared.
Before he could recover, I pointed my fingers at his chest. A weak flame sparked to life—barely stable, but focused.
"Vol Ignis."
A concentrated blast of red fire exploded point-blank into Boro's chest, sending him skidding back, smoke rising from his torso.
The referee rune blinked.
Victory: Tarek Alviris.
The shield around the arena flickered and dropped. Healers immediately rushed to Boro, who was still laughing, even while coughing up soot.
I stood there, chest heaving, arm numb.
That was too close.
I wasn't ready to keep using Crimson power like this. Every time I tapped it, I felt it trying to take more than I gave.
But the crowd above had changed their tune. I could hear it.
"Who is that guy?""He took down the Iron-Eater!""He's fast. Dangerous.""Masked freak's got moves!"
I walked back toward the holding area. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kuro leaning against the railing, arms crossed.
He didn't clap.
But he smiled.
Not mockingly this time.
Curious. Calculating.
The next rounds would only get harder. Stronger enemies. Less time to rest. And in the shadows, the real threat still brewed—the one Elarion warned me about.
But for now, I had earned my place.
I sat on the bench, wiped the blood from my mask, and waited for the next name to be called.
The tournament had only just begun.