The scent of old copper still clung to Cyr's hands.
He hadn't noticed it until the fourth corridor, when the blood on his fingers had dried into thin, rust-colored veins. He didn't bother wiping it off. The arena's halls had grown quieter since his last match, as if the stone itself recoiled from the violence it had witnessed.
"He used the curse," a voice echoed from somewhere — his own, perhaps. Or one of the thousands watching.
But it hadn't been his curse. Not entirely. It had been the thing that watched him — and in that moment, acted through him.
[Binding Condition Completed: Blood-Fueled Trigger]
Storage Curse – Partial Release Authorized.
Cyr leaned against a stone wall, steadying his breath. He had felt it then — the cold hand over his own, guiding the blade through flesh like a sculptor correcting a pupil's mistake.
"You're scared of it," said Maro beside him, leaning one shoulder against the opposite wall. His voice had lost its mocking lilt.
Cyr didn't answer. He couldn't.
"Scared of yourself too," Maro added with a half-smile. "Good. Means you're still sane."
Silence stretched. The hallway was damp, lit only by the pale orange glow of glyph-lamps embedded in the ceiling like dying stars. A group of handlers passed by without a word, each pushing a cart of unconscious fighters toward recovery chambers. Cyr recognized one — a girl with pink dreadlocks and half a face. She'd been smiling at him earlier. Now she bled from the mouth.
Cyr tightened his fists.
Maro watched him. "The curse—it responded to your intent. You wanted to win."
"I wanted to survive," Cyr whispered.
Maro tilted his head. "Is there a difference?"
Back at the preparation chamber, Cyr sat alone. The room had been cleaned, the floor scrubbed, but his presence stained it like ash.
He pulled open his stat interface.
[Status Window: Cyr Elphis]
Class: Unawakened
Binding: Storage Curse [Level 1: Partial Manifestation]
Condition: Stabilizing
Traits Unlocked:
Will of Resistance Tethered Focus ??? (Locked)
His mana pool had expanded slightly. Not naturally — more like the aftermath of tearing muscle. Forced growth. Unstable. Dangerous.
[Side Effect: Temporal Exhaustion - Willpower Checks Required for Further Curse Use.]
Cyr exhaled. The system was watching him, measuring everything — and binding him closer with every thread he pulled.
That's when the message arrived:
[Challenge Invitation Received]
From: "Vestra | Rank 34"
Type: Targeted Duel
Conditions: No Forfeit | Audience: Open | Reward: Marked Favor Token]
His breath hitched. Vestra. The girl who never removed her mask. Known for dismembering opponents with whisper-thin blades conjured from spatial fractures.
It wasn't just a duel. It was a statement. Someone — perhaps the higher-ups, or the system itself — wanted him tested. Crushed. Or worse, evolved.
"You're not ready," Maro said again, now pacing the edges of the prep room.
"I don't have a choice," Cyr replied.
"You always have a choice. You just stopped pretending that the right one keeps you alive."
Cyr stood slowly, his gaze never leaving the interface. "If the system wants a monster... maybe I should show it one."
As he walked into the dueling chamber, Vestra was already there — poised like a statue of divine execution. Her blade shimmered, not with mana, but with void.
The crowd fell silent.
And the voice of the arena spoke:
"Let this match begin: Two threads, crossing fate."