The match was over.
But Jay didn't stop.
Ragos, broken and unconscious, lay beneath him—but Jay's fist kept driving down.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Each blow was cold, calculated. There was no fury—just the terrifying silence of someone detached from what he was doing.
Thud.
Thud.
The arena stared, frozen. Even the announcer had stopped talking.
"He's not trying to win anymore," I said.
Jay stood slowly. His hoodie was soaked in blood at the cuffs. He turned from the trembling body and began walking—calmly, step by step—toward the tall pole with the white flag fluttering at the top.
A gentle breeze caught his hair as he reached it and pulled it free with one hand.
"Timer begins now," the announcer finally said, voice quieter.
60 seconds.
Jay stood with the flag in one hand like a king holding a fallen banner. His eyes were lifeless. Not tired—just far away.
The crowd watched in dead silence.
Then—
Beep.
Match Over.
Jay had won.
The crowd burst into a confused, tense cheer—but the air never returned to normal. The arena felt heavier now.
Even victory… felt wrong.
Outside the Arena…
Some of the participants talked in low voices.
"Jay's not human…""That wasn't fighting, that was execution…""Did you feel the aura change? The whole arena bent around him…"
Others stayed quiet—processing. Thinking. Watching.
He sat still, his white hood drawn low.
The announcer's voice returned, booming loud again as if trying to reset the energy.
"AND NOW—THE FINAL MATCH OF THE DAY!"
Fireworks burst above. The crowd rallied again.
"A battle we've been waiting for… The mysterious masked contestant... TAREK ALVIRIS… aka the wildcard!"
I stood up.
"That's me," I muttered.
I Walk to the Arena
The sunlight hit different now—harsher, colder.
As I walked past the other contestants, I caught glares… murmurs… fear.
But none of it fazed me.
I stepped into the arena, looked at the crowd—and then I spoke.
No microphone. Just my voice—steady, sharp, surgical.
"You all saw what Jay did… and you cheered."
"You cheer for strength, even when it disgusts you. You praise it. Worship it. Because you all want to believe you're safe under someone stronger."
"But let me tell you the truth—strength doesn't protect anyone."
"It only separates those who survive… from those who get left behind."
The crowd went quiet.
I tilted my head.
"You think this tournament is just about matches and fireworks?"
I pulled down my mask slightly, showing just my eye.
"This tournament isn't about who's strongest.""It's about who's willing to go the furthest to break the world."
I put my mask back on my face covering my eye again.
"So watch closely, all of you. Because what you're about to witness…"
"Is the beginning of the end."
The entire arena stood silent.
Even the announcer didn't speak.
The final match of the day hadn't started yet… but already, the world felt like it had shifted.
The arena was quiet.
Not silent—just waiting.
The way a storm waits before tearing through the sky.
I stood at the center, still as stone. The remnants of Jay's victory still hung in the air like ash. Everyone knew something was coming.
But even I didn't expect this.
"Hush."
The word came like a whisper from beneath the earth—low, cracked. The ground trembled, and a thick plume of black smoke began to rise from the cracks in the floor, swirling like a serpent coiling for the kill.
The announcer's booming voice cut through:
"Ah… seems our final contestant has finally arrived."
"Give a warm—well, maybe not warm—welcome to the smoke-born phantom… Mavren Nyx!"
A figure rose through the smoke, face veiled in grey gauze. The air recoiled from his presence.
He didn't walk.
He glided.
Eyes glowing faint violet behind the mist as he stepped into the arena like it belonged to him.
"Tarek Alviris…" he said, voice calm, disgusted. "A fake name. A fake mask. A fake fighter."
I narrowed my eyes. "That smoke clogging your lungs, or is that just your personality?"
He smiled lazily. "All this power, and yet I smell doubt clinging to you like rot."
I took one step forward. "You talk like you've already won."
"No," he said, voice turning to venom. "I talk like I've already buried you."
"BEGIN!"
The announcer dropped his hand—and the ground detonated in smoke.
I lunged, but it was too late.
Mavren vanished.
He wasn't just fast—he was everywhere. Clouds of smoke zipped around the battlefield like phantoms, flickering in and out of vision. I spun, trying to read the terrain.
Too late.
WHOOSH—!
A blur shot past me.
He was at the flag.
Already.
Climbing the pole in a wisp of smoke, body splitting and re-forming midair, he snatched the flag with a cruel grin.
"Timer started!" the announcer yelled.
60 seconds.
I charged forward, weaving through the smoke—slashing at air, hearing him whisper from every angle.
"You're too slow."
"This isn't your story."
"Go back to being a nobody."
45 seconds.
I couldn't touch him.
Not even see him.
Every strike passed through illusion. He reappeared ten feet away, leaning against the pole like he was bored.
"You really thought you could win this?"
I was panting. Knees bent. Aura flickering.
30 seconds.
The flag stayed clutched in his hand.
His mist wrapped around the arena, curling over the crowd like a shroud.
"All these people watching you fail," he whispered. "You're not the protagonist. You're the obstacle."
20 seconds.
And for a second...
I believed him.
I felt the weight in my chest again—the doubt. The voice inside me that always told me I wasn't enough.
Why am I even here...?
What if I really am just pretending?
10 seconds.
I dropped to a knee, hand gripping the dirt.
"Just give up," Mavren said, descending from the smoke like a ghost. "Let the story end here."
I closed my eyes.
The noise of the crowd faded.
And then—
"Son…"
The voice was gentle. Warm. A whisper like sunlight through leaves.
"Get up."
I gasped.
Eyes wide.
The world seemed to pause.
My blood began to burn.
White Flame Awakens
Light exploded around me.
Hair turning white as moonlight. My teeth behind my mask turned into fangs, splitting through my teeth. My aura ignited—red—silver, flickering like living flame.
WHOOSH—!
The smoke around the arena was devoured.
Even Mavren froze mid-air.
"What… what are you…?"
I didn't answer.
I moved.
Not like before.
Faster.
Faster than the smoke could twist.
Faster than the eye could follow.
2 seconds.
I appeared behind him, blade glowing with silver light.
He spun, too late.
1 second.
I ripped the flag from his hand just before the timer hit zero.
"FLAG CAPTURED! Timer reset to 60 seconds!"
The crowd went insane.
Cheers like thunder. Chants rising from every corner.
I stood tall in the center of the arena, white hair whipping in the wind, holding the flag like a sword.
Mavren hit the dirt, gasping, eyes wide in shock.
I didn't say anything.
I didn't need to.
60 seconds.
My hands gripped the flag. My body pulsed with the aftershock of the form I didn't understand—hair still white, aura glowing faint red.
Mavren stumbled back across the arena floor, eyes narrowed, teeth clenched.
he hissed. "What are you.....?"
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
Because the doubt he used like poison?It wasn't working anymore.
He blurred again, splitting into five copies in a swirl of dark mist. They darted around the field like hunting hounds. I planted my feet and scanned them.
All breathing the same rhythm.
All perfectly synced.
He's using illusions to match real movement...
A voice echoed faintly in my mind again. mother?
"Stop seeing. Start feeling."
I closed my eyes.
And the world slowed.
The crowd, the dust, the wind—all muted.
What was left?
Heartbeat.
Just one heartbeat… slightly off.
I spun—struck behind me—
CRACK!
The real Mavren flew back, crashing into the edge of the arena.
His illusions vanished like smoke being exhaled.
"How…?" he gasped, blood trickling down his mouth. "How are you—!?"
I stepped forward. Aura blazing.
"You spent the whole fight being cocky," I said, voice calm. "You think I wouldn't use your Cockiness as a advantage? did you really think your words scare me?"
He launched forward again in raged—hands now wreathed in black flame, smoke twisting into jagged claws.
I tossed the flag in the air—
—and met him head-on.
20 Seconds
The arena shook.
Blow after blow. Fist, elbow, knee—neither of us giving in. His flame cut deep across my cheek. I hit his ribs hard enough to break them.
"You're not strong enough," he muttered.
"Then I'll become strong enough," I growled back. "Even if it kills me."
Mavren's smoke swallowed the center of the field—an expanding dome of darkness.
I stood still inside it.
Waiting.
"I was born from this smoke," he whispered. "But you... you're just a boy pretending to be a storm."
"No," I said. "I am the storm."
And then I ignited.
A white, red, and silver aura burst out in a perfect sphere, piercing the smoke and clearing it with a shockwave that shook the sky.
10 seconds.
Mavren tried to blink behind me.
But I was already there.
He tried to vanish again.
But I had learned him.
"You rely on tricks," I whispered in his ear, grabbing him mid-teleport. "But I learned how to stand without any."
I slammed him to the ground.
5 seconds.
He looked up at me, dazed, bloodied.
"Why… won't you… break…"
I picked up the flag.
"Because I'm already broken. But I'm still moving."
1 second.
I raised the flag above my head.
Horns blared.
"FLAG SECURED! TAREK WINS!"
The crowd ERUPTED.
Chants. Screams. Applause that made the stands quake.
My aura flickered, fading—hair returning to black.
I dropped to one knee, chest heaving, sweat pouring.
What was that power…?
That voice…?
But I couldn't think long.
Beneath the Arena...
Far below the cheers and flashing lights… deep under the stage… something stirred.
In a chamber hidden by spells older than most kingdoms, a figure sat on a throne of bone, watching through a crystal orb cracked with veins of red.
The figure had no name here. Just a title.
???
He clicked his sharp teeth together as he watched the boy with white hair return to black.
"He changed... again.""How disappointing."
He rose from his seat, bones crackling as he stepped over a newly sacrificed boy—limp, lifeless, drained of mana.
The blood on the floor formed sigils now. Ritual circles.
"That makes… fifteen. Still not enough.""But he's getting closer. They're getting closer."
He held his hand above the boy's body, smoke curling from his fingers.
"Let them play their little game…" he whispered, smiling wide with unnatural rows of teeth."When the last flag falls, the real tournament will begin.""And then—"
He grinned up toward the arena above.
"We'll feed them all… to the Demon King."