The arena was a storm of noise — the crowd chanting, vendors shouting, metallic banners rippling in the heat. All around them, armored knights gleamed like gods of old. Luke and Elias stood out like rust in a garden of gold.
Their armor was patched together from scrap — mismatched plates, cracked vambraces, and a single crest they'd hammered themselves into shape. Undercrown, it read, the letters crooked and rough.
"Don't fidget," Luke whispered.
"I'm not fidgeting," Elias muttered, adjusting the strap on his arm. "I'm making sure it doesn't fall off mid-fight."
"Big difference."
A guard ushered them forward toward the waiting gate. Beyond it lay the arena floor, its white sand scorched and marked from countless duels. Their opponents were already there — two soldiers of the Crimson Ward, their armor radiant with red enamel and their weapons polished to mirror sheen.
"Lovely," Elias said. "We get the shiny ones."
"Means they break easy," Luke said, forcing a grin.
The gate clanged open.
---
The announcer's voice boomed across the amphitheater.
"Match six — Undercrown, Sector Eight entrants, versus the Crimson Ward!"
A laugh rippled through the stands.
"Sector Eight?" someone jeered. "That's the sanitation block!"
"Where'd they dig these two up from, the scrap pit?"
Luke ignored it, stepping out into the light. For a moment, he just looked — at the tiers upon tiers of spectators, at the banners bearing the Nova's insignia, at the sheer size of it all.
It was overwhelming… and intoxicating.
Elias nudged him. "You ready?"
"No," Luke said, tightening his grip on his sword. "Let's do it."
The signal bell rang.
---
The Crimson Ward moved as one, trained and precise. One went for Luke, the other for Elias. Their weapons cut the air with terrifying speed — gleaming arcs of light and steel.
Luke ducked low, the edge of a spear slicing past his ear. He felt the wind of it more than saw it. His instincts took over — the same ones honed from years dodging collapsing beams and loose machinery. He rolled, kicked up dust, and swung for the man's knees. Sparks flew as metal struck metal.
Elias wasn't so lucky. The second knight's shield slammed into him, knocking him flat. The crowd howled with laughter.
"Stay down, junk knight!" someone yelled.
Elias spat blood, eyes burning. "That all you got?"
The knight raised his blade — but Luke was already there. He shoulder-checked the armored man, barely moving him but breaking his rhythm long enough for Elias to recover. Together, they fell into the rhythm they'd always known — the back-and-forth of surviving in places where teamwork meant life or death.
They didn't fight like knights.
They fought like survivors.
Elias swung high, feinted low, and Luke darted behind him to drive his blade into a weak joint. The impact sparked, and for the first time, their opponents faltered.
The crowd's laughter began to fade.
The announcer's voice cracked with disbelief. "Undercrown… with the counterattack!"
The Ward's spear came down in a blur. Luke ducked again, the weapon gouging a line in the sand. He drove his elbow into the knight's ribs, then rammed his broken sword forward with a desperate yell. The metal screamed, the spear splintered — and both combatants hit the ground in a cloud of dust.
When it cleared, only Luke was still standing.
Across the arena, Elias managed a wild swing that caught his opponent off-balance and sent the man tumbling to his knees. A clang, a gasp — and silence.
Then… cheering.
It started small — a few surprised voices — then grew louder until it filled the whole amphitheater. The crowd was roaring. Even the guards looked stunned.
---
The announcer hesitated, then raised his hand.
"Victory… to Team Undercrown!"
Luke stared at the sand, chest heaving. His sword was half-broken, his armor dented beyond repair, but he couldn't stop smiling.
Elias stumbled over, eyes wide, breathing hard. "We just won."
"Guess so."
A burst of fireworks cracked overhead. The noise was deafening — but beneath it, Luke could almost hear the whispers spreading through the crowd. Who are they? Where did they come from?
For now, no one knew.
And that was exactly how they wanted it.
---
Back in the waiting hall, attendants rushed past with towels and repairs. The next teams were being called, the day's battles running one after another with brutal efficiency. Luke and Elias collapsed onto a bench, exhausted.
"You think we'll make it to the next round?" Elias asked.
Luke laughed weakly. "If they don't figure out our armor's made from scrap first."
"Then we better make it look good next round."
Luke looked up at the ceiling — at the golden sigils and pipes carrying the Nova's light — and grinned.
"For once," he said softly, "let's just enjoy the lie."