I brushed the sweat off my forehead as I exited the pit, the sounds of the audience's applause still resonating in my ears. My body felt agile—untouched, powerful. The excitement of triumph vibrated beneath my skin. I had successfully passed the first round, and even better, I managed to do so with minimal damage.
Sienna was the first to come to me, almost throwing herself into my embrace.
"You did it!" she said, her voice breathless with relief. "And you barely got hit!"
Camille, standing just behind her, smirked. "Not bad! Though I expected a little more flair. Maybe a backflip?" Despite her teasing, the tension in her shoulders had eased, and I knew she had been just as worried.
Alexis, arms crossed, gave me an approving nod. "Good! This was efficient. I expected no less."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "I wasn't going for a spectacle. Just survival."
The weight of their relief settled over me like a warm cloak. They had been worried, despite everything I had shown them. Despite knowing what I could do. And I had won. That counted for something.
"I've still got my ace in the hole, too," I said, my voice dropping slightly. "Didn't even need to use Copy."
Camille arched a brow. "Saving it for later?"
The celebration was short-lived, though. The next match was already being announced. The quarterfinals.
Ragnar Wulf versus Vera Duvall.
A shift rippled through the arena, as if the air had thickened. If my fight had been a battle of precision, this one promised to be a slaughter.
Sienna bit her lip. "Do you think she stands a chance?"
I didn't answer right away. I already knew their skills. I didn't need Scan this time. Vera was dangerous—deadly even. Executioner was not a job given lightly. Her abilities were built around patience, timing, and ruthless precision. But Ragnar...
Ragnar was something else entirely.
The pit doors opened, and Vera stepped forward first. She was tall, wiry, draped in dark combat gear that hugged her form without restricting movement. Her long black hair was tied back into a tight braid, and her pale expression was unreadable. Cold, methodical. Her presence carried weight, an aura that made even experienced fighters hesitate.
Then Ragnar walked in.
The distinction was instantaneous. He didn't merely enter—he commanded the area. A massive figure of muscle and scars, Ragnar Wulf exhibited the demeanor of a warlord. His blonde hair was combed back, his eyes shining with a nearly youthful delight. As if this were merely a game.
I heard Sienna exhale sharply. "Damn. That's a monster."
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena. "Quarterfinal match! Vera 'The Widow' Duvall versus Ragnar 'The Beast' Wulf!"
The buzzer sounded. The fight began.
Vera moved first, fast as a viper. She darted forward, striking with surgical precision—testing him. A feint, a pivot, a precise palm strike aimed for a nerve cluster in his side.
Ragnar didn't even flinch.
He caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting. Vera reacted instantly, using the motion to coil around him like a constrictor, her other hand striking at his throat.
This time, he moved. A slight tilt of his head, and her strike whiffed past his neck. Then, with casual brutality, he wrenched her off him and tossed her backward. Vera flipped midair, landing on her feet, but I caught it—the momentary flex of her fingers. That had hurt.
She was still in this, though. And she knew she couldn't let him control the pace.
Vera disappeared from sight—no, not disappeared, just moved so fast she blurred. Her footwork was flawless, weaving in and out of Ragnar's reach, striking in bursts of lethal efficiency. A slash across his ribs. A pinpoint jab at his throat. A kick to his inner knee.
Ragnar absorbed it all.
No, more than that. He let her do it.
I felt it before I saw it. The shift. The moment his patience ran out. Ragnar sighed, rolling his shoulders. "This isn't fun at all."
Vera's body tensed. She moved again, a final attempt at ending it before he could counter.
She never got the chance.
Ragnar's arm blurred, catching her ankle mid-kick. Before she could react, he swung her like a ragdoll, slamming her into the dirt hard enough to crack the ground.
The impact stole the breath from the arena. Vera choked, barely conscious, trying to push herself up.
Ragnar didn't let her.
He lifted her by the collar of her combat suit and—without ceremony—hurled her across the pit.
I barely had time to step aside before her unconscious body crashed at my feet. A hush fell over the crowd.
I looked down at Vera, at the blood dripping from her mouth, at the unnatural angle of her arm. She wasn't dead. But she had been utterly, completely dominated.
Sienna gasped. Camille whispered something under her breath. Alexis' eyes narrowed.
Ragnar stretched, rolling his neck, then turned his gaze on me.
"That's better," he said, grinning. "This beetle looks much more interesting."
A slow, predatory smile. The kind of smile that promised destruction.
The announcer's voice, almost hesitant, declared the winner.
"Ragnar Wulf is victorious!"
My fingers curled into fists. I had expected him to win. But not like that.
Not like that at all.
I looked down at Vera's body—at the way her arm lay limp, at the slow rise and fall of her chest. She was still breathing. Barely. But she wouldn't be fighting again. Not after this.
The scent of blood clung to the air, thick and metallic. The crowd, drunk on violence, roared in approval. But I wasn't looking at them. My gaze was locked on Ragnar.
He wasn't celebrating. He wasn't even acknowledging the announcer's voice declaring his victory. No, he was looking at me. And in his eyes, I saw it. The same kind of weightless amusement he'd shown during the fight. Like he was still waiting for the real entertainment to begin.
A chill ran down my spine.
Ragnar had crushed Vera, not because he needed to—but because he wanted to. Because it was fun.