"Kikaru's out for blood," Asurik added, tilting his head just slightly, as if judging distance, weight, force. "She might just burn him to ash."
His smirk deepened, one corner lifting higher.
"Wouldn't that be a sight."
Above them, the monitors pulsed once more, casting long red shadows across the arena floor, as if the blood they were waiting for had already begun to spill.
On one of the highest platforms, Silas leaned forward, elbows resting lightly against the cold railing.
The glow from the monitors above caught the edge of his glasses, lighting the lenses with a thin, mechanical red sheen.
His fingers brushed the frame once — a small, deliberate adjustment — as if tuning the world itself into sharper focus.
"Radiant Ascendance at level two," Silas murmured, his voice barely a ripple against the oppressive hum of the arena.
The words weren't admiration.
They were observation.
