Morning had risen in a pale gray glow, bathing the ruined city in a light of ashes. The Imperial Palace, with its imposing silhouette, towered over the rest of the broken city. It was there that the elites watched the world, the heart of the Empire, where the Emperor and his council ruled with an iron fist. But on this particular day, that was not where the action would unfold.
Far away, the arena had been prepared to host the Judgment—a bloody spectacle that would bring together handpicked survivors. It would not be a simple physical trial. It would be a test of will, a choice between life and death. And there, in the dust and mist that covered the city, the survivors gathered, waiting for their turn to fight for a place at the top, among the elite.
Liora stood beside the Emperor, silently observing. Her gaze pierced through the glass walls, watching the scene outside—a scene resembling a massacre. She knew what she was about to witness today would mark her forever.
The announcer rose into the arena, his voice metallic and impassive, amplified by loudspeakers. He was a key element of the spectacle, a master of ceremonies turning this slaughter into entertainment for the powerful.
"Welcome, dear spectators," he declared, his voice echoing across the crowd. "Today, the Judgment begins! A test of survival, strength, and blood! Who will stand tall to claim their place among the elite? Who will fall under the weight of brutality? We are about to find out!"
The crowd of elites turned toward the giant screen broadcasting the upcoming fights—a spectacle where violence and suffering were turned into simple entertainment. The screams, the clashing of weapons, the sounds of crushed flesh were magnified in the silence of the Palace. Liora felt a growing unease but forced herself not to let it show.
First Round: The Hunt
The bell rang, signaling the beginning of the first round. The survivors stood in a vast circular arena, a devastated platform strewn with debris, metal shards, and rubble. Weapons were scattered here and there, and the battle was about to begin.
A group of survivors immediately charged into action, racing for the weapons and clashing with one another. Bodies collided, blood poured freely, mixing with the dust. A gaunt, starving man seized an axe and struck another survivor with brutal force. The victim's scream echoed in the air, but it was drowned out by the impact of metal against skull. The man collapsed, his brain splattered on the muddy ground, his lifeless body falling with a sickening thud.
The violence was raw, devoid of mercy. Liora briefly looked away, but she knew this was just a taste. The battles in the arena never stopped. It was a war machine, a macabre dance where only the strongest survived.
Among the crowd of survivors on the other side of the city, groups huddled near giant screens, silently watching the carnage.
Their eyes were fixed on the images—the agony of the fighters broadcasted live. Men and women of the people, dressed in rags and chewing scraps of food, stared with no emotion. Many had seen this kind of violence over the years. But some, especially the younger ones, trembled at the brutality. Some whispered.
"This world… it's gone mad," murmured a woman, eyes locked on the screen. "Why does the Empire let lives be crushed like this?"
A man beside her nodded, his gaze burning with rage. "It's their way of controlling… Of showing who's really in charge."