Chapter 5
Jared stared at his father's back.
At the grim, unwavering resolve radiating from him.
And in that moment, everything became clear.
He had always been angry—angry at his father for constantly risking his life, always chasing more power when he was already the strongest human on Earth. It had felt reckless… unnecessary.
But now he understood. His father hadn't been chasing strength out of pride or obsession. He had been preparing—for this exact moment.
Jared closed his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. He tried to calm the storm in his mind.
It's fine, he told himself. He'll win. He has to.
If his father emerged victorious, then this disaster, masquerading as a match, could be avoided entirely.
---
Across the colosseum, Kraven sat with an expression of clear boredom as he watched the Earthling make his way toward the stage. He radiated indifference, yet a flicker of irritation crept across his face.
"You," he transmitted telepathically to the announcer, his voice sharp and cold. The announcer flinched, a chill running down his spine despite the blazing heat of the arena.
"Why is a 'ling' on the stage?" Kraven's voice rang in the announcer's mind like the blade of a guillotine.
The announcer wanted to say it was a foolish question. But he knew that would be suicide.
So instead, he bowed his head and replied as respectfully as he could.
"He is the second combatant, my lord."
Kraven's bored expression deepened into something even more uninterested. His sharp eyes locked onto the announcer, and the man tensed further.
Sensing the need to elaborate quickly, the announcer continued:
"According to the survival match schedule, Earth was among the next planets selected for evaluation."
Kraven raised an eyebrow.
"Then why not destroy it? The lings there are barely worth notice."
The announcer hesitated before responding.
"That was considered… but then we received word of an Earthling powerful enough to represent the entire planet. He requested to fight for Earth's survival."
"Oh?" Kraven murmured, still disinterested—but his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Just how strong is he?"
"A Tier Three warrior, my lord."
That caught Kraven's attention. A flicker of surprise passed over his face.
A Tier Three Earthling? That was rare. Extremely rare.
Kraven shifted his gaze to the Earthling now stepping onto the stage.
The last time he had seen any human near that level was millennia ago—during a revolt that had been swiftly crushed by his own hands. Since then, no 'ling' had risen past the early levels of Tier Two, let alone reached Tier Three.
Perhaps this match won't be as dull as I feared, he thought, leaning forward slightly in his seat.
---
Raven now stood on the arena platform.
His expression was unreadable—calm, composed, and neutral.
Before him towered a monstrous warrior: Torac, a giant of a creature, radiating savage power.
Unlike the roaring crowd, neither combatant was here for sport.
They were here for survival.
Not just their own—but for the survival of their worlds.
The announcer, now visibly more relaxed since Kraven had gone silent, raised his hand.
"BEGIN!"
A guttural roar erupted from Torac. The sheer force of his voice created shockwaves that rippled through the air.
He drew a massive blade from his back, its edges jagged and humming with raw energy. His burning eyes locked onto Raven, who merely stared back—unshaken.
Raven tightened his grip on his dual cicles, twin curved blades glowing faintly in his hands.
He could feel it—Torac was powerful. Maybe even stronger than him. But that didn't matter.
Raven's expression remained composed.
He was ready for battle.
Torac gripped his massive blade with both hands, the ground beneath his feet trembling with each thunderous step as he surged forward. In less than a heartbeat, the towering warrior brought his colossal weapon down—right where Raven's head had been moments before.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some had already turned away, convinced the battle was over.
But they were wrong.
At the last moment, Raven raised one of his cicles, intercepting the devastating strike. The force of the blow sent a violent tremor through his body, bones rattling, muscles straining—but he held firm. With a fierce roar, he swung his second cicle, smashing the great blade aside and stunning the massive gnor for a brief moment.
And in a battle between elites, even a moment was more than enough.
Raven spun midair, yellow energy pulsing into his twin blades. In a flash, he struck at Torac's throat—fast, clean, and precise.
Clang. Slice.
A spray of dark blood burst into the air, followed by several bloody scales clattering to the ground. Torac let out a guttural growl, the pain coursing through him. But the wound wasn't fatal—his thick, hardened scales had dulled the blow. With a deep breath, he wiped the blood from his neck. The torn flesh quickly regenerated, new scales forming like armor over the wound.
Raven didn't falter.
Without so much as a flicker of hesitation, he charged once more, his cicles gleaming with focused energy.
Torac snarled and raised his blade high above his head. From the tip down to the hilt, it pulsed with crimson energy—pure destruction surging across its surface. Then, with a thunderous cry, he slammed it down.
The moment it touched the ground, multiple dark-red energy slashes erupted outward like shockwaves, slicing through the air with terrifying speed—all aimed at Raven.
The crowd watched in frozen silence. Surely, this was the end.
But Raven remained calm.
His eyes closed.
And when they opened again, they shone with brilliant yellow light.
His blades moved.
Fast. Lethal. Unwavering.
He slashed through the crimson waves of destruction, one after another, his movements swift and fluid, like a storm of golden lightning. It was perfect. A dance of survival against the chaos of death.
But his energy was waning—each movement drained more from him.
After nearly a full minute of fending off the relentless assault, Raven destroyed the final red slash—only to see Torac charging directly at him.
The giant raised his weapon for a finishing blow.
Raven had no time. Too close. Too fast.
The crowd held its breath.
And then—at the very last instant—Raven moved.
With a sudden, elegant twist of his body, he shifted out of the blade's path, appearing behind Torac like a phantom. Yellow radiance exploded from him as he lunged, seizing the moment for a decisive strike.
But Torac—far more agile than his size suggested—whirled around and brought his blade down once more.
Raven caught it with one cicle, forcing it to the side and holding it there with sheer will.
With his free hand, he struck.
A brutal slash across Torac's chest, the impact echoing like thunder. Scales shattered, a shallow wound tearing open beneath them.
Before Raven could deliver a follow-up blow, Torac roared and grabbed him by the arm.
Pain exploded in Raven's body as the massive hand squeezed tightly, bones groaning under the pressure. Yet he made no sound, no sign of agony.
He simply acted.
The arm still holding the great blade back began to glow—brilliant yellow light flowing into the cicle like liquid power. The blade lit up, radiating with explosive energy.
And then—
Raven brought it down with everything he had.
Right on Torac's hand.
At first, Torac's thick scales held firm—but only for a heartbeat.
Then, with a shattering crack, they split apart.
Raven's blade tore clean through, severing Torac's right hand at the wrist. The massive limb crashed to the ground with a heavy thud, his great blade falling beside it, useless.
Torac staggered, stunned.
That single moment of shock was all Raven needed.
He dropped his cicle.
Clenching his hand into a tight fist, he struck forward, slamming it against the exposed flesh of Torac's chest.
At first—nothing.
Then a surge of radiant energy exploded across Raven's body, burning bright gold, before channeling into his arm. In a flash, the gathered energy blasted out of his fist like a focused cannon of raw destruction.
Too late, Torac realized the danger.
The energy ripped through him—body and soul alike. A gaping hole tore through his torso, light piercing from the inside out.
Torac's eyes widened in disbelief and terror.
And then, with a low, echoing thud, the towering creature collapsed.
Dead.
The fierce gnor—slain by a single, devastating blow from an Earthling.
Silence gripped the massive colosseum.
Thousands stared, breathless. No one moved. No one spoke.
An Earthling had killed a gnor. And not just killed—dominated.
The precision. The speed. The sheer force.
It had looked almost... effortless.
All eyes turned to the lone figure still standing on the battlefield—his body glowing faintly, blood on his knuckles, breath steady.
Their thoughts echoed as one.
"Are all Earthlings like him?"
To be continued…...
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