The lights in Jack's dorm flicked on automatically, humming to life in the early silence. His eyes opened slowly, staring blankly at the ceiling. He'd barely slept.
Another fight today.
He pushed himself upright with a low groan, his muscles aching from yesterday's training. The soreness never fully went away anymore. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, bones popping, arms stretching above his head.
He walked into the bathroom, splashed cold water over his face, and stared at his reflection.
His eyes were bloodshot. Red veins ran thin under the surface, creeping from the corners like spider cracks. He didn't look like the boy who grew up on a farm anymore. He looked like a weapon in recovery.
He dried off with a towel just as a knock came.
Three knocks. Pause. One more.
The system's rhythm. A message without words.
He opened the door to find two guards waiting, both silent and ready.
Guard:
"Arena. Now."
Jack nodded once and followed.
---
Arena – Minutes Later
The metal beneath his feet hissed as his platform rose into the arena. The lights above were harsh, white-hot, casting long shadows over the cracked and bloodstained floor.
Behind the observation glass, the crowd of rich spectators whispered and bet behind tinted windows. Jack didn't look at them. He never did.
His eyes were locked forward.
The opposite platform rose, revealing a wall of muscle wrapped in combat gear.
Karn. Rank 3. No powers. No tricks. Just speed, strength, and years of blood-soaked wins.
Jack exhaled slowly.
This wouldn't be easy.
---
Fight Start – 3... 2... 1.
The buzzer rang.
Karn charged like a bull.
Jack narrowly dodged the first swing, his boots sliding against the floor. A blast of wind from the punch grazed his cheek like a passing train.
Jack leapt backward and raised his hand.
"Scythe—come to me."
The air behind him split open like tearing skin, and Scythe emerged, hissing and gliding across the floor. Slender and monstrous, she moved with deadly grace. Her long curved blade-arm gleamed under the lights.
She charged Karn instantly—no hesitation.
She slashed low. Karn caught her.
Jack's eyes widened.
Karn:
"Not today."
With a roar, Karn lifted Scythe over his head and slammed her into the ground, bones cracking. She screeched, slashing again, but Karn grabbed her blade arm with both hands and snapped it off, blood spraying.
He didn't stop.
He smashed her again and again, ignoring the blood, the sound, the monster's cries.
Then, with one final stomp, he brought his heel down on her skull.
A sharp CRACK echoed across the arena.
Scythe let out one last sound—and was gone.
Her body disintegrated into black ash.
Dead.
Jack froze.
His breathing stopped. Something deep inside him fractured. Losing her was like losing a piece of himself.
The voices in his mind screamed in horror.
---
Jack's Rage – Vines Unleashed
Jack (whispers):
"...You killed her."
Red veins surged along his arms.
With a snap, his forearms split open, and vines erupted outward—wild, jagged, barbed. They launched across the arena, wrapping Karn's chest and arms, pulling tight with violent speed.
Jack (roaring):
"I'LL TEAR YOU APART!"
Karn stumbled, caught off guard for half a second—then laughed.
Karn (grinning):
"Thanks for the handhold."
He grabbed the vines, braced his legs, and with monstrous force, yanked.
Jack's body was pulled across the arena like a puppet on strings.
Before he could react—Karn's fist crashed into Jack's chest.
A brutal boom echoed.
Jack's ribs cracked instantly. His body flew backward, limp and broken, slamming against the arena wall with a sickening thud.
He collapsed in a heap.
---
Strike Intercepted
Everything was blurry. Blood filled his mouth. His chest barely rose and fell.
Karn walked slowly toward him, dragging one foot, blood on his fists.
Karn:
"You scream like your pet?"
He raised his fist.
Jack didn't move.
He couldn't.
---
⚡ ZAAAP!
A violent shock erupted through Karn's neck. He screamed, his body convulsing, arms flailing uncontrollably as electricity coursed through his chip.
He dropped to his knees, then collapsed face-first on the floor, smoke curling from the implant in his neck.
Above the arena, red lights flashed across the wall:
> "TARGET PROTECTED – STRIKE INTERCEPTED."
The crowd gasped.
Some cursed.
Some cheered.
Most simply stared.
Jack lay on the ground, twitching, breath ragged.
His gaze flicked to the red warning light. Then to Karn's stunned, twitching body. Then to the black smear where Scythe had died.
Jack (through clenched teeth):
"...They shocked him. Not me."
He didn't earn survival.
Someone paid for it.
Later, as two guards lifted Jack's half-conscious body from the floor, one of them whispered to the other:
Guard 1 (softly):
"Rank 2s don't get protection orders."
Guard 2:
"This one does.
Whoever paid for him? They've got deep pockets."
Far above the arena floor, beyond the glass and out of sight, a private room sat sealed from sound and view. No one else had access—not guards, not handlers, not sponsors.
Inside, the air was cold and quiet.
A tall, thin old man stood in front of a massive curved screen, watching the replay on loop—the moment Jack summoned Scythe, her death, and then Karn's knockout punch.
The screen paused.
Scythe's body turned to ash again.
He said nothing.
He wore a sleek black suit, tailored perfectly, and a thin porcelain mask covered most of his face. Only one pale eye could be seen behind it—calm, calculating, and focused.
At his side stood a young assistant, hands folded behind her back.
Assistant:
"You activated the strike block?"
Masked Man: (softly, without looking)
"Of course."
A long pause.
Assistant:
"Why? He's only Rank 2. Not stabilized. Still wild."
Masked Man:
"He's not for the arena."
He stepped forward, slowly reaching toward the screen and tracing the frozen image of Jack on the wall—broken, bleeding, but alive.
Masked Man:
"He's for something far greater."
The room dimmed. The screen faded to black.
---
Medical Center – Later
Jack opened his eyes to a ceiling he didn't recognize—dim lights above, the soft beep of monitors beside him.
Pain flooded back in waves.
His chest felt like it had been crushed. His mouth was dry. His limbs ached. But more than anything… his mind was quiet.
Too quiet.
He sat up slightly, wincing.
His arm twitched. He tried to summon—anything. Even just the feeling.
Nothing came.
No response.
No Scythe.
His jaw clenched. He looked down at his hand.
Jack (to himself):
"…She's gone."
His first monster. The one he trusted most. His blade in the dark.
Dead.
And he'd been saved.
Not by strength.
Not by luck.
But by someone in the shadows pulling strings.