Two hours. That's how long they've been staring at a blank screen, confused like cattle without a shepherd. The mighty arena, packed with people hungry for blood and spectacle, and all they get is silence and static. I can almost hear the whispers, the panic, the doubt. Good. Let them stew. Let them choke on it.
Up in their cozy little box, Vikram's probably losing his shit.
"Commander, it's been two hours—why the hell is the screen still offline? And how the hell did he kill a D-rank Ironback?"
Pathetic. The boy wants answers like they're owed to him.
Ajay shuts him down, I know he does—"I'm a commander, not your personal assistant." Vikram's face twisting, his pride wounded but his tongue tied. He's all bark, no bite, a spoiled cub trying to roar in a lion's den.
And Arjun… Calm and Cold. He is watching and calculating every move like I'm a piece in his game. "He claims to be a Vellory. So he's not ordinary. Let's wait and watch."
The last Ironback roars, tries to roll, tries to live. Pathetic. My daggers sink into its abdomen, again and again, until the sound dies out of it, leaving nothing but silence and the stench of death in the burning air.
That makes twenty. Twenty Ironbacks torn apart by my hands, their blood soaking into the sand.
Two hours. That's how long it took me to bring down twenty Ironbacks. Two hours of blood, sand, and claws trying to shred me apart. And let me tell you—it was fucking hard. Every time I wanted to absorb their Black Essence, the damn system made me stop and answer its yes or no bullshit. Four minutes per corpse. Four minutes of standing still in a desert full of monsters, just to drink their power.
But I did it anyway.
"Status."
Core Combat Stats
Strength: 37
Agility: 34
Endurance: 34
Vitality: 31
Not bad. I've crawled higher, but this still won't be enough when I'm up against those power-drunk freaks watching from their golden box. Still, let's check deeper.
Offensive Power
Base Attack Power: 74
Ability Amplification: 71%
Elemental Affinity (Black Essence): 15.5%
Critical Force: 35.5
Effective Damage: 104.5
Defensive Power
Damage Resistance: 23.8%
Corruption Resistance: 10.2%
Mental Fortitude: 10.2%
Regeneration Rate: 6.2%
HP: 310
Damage resistance, I can understand,what does it mean but what does corruption resistance means? I think I will get the answer eventually. Mental fortitude....okay but regeneration rate, it's in rock bottom I have rise it to point that no thing in this world can destroy me easily like in the fight with Bheeshma. Fuck.... Just thinking about him and that fight makes me sick. Definitely I look for him in future and put a rematch with him.
Okay, let's see,
Essence & Ability Growth
Black Essence Capacity: 4000 / 4000
Essence Absorption Rate: 16 BEU/sec
Lotus Synchronization: 4.17%
Petal Stage: 1 / 24
Yeah. There it is. The chain around my neck. The absorption rate's shackled to the Petal Stage. Each stage makes it faster, but it takes its sweet damn time to trigger the next change. And I don't have the luxury to wait.
That's when the air behind me tears open. A portal. Officers march out, stepping into the blood-soaked desert I've turned into a graveyard. Their boots crunch over dead shells, crushed spines, blackened sand. They expected chaos. Instead, they found order—the kind written in corpses.
And as they raise their surveillance feeds back online, the entire arena gets their answer.
Every Ironback. Dead. Not one alive. Killed by me.
I hear one of the officers gasp, his voice trembling through the comms:
"Commander… do you see this?"
Ajay Meer's voice, calm but edged:
"Yes. Check whether any Ironbacks remain."
The officers scan. No heat signatures. Nothing. Verdict: I won.
And the silence that follows back at the arena? Delicious.
Vikram's face must be twisted like he bit into poison. Disappointment doesn't even cover it. His pride just got gutted. Arjun, though—he doesn't rage, doesn't smile. Just gives that cold stare, gears turning behind his eyes. Always calculating.
Neha Khuraar? Disbelief written all over her. Like the ground just split beneath her feet. "Fuck, where did he come from?" Probably what she's thinking.
Ranveer Rathore—the bastard who mocked me before—laughs at Vikram's humiliation… until he realizes the truth. I'm not competition for Vikram. I'm competition for all of them.
Nagul Senapati sits stunned, disbelief choking him. Varsha Aarin? She smiles. Not mockery. Not shock. Something deeper. Like she's been waiting for this.
And the crowd? Dead silent. Even the AI—perfect, polished, unfeeling—glitches for a moment, its voice stammering before it declares, almost reverently:
"The winner of the trial… Adhitya Vellory."
And that's when the silence shatters. The crowd erupts like thunder, voices clashing—
"Yeah! That's the Vellory for you guys!"
"It's not Vikram—it's Adhitya Vellory!"
Every word a knife twisted into Vikram's chest. His face burns, rage swallowing him whole.
Ajay Meer, Arjun Vellory, and Vikram all step onto the ground. The commander cold as ever, the nephew drowning in humiliation, and the uncle… locking eyes with me.
Arjun doesn't look away. Neither do I.
And in that frozen moment, with twenty Ironback corpses at my feet, blades still dripping.
I step out of the portal with the daggers still slick, soldiers funneling behind me like an escort to a funeral. The crowd roars—chants for Adhitya—but their voices are a blur under the hot spike of Vikram's hatred. The kid's face is a knife; he wants me dead. So do half the prodigies. So what? I don't give a flying goddamn. I'm here to get into that house, find my bastard of a father, and make him remember what it means to lose.
Funny thing—this whole setup wasn't mine. Vashir planted me like a seed and vanished. Smart bastard. I'll water what he sowed and harvest whatever I need.
Arjun Vellory steps through the press of bodies, smooth as a blade drawn. He comes close enough for me to smell his cologne and his arrogance. "Well done, Michael. You exhibit an outstanding display of performance," he says, calm as a judge delivering a sentence.
"What—Michael?" someone spits, and the name lands like an insult.
"Michael? Isn't he Adhitya?" Nagul barks, because nuance costs more than he can pay.
"What the fuck is happening here?" Ranveer snarls.
Neha watches me with the kind of look that says something going to unfold that would be in her favourl. Varsha doesn't bother—her face is a closed ledger and I don't have the patience to pry it open.
The word explodes. "Outcast." It ricochets through the arena like a thrown rock. Faces twist—contempt, hunger, a hard, eager cruelty. The prodigies' eyes go predatory.
Cosmos soldiers converge, boots and rifles closing the circle. Predictable. Dogs around a prize.
Arjun lifts a hand and the noise shuts off like someone pulled a plug. "Stop," he says. His voice is cold and heavy, and it snaps them into stillness. "If you kill him now, what will the candidates fight for?"
Then he turns that same cold on the crowd and announces, clear as a bell: "To all candidates — kill him. Whoever lands a critical hit will be selected into the C.O.S.M.O.S. training program."
The arena reconfigures itself in a second, from jeer to opportunity. Ranveer's face splits into a grin. "Whatever—rules are rules."
"Of course, meathead," Neha says, like she's already cashed the check.
I let a short laugh rip through me—bitter, amused, useful. They want blood and a name on a file. Fine. Give them a show.
The system window blooms in my vision like a goddamn neon sign:
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST
Objective: Survive 5 minutes
REWARD: ???
ACCEPT / DECLINE
I snort. The daggers feel perfect in my palms. I flip them—both up, both caught—then let blood bead and drip off the tips. The crowd leans forward on instinct.
"Round two, alright" The whole crowd including the prodgies are in terrible bloodlust, you can understand from this what an outcast meant to them.
"Let's start." I toss the blades—catch them, spit blood across my teeth, and grin like a lunatic who finally got a stage.
Five minutes. That's all. Five minutes to survive a hungry mob of wannabe saints and throne-chasers. Five minutes to prove what an outcast can do when the leash snaps.
Bring it on.