Two hours.
That was how long they had been staring at a blank screen, confused like cattle without a shepherd. The mighty arena—packed with people hungry for blood and spectacle—had been left with nothing but silence and static. Michael could almost hear the whispers, the panic, the doubt, "Good. Let them stew. Let them choke on it".
Up in their cozy little box, Vikram was 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 acted like answers were owed to him.
Ajay had shut him down—as expected. "I'm a commander, not your personal assistant." Vikram's face must have twisted, pride wounded but tongue tied. All bark, no bite. A spoiled cub trying to roar in a lion's den.
And Arjun… calm, cold, calculating. Watching everything unfold like Michael was a chess piece.
"He claims to be a Vellory. So he's not ordinary. Let's wait and watch."
Meanwhile, the last Ironback had roared, tried to roll, tried to live. Michael's daggers sank into its abdomen again and again until the sound drained out of its lungs and nothing remained but silence and the stench of death in the heated, burning air.
That made twenty.
Twenty Ironbacks torn apart by Michael's hands, their blood soaking into the sand.
"Two hours---
That was how long it took me to bring them all down. Two hours of blood, sand, and claws trying to shred me apart. And let me tell you—it had been fucking hard.
Every time I wanted to absorb their Black Essence, the damn system had forced me to 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". And exclaimed"But I did it anyway".
"Status."
Core Combat Stats
Strength: 37
Agility: 34
Endurance: 34
Vitality: 31
"Not bad. Higher than where I started, but nowhere near enough for what waited outside this desert".Still, Michael checked 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 understood that. But corruption resistance? No clue. I'd get my answer eventually. Mental fortitude… fine. But the regeneration rate? Rock bottom. I had to raise that shit before I ended up shredded again like against Bheeshma.
Just remembering that bastard made my stomach churn. One day, I'd hunt him down. One day, I'd get my rematch", with agony and the hatred of get defeated by Bheeshma Michael scrolled down to check latter things.
Essence & Ability Growth
Black Essence Capacity: 4000 / 4000
Essence Absorption Rate: 16 BEU/sec
Lotus Synchronization: 4.17%
Petal Stage: 1 / 24
"Yeah. The chain around my neck. The absorption rate was shackled to the Petal Stage. Each stage made it faster, but triggering them took forever—and I didn't have forever".
That was when the air behind Michael tore open.
A portal.
Officers marched out into the blood-soaked desert Michael had turned into a graveyard. Their boots crushed dead shells, cracked bones, and blackened sand. They were expecting chaos.
Instead, they found order—the kind written in corpses.
When they sent the surveillance feed back online, the entire arena finally got their answer.
Every Ironback.
Dead.
All by Michael's hand.
One of the officers gasped, voice trembling through the comms:
"Commander… do you see this?"
Ajay Meer responded—calm, edged:
"Yes. Check whether any Ironbacks remain."
They scanned. Nothing. Not a single heartbeat.
Verdict: The outcast won.
Vikram Vellory's face twisted like he'd swallowed poison.
Arjun Vellory, of course, stayed unreadable—just observing, calculating.
Neha Khuraar? Shocked stiff.
Ranveer Rathore probably laughed at Vikram's humiliation… until he realized Michael wasn't just competition for Vikram—but competition for all of them.
Nagul Senapati sat frozen.
Varsha Aarin? She smiled. Not mockery. Not shock. Something deeper.
And then the AI Glitch—perfect, polished—glitched before it finally stuttered out:
"The winner of the trial… Adhitya Vellory."
The silence exploded.
The crowd roared like thunder—
"Yeah! That's the Vellory for you guys!"
"It's not Vikram—it's Adhitya Vellory!"
Each word carved a wound into Vikram's pride.
Ajay Meer, Arjun Vellory, and Vikram stepped onto the ground.
The commander cold, the nephew humiliated, and the uncle… locking eyes with Michael.
Arjun Vellory didn't look away.
Neither did Michael.
With twenty Ironback corpses at his feet, blades still dripping, Michael stepped out of the portal as soldiers formed around him like an escort to a funeral. The crowd roared—chants for Michael aka Adhitya—but Vikram's hatred burned hotter than all of them. He wanted him dead. So did half the prodigies.
But Michael didn't care.
Michael wasn't here for their admiration.
Michael was here to get into that house, find my bastard of a father, and make that man remember what it meant to lose. Because if Michael get into Vellory stronghold as an elder son of the hammer saint it would make easier for him to find his biological father among the order of hammer.
Funny thing though—this entire setup wasn't Michael
Vashir planted Michael like a seed in this situation and vanished.
Arjun Vellory cut through the crowd, smooth as ever, stopping close enough for Michael to smell his cologne—and his arrogance.
"Well done, Michael. You exhibited an outstanding display of performance," he said, calm as a judge.
"What—Michael?" someone spat, the name landing like an insult.
"Michael? Wasn't he win and proved himself, Aditya Vellory?" Nagul barked.
"What the fuck is happening here?" Ranveer snarled.
Neha's gaze sharpened—calculating.
Varsha's face stayed unreadable.
Then the word dropped into the arena like a stone:
"Outcast."
The reaction was instant—twisted faces, hunger, cruelty.
A predator's look.
Cosmos soldiers circled him, tightening the noose.
Predictable.
Arjun Vellory lifted a hand. Silence slammed down.
"If you kill him now, what will the candidates fight for?" he asked.
Then he announced, cold and clear:
"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 flipped—from jeer to bloodlust in a heartbeat.
Ranveer grinned wide.
"Whatever—rules are rules."
"Of course, meathead," Neha replied.
Michael laughed—short, sharp, amused.
The system window blinked into my vision:
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST
Objective: Survive 5 minutes
Reward: ???
ACCEPT / DECLINE
Michael snorted. His daggers felt perfect in his hands.
He flipped them—caught them—spit blood between his teeth, and grinned like a lunatic who finally got a stage.
Five minutes.
That was all.
"Five minutes against a mob of prodigies desperate for a spot in C.O.S.M.O.S."
"Five minutes to prove what an outcast could do when the leash snapped".
"Bring it on."