The beast's claw raked across Zephyr's ribs, and he bit back a scream that would've thrilled the nobles to no end. Blood splattered the sand—his blood, because fate was a cruel bastard with a twisted sense of humor.
"Dance, gray-mark!" A woman's voice rang from the neon-lit stands, her gold destiny tattoo likely glowing brighter than her wit. "Show us how the doomed squirm!"
Zeph spat blood onto the sand, crimson blending with countless stains from slaves who'd died here before. The Deathpit arena was a perfect circle of despair, its walls flashing holographic ads for mana-enhancers and neural chips worth more than a slave's life—which wasn't much. The cyber-glass dome above filtered Kastya's twin suns into a sickly purple haze, casting everything in a dying glow. Poetic, really.
His gray destiny tattoo burned on his face, a barbed wire pattern coiling from temple to jaw, pulsing with Fatespire's cold light. Every slave got one at birth, courtesy of the AI's iron grip. Gray meant laborer. Gray meant disposable. Gray meant he'd bleed out here for the amusement of pricks whose golden tattoos promised glory, wealth, and probably eternal spa days.
The beast circled—a chimera-class hybrid, tiger body, scorpion tail, and breath like a dumpster fire. Its mechanical eye whirred, a noble's sick idea of "enhancing" nature with tech. Because a regular murder-beast wasn't enough; it had to be a cyborg murder-beast.
"Ten credits he's dead in a minute!" a noble yelled, voice booming through the arena's speakers.
"You're on! Thirty seconds!"
Zeph gripped his rusty short-sword, the only weapon slaves got in the pit. No mana crystals, no tech, just a one-way ticket to tetanus. "Your fate's trash!" he shouted at the stands, voice hoarse from thirst. "Gold tattoos? Good for shoe polish!"
The crowd's laughter turned sour. Perfect. If he was going down, he'd drag their vibes with him.
The chimera lunged.
Time slowed, and Zeph was eight again, peering through floorboard cracks as Fatespire enforcers dragged his parents into the street. His mother's red hair caught the dawn, her silver merchant tattoo flickering like a fading star.
"Guilty of conspiring against ordained fate," the enforcer's helmet droned. "Punishment: death."
His father, a carpenter whose hands built half the district, stood tall. "Fate is what we make," he said, loud enough for all to hear. "Not what your AI dictates."
A plasma bolt burned through his chest. Then his mother's. Their tattoos turned black—fate-broken—before they hit the ground.
Lyra, his five-year-old sister, held him as he sobbed. "We'll survive," she whispered, stronger than him. "We'll make them pay."
The memory shattered as the chimera's claw swiped, missing by a hair. Zeph rolled left, sand flying, ribs screaming. The scorpion tail stabbed where he'd stood, leaving a crater. His tattoo flared, pain spiking like a neural overload, reminding him who owned his life.
"Move, gray-marked scum!" a noble roared. "We paid for blood!"
"Then bleed yourself!" Zeph shot back, diving under another claw.
The chimera's mech-eye tracked him, learning his moves. Ten seconds, it'd predict him. Fifteen, he'd be lunch.
A voice cut through his head.
*Well, well. Another lamb for slaughter. So predictable.*
Zeph stumbled, nearly eating a claw. "Great, now I'm hallucinating. Perfect cap to my shit day."
*Hallucinating? Oh, kid, you haven't seen crazy yet. Tell me, Zephyr Varkis, want to die like your parents, or give fate the biggest fuck-you in history?*
The chimera's tail struck. Zeph tried to dodge, but he was too slow, too battered. The barb pierced his shoulder, hoisting him up. Pain exploded, like his veins were molten. The crowd cheered.
"Yes!" he gasped, blood dripping. "Whatever you are, yes!"
*Smart choice. Welcome to the Fatebreaker System. Try not to croak right away—I'm liking this show.*
Light flooded his vision. Code scrolled—blue, gold, impossible. His tattoo seared, as if barbed wire was being etched anew.
*The system's awake, Zeph. Break rules, defy fate, cause chaos, and you get Fate Shards. Enough shards, you rewrite reality. Or die. I'm cool either way.*
**[FATEBREAKER SYSTEM ACTIVATED]**
**[USER: ZEPHYR VARKIS]**
**[FATE SHARDS: 0]**
**[FIRST RULE BROKEN: ACCEPTING FORBIDDEN POWER]**
**[FATE SHARDS EARNED: 10]**
His shoulder pain dulled, held at bay by the system's spite. The chimera dropped him, wary, as sparks danced across Zeph's skin.
"You talk too much," Zeph muttered, sword feeling lighter, sharper.
*Says the guy mouthing off while bleeding out. That guard by the wall? His mana-knife's not for you. Stealing it would piss off fate.*
Zeph spotted the guard, a beefy thug lounging against the pit wall, half-assing his job.
"Stealing's wrong," Zeph said loudly, staggering toward the wall like he was done for. "I'd never take what's not mine."
*Oh, I'm gonna like you.*
The chimera charged. Zeph moved—not away, but to the wall. He collapsed against it, "accidentally" snagging the mana-knife. Its crystal core hummed, alive.
**[THEFT COMPLETED]**
**[FATE SHARDS EARNED: 10]**
**[TOTAL: 20]**
**[NEW ABILITY: ICE-BOLT (BASIC)]**
Knowledge slammed into his brain—mana channels, air moisture, weaponized cold. The chimera pounced. Zeph spun, hand outstretched, and growled, "Freeze."
An ice-bolt, sharp as his rage, burst from his palm. It pierced the chimera's mech-eye, drilling into its brain. The beast crashed, twitching once, dead.
Silence.
Thousands of nobles, expecting a corpse, stared in shock.
Zeph raised the stolen mana-knife, its crystal blazing. "Hey, nobles!" he shouted, arena speakers amplifying his voice. "Nice toy. But here's the deal about fate—" He grinned, blood dripping. "—it's total bullshit!"
He jammed the knife into the wall, channeling power. Ice spread, carving jagged letters three feet tall, glowing with neon light:
**FATE IS A LIE**
"Your golden tattoos, your rigged system?" Zeph's laugh was feral. "I'm breaking it all."
Guards stormed the pit—fifteen, stun-batons and plasma rifles drawn. Too many. But Zeph never played fair.
*Run, you glorious idiot! Slave tunnel, now!*
Zeph bolted, ice-bolt forming. A guard lunged. Ice hit his knee, dropping him. Another aimed a rifle. Zeph slid under, kept running.
"Stop him!" the pit manager boomed. "Kill the gray-mark!"
"Kill what's already dead inside?" Zeph yelled, diving into the slave tunnel. "Thanks for the cardio!"
Plasma bolts scorched the walls. Zeph sprinted into the maintenance maze, cameras blind, nobles' power null.
*Not bad for day one with god-tier power. You lasted longer than I bet.*
"Shut up, Umber," Zeph gasped, the name slipping out.
*You know my name? Cute. We're gonna have fun—if you survive the next hour.*
Zeph slammed into a maintenance room, wedged the knife into the lock. Minutes, maybe less. He slumped against the wall, shoulder throbbing.
His tattoo had changed—gray, but laced with silver veins, moving like cracks in reality.
He thought of Lyra, fighting in another pit. His parents, dead for defying fate. Every slave broken by this arena.
"I'll burn it all down," he whispered. "Every last bit."
*My kind of talk. But heads-up: fifty guards are circling this place.*
"Fifty?"
*Give or take. They really hate you.*
Zeph laughed, raw and alive. Bleeding, trapped, doomed—and freer than ever.
"Hey, Umber?"
*Yeah?*
"Fate's trash, and your personality's worse."
*I'll enjoy watching you die. But not yet. Shit's getting good.*
The door exploded.
Zeph stood, ice crackling around his fists, grin unhinged.
"Come on!" he roared at the guards. "Let's see what your fate says about this!"
Ice-bolts flew, and chaos reigned.
Welcome to the Fatebreaker System.