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Why were Ethan, Marcus, and Seraphina absent from the final school assessment? The simple truth was that the beginner-grade potions offered as prizes had become irrelevant to them. They were moving at a pace that such low-level resources could no longer supplement. To claim those rewards would have felt hollow, a victory that would mean nothing to them but could mean everything to another student still struggling on the lower rungs of the ladder. They decided it was better to let someone who truly needed it have a chance.
Their training ground was now a place far removed from the sanitized halls of the academy. They had returned to the smoky, roaring, blood-soaked confines of The Gauntlet.
"This time," Marcus declared, the sound of his knuckles cracking like gunshots in the noisy corridor, "I'm taking back my pride."
After each paying the hefty 50,000-credit deposit, they bypassed the frantic betting booths and headed straight for the familiar viewing stands overlooking the main fighting stages. Below, a brutal drama was already unfolding. A psionicist whose body had erupted into a monstrous porcupine form was locked in a bloody struggle with a lithe, wolf-like beast-kin. The wolf, for all its ferocious speed, was being systematically torn apart. With every pounce, it was impaled on another of the porcupine's psionically hardened quills. It died with a final, gurgling howl, its blood pooling on the dark, stained sand.
The victorious porcupine-man, now panting and bleeding from his own wounds, was unceremoniously dragged from the stage by the staff.
"I know we've seen it before," Seraphina murmured, her arms crossed tightly, "but the sheer brutality of this place never gets easier to stomach."
Marcus nodded, his expression grim. "They're both human. Or they were. To see them kill each other like that… like they're monsters…"
"Maybe that's what desperation does to you," Ethan mused, his voice low and thoughtful. "In the end, it's all driven by greed. But are we any different? We came here for credits, for resources, for power. We're also greedy." He looked from Marcus to Seraphina, his gaze intense. "The only thing we can do is hold onto our principles. Draw a line in the sand and never, ever cross it. That's how we avoid becoming… that."
As Ethan's words hung in the air, the ring announcer's amplified voice boomed through the arena, shattering the somber mood.
"And now for a rematch you've all been waiting for! Please welcome back to the stage… 'Muscle Man' and 'Titan'!"
Marcus's head snapped up.
"These two warriors gave us a memorable battle just half a month ago, with the mighty Titan taking a decisive victory! But we've just confirmed that both fighters have broken through to the formidable Rank One, Level Seven! Will the outcome change this time? Let's wait and see!"
Marcus took a deep, centering breath. "It's my turn," he said, his voice a low growl. "I didn't think I'd face him again so soon." He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking. "This time will be different."
"Go get him, Marcus," Seraphina said, her voice firm with support.
"You've got this," Ethan added, clapping him on the shoulder.
Bolstered by their encouragement, Marcus strode down the steps and pushed through the gate, stepping onto the bloodstained stage under the harsh glare of the arena lights.
Titan was already there, a mountain of muscle and scars. He recognized Marcus's masked persona instantly. "I remember you," he sneered. "You're the one who lost faster than anyone I've fought in a year."
Marcus's jaw tightened under his mask. "Don't be so smug. I'm here to avenge that defeat."
"So, you do possess a sense of shame," Titan taunted, rolling his thick neck. "Then why did you dare crawl back onto my stage?"
"Damn it, I can't win a war of words with you," Marcus spat back. "Let's just fight!"
The referee stepped between them. "Fighters to your marks! Let the match… BEGIN!"
Marcus exploded into motion, charging forward with a speed that seemed impossible for his size. No improvement, Titan thought with a smirk, planting his feet. He prepared to use the same simple leg sweep that had ended their last fight so abruptly.
But this was not the same fighter.
Just as he entered Titan's range, Marcus launched himself into the air, executing a flawless 720-degree flip over his opponent's head and landing silently behind him. Before Titan could even process the agile, acrobatic maneuver, Marcus dropped and swept his leg out in a powerful arc. Caught completely off guard, Titan crashed heavily to the ground. Marcus was on him in an instant, driving a powerful, psionically-charged fist into his face.
The blow sent Titan rolling across the sand. He scrambled back to his feet, wiping blood from his lip, his eyes narrowed. "You're… different."
"I've been training," Marcus roared, launching into the advanced combat techniques Mr. Gordon had drilled into him. His fists became a blur, raining down on his opponent like a violent storm.
Faced with the technical, fluid assault, Titan was forced onto the defensive, his powerful arms blocking and parrying. But Marcus's combinations were too fast, too relentless. Soon, Titan could do nothing but weather the storm, unable to find an opening to counterattack. As the furious exchange wore on, Titan's defense began to falter. Seeing his advantage, Marcus pressed harder.
In a moment of desperation, Titan's left hand began to glow with raw psionic light. "Tremor Fist!" he bellowed, thrusting his attack forward.
Marcus met the attack head-on, his own fist glowing with a brighter, more stable light. "Shattering Fist!"
The two attacks collided with a deafening BOOM that sent a visible shockwave ripping through the air. For a heart-stopping moment, they were locked in a struggle of pure power. But Marcus's Earth-rank talent was a grade higher than his opponent's. The stalemate shattered.
Titan was sent flying backward, the sickening crack of breaking bone audible even over the roar of the crowd. He landed in a heap, clutching his shattered hand. Marcus was also thrown back a dozen steps, his stance staggering. He looked unharmed, but his chest was heaving, a deep, resonant ache vibrating through his entire body from the aftershock of the Tremor Fist.
But he was standing. Titan was not. The result was clear.
The referee raised his arm. "I declare the winner… Muscle Man!"
The arena erupted. Fireworks shot into the smoky air and colored ribbons rained down. On the large screen, Marcus's record changed: Muscle Man: 2 Matches / 1 Win / 1 Loss.
The joy and sorrow of the gamblers in the stands was a chaotic symphony.
"YES! I WON! I'm rich!"
"No! My savings! I lost half my life savings on Titan!"
The noise was irrelevant to Marcus. He walked over to Titan and, in a gesture of sportsmanship rarely seen in The Gauntlet, extended a hand to help his opponent up.
"You are very strong," Marcus said, his voice genuine. "A worthy opponent."
Titan winced as he rose, cradling his broken hand. "You too. To improve so much in half a month… it's incredible."
As Marcus started to make an excuse, he realized his mask's voice modulator had been damaged in the final clash, his real, younger voice coming through.
Titan's eyes widened slightly. "Listening to you now… you're just a kid, aren't you?" He let out a weary, painful sigh. "You are young. You have a limitless future. Unlike me." He looked Marcus squarely in the eye. "I understand the need for credits, but act within your means. Don't get lost in this place. Your life is worth more than any bet."
Humbled, Marcus nodded seriously. "Thank you for the advice, sir. I'll remember it."
After collecting his winnings—a net profit of 300,000 credits—Marcus rejoined his friends, the bravado returning.
"Hahaha! How about that? I won!"
"That was amazing, Marcus!" Ethan said, clapping him hard on the back.
"Truly," Seraphina added, her smile full of pride.
"This is just the start!" Marcus declared, feeling invincible. "I'm going to conquer The Gauntlet! I'll earn so many credits my hands will go numb from counting them!"
Seraphina rolled her eyes playfully. "Alright, settle down. You win one rematch and you think you're the king? Pride comes before a fall. There are stronger fighters here. Win five or six in a row, then you can be arrogant."
Marcus pouted. "Come on, that was a tough fight. Can't you let me enjoy it for a minute?"
Her expression softened. "I'm just worried you'll get overconfident. I don't want you to become one of them."
Marcus's smile became more thoughtful. "I know, Seraphina. I get it. There will always be someone stronger. The goal isn't to be the best. It's to be better than I was yesterday."
"Good," she replied, satisfied. "That's the attitude that will keep you alive."
They settled in, watching the next brutal match begin, their understanding of the harsh, unforgiving world they inhabited growing with every drop of blood spilled on the sand below.
THROW POWER STONES.