Saland awoke in a cramped, lightless cell. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he lay sprawled on a meager cot. To his right, another cot held an elderly figure, his back resolutely turned. With a throat thick with pain, Saland rasped, "Hey, old man... do you know where we are... and who you are?"
Slowly, the old man pushed himself into a sitting position. The glint of metal around his wrists and ankles betrayed his chained state, preventing any real movement. His voice, thin and reedy, filled the small space. "My name is Egar. I was once the strongest fighter in this arena." He paused, a hint of bitter pride in his tone. "This place... they bring all those deemed a threat to the king's power here. Those strong enough, at least, to offer some entertainment against the Executors." Egar's hair was the color of snow, and his frame was alarmingly gaunt, likely a testament to meager rations. He wore only a simple white wool shirt and dark shorts. Not a tall man, his words came with noticeable effort.
Egar continued, his gaze distant, "I find myself in this predicament for challenging one far too powerful. But I will share my tale with you, young one. I am eighty years now, but when I was a mere fifteen, I stumbled by mistake into the abyssal lands. Yes, I am human." A faint smile touched his lips. "My hunter's skills allowed me to survive. But one day, the Executors, those hounds of the king, set their eyes upon me. They captured me without much difficulty and forced me to become a gladiator in this very arena. Through countless battles, I managed to learn and hone my innate ability, 'Piercing Eyes.' It grants me the power to perceive an opponent's strengths and exploit them." A flicker of his former power seemed to ignite in his aged eyes. "I survived over a thousand fights. My victories earned me the title of Rudiari, an undefeated warrior. But the king of this wretched realm... he does not take kindly to those who approach his power. He decided to challenge me himself. I did not hesitate to accept." A shadow crossed his face. "Our duel lasted a mere five minutes. And I can tell you this, boy... that being is a demon. Immensely powerful. His abilities are terrifying, and his regeneration... it's frighteningly fast. After that… after that humiliation, I was locked away here, left to rot until my end. I have never seen a cellmate of mine return. But they left you a weapon." His gaze drifted to the crude sword lying beside Saland. "I wish you good fortune, Saland."
"Thank you," Saland managed, his own voice still rough.
"Just one last thing," Egar added, his voice barely a whisper. "The only rule in the arena... is that there are no rules. You can unleash yourself completely in that place." With that final pronouncement, the old Rudiari seemed to succumb to exhaustion, his breathing evening out as he drifted into sleep.
Saland's mind reeled. He had grasped the grim reality of his situation. To survive, to escape this hellhole, and perhaps... to avenge the broken warrior beside him, he would have to become a Rudiari himself.
Suddenly, the heavy iron door of the cell creaked open, and two hulking guards stood silhouetted against the dim corridor light. "You are Saland?" one of them grunted, his voice rough as stone. "You have been chosen for the next spectacle. Come with us." Saland, his body aching with every movement, followed them. Egar, still half-asleep, offered a weak wave of his hand.
Saland was led through a maze of corridors until he emerged into an enormous hall. The sheer number of beings present stole his breath. Giants whose heads brushed the cavernous ceiling, stocky dwarves with grim expressions, hulking orcs sharpening crude weapons, graceful elves with an air of detached superiority, and creatures of nightmare that defied any description Saland had ever encountered. There had to be over ten thousand of them, a seething mass of raw power and desperation. Saland found a space near a massive stone column and sank down, ignoring the racks of brutal-looking weapons and armor. The only weapon he needed already lay at his side.
A deafening roar echoed through the hall, followed by the grinding sound of colossal gears. An enormous gate, easily the size of a small house, shuddered open, revealing the entrance to the arena. Saland was herded along with the other combatants towards a narrow iron bridge that spanned a terrifying chasm. The darkness below was absolute, swallowing any hint of a bottom. A shiver ran down Saland's spine as he crossed, the rickety structure swaying precariously under the weight of the assembled warriors.
He finally reached the center of the arena, a vast circular expanse of blood-stained reinforced concrete. The air thrummed with anticipation and a palpable sense of violence. With a grim determination, Saland drew Mountain Cleaver. The old, rusted blade felt surprisingly solid in his grip. He settled into a basic fighting stance, his eyes scanning the multitude of potential threats.
The deafening clang of an enormous gong shattered the tense silence. The battle had begun. A chaotic wave of fighters surged forward, a maelstrom of steel and fury. There were so many, a dizzying array of races and combat styles. But Saland didn't hesitate. His eyes locked onto a towering giantess charging towards him. With a burst of surprising speed, he lunged forward, Mountain Cleaver a blur. The rusted blade sliced through the giantess's thick leg like butter, and she crashed to the ground with a thunderous boom, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air.
Saland used the momentary obscurity to his advantage, weaving through the chaos, his movements surprisingly agile despite his aching body. He eliminated several less wary combatants, a swift thrust here, a brutal slash there. The giantess roared in pain and tried to rise, but Saland was upon her in an instant, a clean, brutal chop severing her massive head.
A heavily armored figure, all bulging muscles, swung a massive sword at Saland. But the rusted blade of Mountain Cleaver met the polished steel, shearing through it with an unexpected screech. Before the armored warrior could react, Saland delivered a brutal punch to his exposed jaw, sending him sprawling. The fallen warrior didn't remain down for long, however, as a blur of fur and teeth, a lightning-fast werewolf, descended upon him, ending his struggle in a spray of blood.
The werewolf, its movements a terrifying dance of speed and ferocity, turned its attention to Saland. Instinctively, Saland focused his inner energy, channeling it into his legs. He launched himself into a high-speed exchange with the lycanthrope, a desperate ballet of dodges and near misses. He was slower, he knew, but with each passing moment, something within him began to awaken, a nascent understanding of his own hidden power. The werewolf's claws raked across his body, but his rough hide, surprisingly resilient, absorbed much of the damage. Finally, seizing a fleeting opportunity, Saland swung Mountain Cleaver in a wide arc, the rusted blade finding purchase on the werewolf's legs, severing tendons and bone. The beast collapsed, its snarl turning into a whimper.
Just as Saland took a shaky breath, a new wave of terror ripped through the arena. Dozens of fighters were suddenly flung into the air, their bodies twisting and contorting before a monstrous figure, a grotesque fusion of cyclops and orc, moved with impossible speed, a massive cleaver flashing. Heads rained down like overripe fruit.
Saland's gaze locked with the monstrous hybrid. The orc-cyclops grinned, a wide, unsettling display of tusks. With a speed that belied its size, it lunged at Saland, a massive fist hurtling towards him. Reacting on pure instinct, Saland raised Mountain Cleaver, the rusted blade meeting the monstrous fist with a jarring impact that sent him skidding backward, his boots scrabbling against the concrete until he reached the very edge of the arena.
The orc-cyclops roared, its single massive eye burning with savage glee. It unleashed its innate ability, its already massive frame swelling further, muscles bulging and veins throbbing. In an instant, it became a whirlwind of destruction, its massive cleaver scything through the remaining combatants with terrifying efficiency.
"I see that only five of you have survived," the monstrous figure bellowed, its voice a guttural rumble that shook the very ground. "My shockwave has thinned the herd nicely this time. My name is Ogrunt! Chieftain of the mighty orc tribe! And I will claim victory for my people!"
Saland had only managed to avoid being swept into the bottomless chasm by desperately planting Mountain Cleaver into the unforgiving concrete of the arena floor.
Ogrunt's single eye swiveled, fixing on the remaining figures. "The survivors of my little display! Speak your names, so I know the faces of those I will crush!"
A figure draped in pristine white robes stepped forward, an ethereal golden aura shimmering around him. "My name is Rhon," he announced, his voice carrying a regal tone. "I am the third son of the elven king. And I stand here thanks in no small part to my 'Elf Dive,' one of the most potent abilities of our people." His blonde hair shone like spun gold, and his green eyes held an ancient wisdom. He looked barely twenty.
Another figure, a humanoid with long, pure white hair intricately braided like a thick rope, spoke next. He had three eyes, the third resting on his forehead, mostly concealed by his elaborate hairstyle. Dressed in a dark brown kimono, a sheathed sword hung at his hip. "My name is Kan," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I am a master swordsman of the Astrel Order. I am here to demonstrate the true worth of our art." He looked to be around fifty.
The third survivor was a being unlike any Saland had ever seen. His entire body appeared to be composed of rough, jagged rock, sharp protrusions jutting out at odd angles. A blue headband was tied around his head, and his orange eyes glowed with an inner light. "My name is Rorrak," he declared, his voice a deep rumble. "I am a master of the earth arts. Your little tremor? My rocky form simply absorbed it. Don't let my appearance fool you, though. I am also incredibly agile."
The fourth to speak was a woman with striking violet skin and black hair interwoven with strands of vibrant pink. Her violet eyes held a captivating intensity. She wore an elaborate, expensive-looking gown adorned with intricate pink and purple floral embroidery and held a long, slender katana. A soft lilac aura emanated from her. "My name is Ren," she stated, her voice melodious yet firm. "I am the princess of the Cassian people. My innate ability is called 'Art of a Thousand Flowers.' I can manipulate countless petals of pure magical energy, imbuing them with my mana until they are sharper than any blade."
Finally, Saland stepped forward, gripping Mountain Cleaver tightly. "My name is Saland," he said, his voice ringing with a newfound resolve. "I survived your attack thanks to my sword, Mountain Cleaver. And I am here to win. To escape this cursed arena."
With his declaration, the five survivors spread out, their eyes fixed on the hulking figure of Ogrunt. The orc-cyclops simply laughed, a booming sound that echoed across the arena. "Know this," he snarled, his single massive eye gleaming with savage intent. "I will show no mercy! May the strongest among you... try to survive!"
Kan was the first to move, his body a blur of motion. He lunged towards Ogrunt, his unsheathed sword a silver streak. Ogrunt, however, easily parried the swift attack with his massive cleaver. The orc-cyclops retaliated with a sweeping blow, but Kan danced back with surprising agility, his movements fluid and precise. From behind, Rorrak launched a relentless assault, his rocky fists hammering against Ogrunt's thick hide in a rapid-fire barrage of earth-shattering blows. Ogrunt staggered, momentarily thrown off balance. Kan saw his chance and aimed a deadly strike at Ogrunt's neck, but the orc-cyclops recovered with terrifying speed, a massive fist slamming into Kan's chest, sending him flying backward. Before Kan could recover, the monstrous Ogrunt brought his cleaver down, but Rhon, moving with an almost ethereal grace, intercepted the blow with a shimmering shield of golden mana.
Ogrunt roared in frustration and unleashed his innate ability once more: "Behold! 'Divine Tremor'!" His already immense strength surged, and a palpable yellow aura crackled around him. Raw mana pulsed from every pore of his greenish skin. Rhon, in response, activated his 'Elf Dive.' The golden aura intensified, solidifying into a suit of shimmering white armor that clung to his lithe form, thin red lines tracing intricate patterns across its surface. In an instant, his speed increased dramatically. Ogrunt swung his massive cleaver, but Rhon was no longer there, a blur of white and gold darting around the monstrous figure. With a flick of his wrist, Rhon conjured bolts of pure mana, firing them at Ogrunt from all angles. The orc-cyclops roared and swatted at the glowing projectiles, managing to deflect some but taking several direct hits that scorched his thick hide. Ogrunt made a desperate leap, his massive form hurtling through the air, and slammed his fist into Rhon's midsection, sending the elf flying.
Before Ogrunt could capitalize on his attack, Ren moved with astonishing speed, her katana a silver arc aimed at the orc-cyclops's exposed flank. Ogrunt twisted, barely managing to avoid a fatal blow. Ren became a whirlwind of motion, her movements so fast that she seemed to flicker in and out of existence. Ogrunt struggled to even track her. "This," Ren's voice echoed, a melodic whisper amidst the chaos, "is the 'Maiden's Step.' You won't even be able to see me." With a graceful flourish, Ren activated her innate ability. The air shimmered, and the arena was instantly filled with millions upon millions of flower petals, each one radiating pure magical energy. The petals swirled around Ren, forming a protective vortex. She spun around Ogrunt, a deadly dance of beauty and destruction, and with a swift, precise strike, her katana sliced across Ogrunt's arm, drawing a thick line of dark blood. The orc-cyclops roared in pain and swung his massive cleaver wildly, but the dense cloud of flower petals buffeted him, each delicate bloom carrying the force of a razor-sharp blade, inflicting countless small but significant wounds. Without hesitation, Ren prepared to deliver the final blow, but Ogrunt suddenly unleashed an immense surge of raw aura, a wave of pure power that slammed into Ren, sending her hurtling backward. Saland, reacting instantly, lunged forward and caught the falling princess, saving her from the deadly drop into the chasm below.
"Enough games!" Ogrunt bellowed, his single eye burning with furious intensity. "'Divine Tremor Awakened'!" In a blinding flash of light, the monstrous orc-cyclops began to shrink, his massive frame compressing, his single eye splitting into two. When the light faded, a figure stood in his place: a powerfully built orc of normal human size, his skin a deep green, clad in simple black pants and adorned with a necklace of human bones. He was bare-chested, and his once wild hair had turned stark white. But it was his aura that was truly terrifying. It pulsed with raw, untamed power, so immense that the very air around him crackled. The bodies of the five survivors trembled under its oppressive weight.
Kan, despite the earlier brutal blow, pushed himself to his feet, his face grim. "My entire school... the art of the sword that I dedicated my life to... it was all wiped out by the Executors. They saw our skill as a threat. I am the only one left. If I stand here now... it is thanks to my students, who sacrificed themselves for me..." His voice hardened with resolve. "Everyone... it is time we all became truly serious if we wish to survive this. 'Wind Sword Slash'!" His aura intensified, a swirling vortex of silver energy surrounding his blade.
Rorrak, his rocky form seemingly unfazed by the oppressive aura, rumbled, "Kan is right! Let us show this brute what we are truly capable of! 'Light Rock Technique'!" The jagged edges of his rocky body began to glow with a soft, internal light, and his orange eyes burned with a fierce intensity.
Rhon, still recovering from Ogrunt's brutal attack, straightened, a strange light flickering in his black eyes. "In this moment," he said, his voice low and resonant, "I am using a mere 'Puppet' ability to move. But I believe... I can also tap into my true power. 'Elf Dive Black Mode'!" His blonde hair darkened, turning a stark blackish-gray. His fair skin followed suit, becoming as dark as coal. Even his green eyes shifted, the white sclera turning black, leaving only piercing red pupils. A heavy, oppressive aura, far darker and more potent than his previous golden light, enveloped him. Behind him, shadowy wings of pure black aura began to form, and the thin red lines on his 'Elf Dive' armor seemed to pulse with malevolent energy.
Ren, her face pale but her eyes blazing with determination, declared, "I see that you are all finally showing your true strength. Then I shall as well. 'Art of a Thousand Blades in Bloom'!" The swirling flower petals around her intensified, coalescing into a shimmering, intricate armor of floral energy that encased her slender form. Her single katana suddenly split into two identical blades, and behind her, thousands upon thousands of swords formed from the condensed flower petals, their edges glinting with lethal sharpness.
Saland watched his four companions, a sense of awe mixed with grim determination washing over him. "You are all so strong..." he murmured, gripping Mountain Cleaver. "Compared to you... I am nothing. But now... now I too must give everything I have. Thanks to these endless battles... I have finally begun to understand... to control my own innate ability. I call it... 'Rekkai'!" As the word left his lips, Saland's body erupted in an intense violet light. Veins of pure magical energy seemed to trace themselves across his skin, glowing with an inner luminescence. Even his eyes burned with a phosphorescent violet fire. The rusted blade of Mountain Cleaver shimmered, its form shifting. The old, pitted metal smoothed out, the blade lengthening and taking on a sinuous, undulating shape, now a vibrant violet. The crude hilt transformed into intricately carved gold. Saland, finally understanding and naming his power, was ready to fight.
Kan was the first to unleash his renewed power, his body a blur as he shot towards Ogrunt. His silver blade flashed, aiming for a swift, decisive strike. Ogrunt, however, now moving with a deceptive speed despite his normal size, parried the attack with surprising ease, his movements economical and precise. The orc retaliated with a lightning-fast jab, but Kan, his third eye glowing with an eerie light, seemed to anticipate the blow, shifting his body just enough to let it whistle past his ear. Rhon, his dark wings unfurling behind him, conjured a bow of pure black energy, nocking an arrow of condensed shadow. He drew back the string, his red eyes fixed on Ogrunt, and unleashed a volley of dark projectiles that streaked through the air with silent menace. Ogrunt, however, moved with uncanny agility, weaving through the shadowy arrows as if they were falling rain.
Ren, a whirlwind of floral armor and dual blades, closed the distance with Ogrunt. Her movements were a mesmerizing dance of petals and steel, her twin blades flashing in intricate patterns. Ogrunt, forced to defend against the relentless assault, found himself constantly on the back foot. Despite his enhanced speed, Ren's attacks were unpredictable, the flower petals acting as both offense and defense, creating a disorienting storm around him. A thin crimson line appeared on Ogrunt's flank as one of Ren's blades finally found purchase. The orc roared in pain and lashed out with a powerful fist, catching Ren squarely in the chest. The floral armor shimmered and cracked under the impact, but it held, preventing a more serious injury. Ogrunt then turned his attention to Rhon, who had closed in while the orc was focused on Ren. Ogrunt and Rhon exchanged a rapid series of blows, a clash of dark energy and brutal strength. Ogrunt unleashed several spheres of raw energy, but Rhon met them with blasts of concentrated shadow, the two forces colliding in bursts of dark light. With a swift, unexpected movement, Rhon delivered a powerful kick to Ogrunt's side, sending the orc stumbling.
Kan seized the opportunity. In a flash, he was upon Ogrunt, his silver blade leaving a razor-thin cut across the orc's chest. Ogrunt staggered back, a look of mingled pain and fury on his face. He roared, and an even greater surge of aura erupted from his body. "You are strong," he snarled, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Truly strong. But you will never... never defeat me!"
Ogrunt lunged towards Ren, his movements now imbued with a terrifying speed and precision. But Ren was ready. With a graceful gesture, she unleashed a torrent of her flower petals. They swirled around Ogrunt, forming intricate bonds that constricted his limbs, momentarily immobilizing the enraged orc. In that instant, Rorrak, Rhon, and Kan unleashed their combined fury. Rorrak's rocky fists hammered against Ogrunt's body, each blow carrying the weight of mountains. Rhon's shadowy arrows pierced through the orc's defenses, leaving trails of dark energy. And Kan's silver blade danced around him, leaving a tapestry of shallow cuts. Just as the floral bonds began to dissipate, Ogrunt let out a maniacal laugh. His eyes, now burning with a terrifying mixture of rage and exhilaration, locked onto Rorrak. With a speed that belied his restrained form, he lashed out, a single brutal punch sending the rock-bodied warrior crashing to the ground. He followed up with a similar blow against Rhon, the elf warrior collapsing in a heap. Kan, his third eye having foreseen the swift counterattack, managed to retreat just out of reach. Ren, however, wasn't quick enough. Ogrunt's energy-infused fist slammed into her, sending her flying backward towards the edge of the arena.
Saland, who had been observing the intense exchange from a short distance, his violet eyes blazing with focused intensity, reacted instantly. He surged forward, his body a streak of violet light, and intercepted Ogrunt's follow-up blow with his left arm, the impact sending a shockwave through his body. "As I thought," Saland grunted, his arm throbbing. "He's incredibly strong. But if we coordinate... maybe... just maybe... we can do this."
Kan quickly moved to Rhon and Rorrak, helping them to a more stable position near the edge of the fighting area. He then took up a fighting stance alongside Ren and Saland, his silver blade held ready. The three remaining warriors faced the seemingly unstoppable Ogrunt. Ren, her floral armor flickering but still intact, unleashed a storm of her thousand blades, the shimmering constructs of pure mana hurtling towards Ogrunt from every conceivable angle. The orc-cyclops, despite his earlier boast, was forced to focus all his attention on dodging the relentless barrage. Kan, moving with his signature speed, launched a frontal assault, his silver blade a constant threat that Ogrunt was forced to parry. Saland, his violet aura flaring, moved to flank Ogrunt, aiming for an attack from the rear. But Ogrunt, his senses heightened, anticipated the move and lashed out with a backhanded strike aimed at Kan. The master swordsman managed to block the blow with his blade, the impact sending sparks flying. Ogrunt then pivoted, attempting to strike Saland. But in that instant, Saland activated his Rekkai to its fullest extent. The violet energy around him intensified, and with a speed that surprised even himself, he launched a devastating uppercut, his fist slamming into Ogrunt's jaw. The orc was lifted off his feet, suspended momentarily in mid-air. In that split second, Saland from above, Ren from below with a rising strike of her dual blades, and Kan from the side with a precise thrust, all connected. The combined force of their attacks tore through Ogrunt's defenses. The once formidable orc-cyclops was cleaved into three separate pieces, his reign of terror ending in a shower of blood and gore.
In the aftermath of the brutal clash, Kan and Ren collapsed, their bodies drained of energy. But Saland remained standing, his chest heaving, his violet eyes still glowing with the remnants of his power. Slowly, he raised his right arm towards the blood-soaked sky. A roar erupted from the unseen audience, a wave of sound that washed over the arena. The name "Saland!" echoed through the vast space. Saland, the unlikely survivor, had become the new Rudiari.
With a groaning of metal, the enormous iron bridge was once again extended towards the arena floor. Guards, carrying makeshift stretchers, rushed forward to collect the fallen figures of Kan, Ren, Rorrak, and Rhon, carrying them towards the dimly lit entrance to the infirmary. Two more guards approached Saland, their heavy armor clanking with each step, their spears held at the ready. "Saland," one of them said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Now that you are the Rudiari, we will escort you back to your cell to collect your belongings. You will be moved to more... comfortable accommodations." With that, the two heavily armed guards flanked Saland and led him back towards the labyrinthine corridors.
They eventually reached his former cell. "Enter," one of the guards commanded, his voice gruff. In that instant, Saland moved with a speed that belied his earlier exhaustion. Mountain Cleaver, still radiating a faint violet light, flashed twice. The heads of the two guards tumbled to the stone floor with dull thuds. With another swift movement, Saland sliced through the iron bars of his cell door, the metal groaning in protest. He stepped back into the cramped space.
Egar, who had been feigning sleep, sat up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Boy... Saland? You're... you're still alive?"
Saland, his face grim, didn't speak. He simply moved to Egar's cot and, with a few quick slashes of Mountain Cleaver, severed the chains that bound the old Rudiari's wrists and ankles. Egar stood up slowly, his limbs stiff and weak, but a hint of color returned to his gaunt face. He seemed to visibly regain some of his former vitality. "Young man," he said, his voice filled with a mix of awe and gratitude. "You have no idea the debt I owe you. Thanks to you, these accursed shackles that drained my mana are gone. I might even be able to fight again... like in the old days."
Without a word, Saland turned and began to run towards the infirmary, Egar following close behind, his steps gaining strength with each stride. "Why are we heading to the infirmary?" Egar asked, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"My friends are there," Saland replied, his voice firm. "The ones who fought beside me. I want to take them with us."
Egar's eyes widened. "You intend to escape this place, then? And once you are free... what will you do?"
Saland's violet eyes burned with a fierce intensity. "I will defeat the king of this realm. I will become the new king. And I will avenge you, Egar."
They reached the entrance to the infirmary. Saland moved with swift, brutal efficiency, silencing the two guards stationed outside the door. Egar, surprisingly agile for his age, snatched the sword from one of the fallen guards. Saland kicked open the infirmary door and strode inside, his gaze sweeping over the rows of cots. He spotted his four companions, their bodies battered and bruised but alive. He grabbed a terrified-looking nurse and, with a steely glint in his eyes, forced her to tend to their wounds immediately. Once they were stable, Saland swiftly knocked the nurse unconscious. As Kan, Ren, Rorrak, and Rhon slowly regained consciousness, their eyes focusing on Saland and Egar, Saland spoke, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "Now that we are all here... we can leave."
Without waiting for a response, Saland turned towards the nearest wall of the arena. He raised Mountain Cleaver, the violet energy around it intensifying, and with a mighty swing, he brought the blade down. The reinforced concrete groaned and cracked, then with a deafening roar, it split open, creating a gaping hole in the side of the arena. Saland turned to his companions, a silent invitation in his eyes. And together, the five unlikely allies fled into the unknown night.