Zeldritzon [Cycle 40] - Morning

  Current Location:

  ?[DreaGoth: Gladia Coliseum]

  ??????

  "This way," Roarka called, gesturing toward a set of towering gates carved with interlocking serpents. "Competitors must be inside before the first horn."

  The gates opened with a deep groan of stone. The corridor beyond was dim, lit by veins of crystal running through the walls. Each pulse of light synced faintly with the beating of my own heart. Somewhere ahead, the muffled roar of the crowd swelled, layered with the rhythmic thud of drums.

  We followed Roarka deeper into the preparation halls, the noise of the crowd fading into a muffled roar behind the thick stone walls. The air here was cooler, laced with the faint tang of incense and polished metal. Torches burned with pale blue flames along the walls, casting sharp shadows that shifted over the carved reliefs of champions long past.

  Roarka stopped at a branching point, turning to face us. "Your chamber is ahead. Armor, weapons, charms—anything you need should be prepared now. Once you step into the arena, there is no retreat until the match ends."

  Bizcarbol crossed his arms, his fused form casting a much broader shadow than Scarbol ever had. "We understand."

  Roarka's eyes softened, almost imperceptibly. "Good. The Sovereign will address the champions herself after the ceremonies. Make your presence… memorable."

  The halls widened into a massive rotunda, the ceiling so high it disappeared into shadow. Dozens of passageways branched off in every direction, each leading to different faction quarters. Banners hung from the upper arches—trophies in cloth form, some so old their colors had faded to ghostly shades.

  Our assigned chamber was midway down one of these corridors, guarded by two more oni sentinels in matching black-and-silver armor. They stepped aside at Roarka's word, their expressions unreadable behind horned helmets.

  Inside, the room was spartan but functional: long benches, weapon racks, crystal-light braziers casting a steady glow. The walls were lined with painted murals of past victors, their eyes seeming to follow us as we entered.

  At the far end, a set of reinforced gates led—presumably—straight into the colosseum's underbelly.

  With that, Roarka and her sentinels peeled away, their footfalls fading into the stone corridors.

  Mina leaned against a rack of polearms, smirking. "So, Ki… any big speech before we walk out there and make history?"

  I glanced at each of them—Mina, Skadi, Bizcarbol, Loa, and the rest—feeling the steady burn of the colosseum's energy pressing in. Outside those walls, a thousand eyes were waiting to see what we were made of.

  "Not a speech," I let a slow grin pull at the corner of my mouth. "Just a reminder. The moment we step out there, every eye will be on us—friends, enemies, and those waiting to decide which we'll be. Remember, this isn't just about winning matches. Every move we make will tell them what the Chimera Crew stands for."

  The drums outside thundered louder. Somewhere above, a horn's long, resonant call signaled the opening ceremony had begun.

  Roarka reappeared, glancing from the door's entrance. "That's the first call. The Sovereign will take the dais soon. We should move."

  We filed out, I caught one last glimpse over my shoulder.

  "You're up first Mina, Loa. We're uncertain as to how much Whirlkool and Biscuit have improved, but I'm sure you can take them."

  The two gave me a prompt nod. I was confident that their prior relationship as colleagues would be crucial in this duo match. The passage ahead angled upward, the air growing warmer with each step. The muted roar of the crowd swelled again, no longer a distant hum but a living, thrumming presence that seemed to press against the walls.

  When we emerged into the antechamber just behind the arena gates, the light was blinding—a flood of gold spilling through the bars, carrying with it the heat of the day and the scent of dust and anticipation. The shadows here were sharp-edged, the space filled with the sound of drums in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

  Beyond the gates lay the heart of the colosseum. The moment they opened, there would be no turning back. And just like that— the waiting was over.

  The arena hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me speechless.

  Betting Results:

  [44% on Mina and Loa's Win]

  [56% on Biscuit and Whirlkool's Win]

  The names didn't simply glow—they boomed into existence with illusions of each fighter and faction. Mina and Loa, draped in the wild insignia of our Chimera Crew. Biscuit and Whirlkool, marked by the savage colors of Jalkra's Clan. Their faces, their stances, their weapons—all projected in dazzling detail, circling above us like a divine roll call.

  The banner's broadcast didn't just show names—they showed what they were. Mina, an Oni with minotaur-like horns marched self-assuredly toward the ring. Loa, a Tengu whose black-feathered wings flared wide even in human form, let her sharp eyes scan the crowd like prey to be analyzed and judged.

  ??? [Combat Status] ???

  ??? [Combat Status] ???

  Across from them, Biscuit, the Nekomata stretched over dangerous muscles, with her two tails flicking with barely-contained energy. And Whirlkool, the Kappa monster, stepped on water swirling at her feet. Even in the projection, her shell guns glinted like armor under the conjured light.

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  ??? [Combat Status] ???

  ??? [Combat Status] ???

  The crowd went berserk. Tens of thousands shouted in a storm of voices, their roars so loud the arena floor trembled under our feet. In succession to their cheers, winged beasts and scaled monsters cut through the air in display, trailing banners that stretched like rivers of cloth behind them. Factions waved their flags and sigils, whole sections of the stands glowing with enchanted torches in their faction's colors.

  We resumed to approach the arena. I noted how the colosseum was divided with absolute precision. A shimmering dome of energy separated the Combat Zone from the Wait Zone.

  Fighters who weren't called yet, like us, were confined to raised platforms carved in tiers, giving us a perfect view of the battle to come. The dome ensured no one could interfere… the Combat Zone was sacred ground, the proving ground.

  Mina and Loa headed toward the barrier. The dome parted for them like a living thing, curling away to make room. When I tried to follow, two sentinel guards moved in sync and blocked my path. Their weapons glowed with the same energy as the dome.

  "Only the chosen combatants may pass," one declared. His aura was suffocating, proving that interference would be impossible.

  I turned away. The line was drawn. Mina and Loa belonged to the Combat Zone now. The rest of us could only watch.