The arena's energy had shifted, the crowd still buzzing from Grace Barlow's unexpected victory. But Kazimir Zelenko was already moving on, his digital form appearing on the screen with a burst of pyrrhia sparks.
"ALRIGHT, FOLKS!" Kazimir shouted, his voice layered with electronic distortion. He spun on his heel, his movements exaggerated and theatrical—a perfect blend of hype and absurdity. "Next up, we've got a match that's gonna blow your MINDS! Michael Snovidenie versus Ransom Vale! These two are absolute ROCKERS—they'll leave you on the edge of your seats, begging for more!"
He threw his arms wide, his form flickering between different poses. He pointed at the crowd, his eyes gleaming with digital intensity. "Trust me, you don't wanna miss this one! It's gonna be FIRE! These competitors don't just fight—they PERFORM!"
The crowd responded with a mixture of cheers and skeptical murmurs.
---
In the stands, a cluster of spectators leaned together, their voices carrying over the ambient noise.
"Come on," one said, shaking his head dismissively. "It can't top that Zhang Fei and Grace Barlow performance. That was insane. The way they moved, the way they fought—I've never seen anything like it."
"Apparently this Michael is of those detestable Snovidenie," another added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "You know, the family. The ones who think they're better than everyone else."
A third spectator's expression shifted to one of sudden disgust. His voice rose, carrying a note of bitter fury. "Those Snovidenie are a very honorable elitist family with lots of old money—wealth that's been accumulated for centuries. They dwell oddly in the north continent of the Frostlands, acting like savages who show disdain for the other nations of the world. They think they're above everyone else."
"During the world war a hundred years ago," another chimed in, "they were among the perpetrators who caused the scuffle among nations to start fighting each other. And currently, the feared terrorist operatives by Yaldabaoth—one of their funders are the Snovidenie themselves, along with other hidden elitists. They're pulling strings from the shadows."
"Shouldn't we be heckling the tournament organizers for ensuring such a fellow is even involved?" a fourth voice added. "He isn't even from either of the two bases! What right does he have to be here?"
A younger spectator—a geeky-looking kid with glasses and a notebook in his lap—leaned forward, his voice carrying a note of authority. "Actually, it's all speculation. No one knows whether it's true or not. The Snovidenie being masterminds of the world wars and of Yaldabaoth—it's just rumors. Plus, the current head of the Snovidenie is part of the World Architect secret organization itself. It comprises members from the seven European court families and other old money groups and families. They're the ones who ensure the decisions made by the World Governments Organization are even accepted in the first place. Meaning everything might be some psyops."
An older spectator turned to him, his expression one of sharp criticism. "Boy, I think you've watched too many spy movies. You're a fan of that Veilbreak podcast of junkies, aren't you? All that sounds like crap to me. Conspiracy theories from people who don't know what they're talking about."
The geeky kid's face flushed. "You saw the participants in these tournaments, right? The way they moved? The way they fought?" He gestured vaguely toward the arena. "It's almost inhumane. The power they display—it's not natural. You should all open your heads—something's real fishy with Torrent and Jerkin bases. We should all be paying attention. The way Grace Barlow moved, the way Zhang Fei struck—it's like they're not even human."
Another spectator shrugged, his voice carrying a note of casual dismissal. "Yeah, it's the twenty-first century. Tech is advancing. Maybe who knows—they've got more developed tech than us that does awesome parlor tricks. It's probably some new military-grade gear we don't know about."
"That makes sense," a fourth added. "The military complex is literally giving us their bases. Maybe all of it is some training for us. When they feel we're all ready, they'll give us some piece of the pie. Maybe they're testing us, seeing how we react to all this."
The geeky kid hit his head in frustration. "You're not listening! This isn't about tech—this is about something else entirely!"
---
In the VIP section, Kael watched the crowd with a cold, condescending smile. His eyes gleamed with dark amusement, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
These humans, he thought, his internal voice carrying a note of contempt. Whether it was during the founding of our Sutran race thousands of years ago or now, we show them a couple of tricks, come up with scientific exploration and discovery, and they all believe the obvious lie that is behind them. Thanks to our sisterly clan in Vehl'arim—masters of creating false narratives—all of it became possible.
He glanced at Brenda, who remained quiet and unresponsive. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze fixed on the arena below. The light from the holographic banners reflected off her eyes, but she seemed to be looking through them, not at them.
Kael's smile widened. "I heard a crazy rumor, Brenda," he said, his voice carrying a note of dark curiosity. "That either your dad or mom wasn't part of our fraternity of the clans. That they were from the north. I didn't know if it was true—but seeing that Snovidenie brat has cleared my doubts. That family has a certain... presence about them, doesn't they?"
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Be really careful while trying to decide which side to test. It might end up biting you back. The north doesn't forget. And neither do we."
Brenda's expression remained unchanged. She didn't respond, didn't acknowledge his words. But her eyes flickered—just for a moment—with something that might have been recognition. Or fear. Or both.
---
The match was about to begin.
Michael Snovidenie stood at the edge of the arena, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. Ransom Vale stood opposite him, his expression one of barely concealed nervousness.
The crowd watched with bated breath.
Kazimir's voice boomed through the speakers. "GET READY, FOLKS! THIS IS GONNA BE A GOOD ONE!"
The signal flashed.
And then everything changed.