The instructor's verdict fell over the arena like a massive axe in a guillotine, cutting down not only Vitel's future, but her very hope, draining away with the blood that ran from her wounds into the cold sand of the arena.
For him, who had grown up seeing his world always protected, never truly knowing the real dangers beyond the walls or what the Absolute Races were and the threats they represented.
For her, who had grown up seeing nothing but a sky full of wounds, always ending the same way, with the horizon covered by walls coated in an overwhelming force of Righteous Wrath, and people who simply vanished when they were taken to war.
For her, even in unconsciousness, those words from the instructor meant that at least she could still live with her family… but now always waiting for a slow and painful death outside the walls. Out there, the world would show no empathy, no mercy. Out there, she would be nothing but food.
As the medical team from the House of Plato carried Vitel's unconscious body away on a stretcher, the silence from the instructor and the stands filled the arena. It was so heavy that, for a moment, the only sound was the breathing of the spectators, who would soon become participants themselves, accompanied by the wind striking the walls.
Neale, whose hands were trembling without him understanding why, looked back at his team… or what remained of it. Only six members of Group Twelve were left now. Three would still be eliminated. Three had advanced to the final stage.
Only now did reality truly hit him.
Group Twelve… had become a team of enemies.
When the medical team reached Nuke, they put her to sleep, taking advantage of the fact that she was already nearly unconscious.
They placed her on a stretcher. Even asleep, her face carried an expression of exhaustion, mixed with blood and dust on her skin, as she was taken to receive treatment in another room—unlike Vitel, who was being taken to the section reserved for those who had lost.
Thirty seconds and counting. — The instructor's voice, devoid of any human empathy, echoed again, cutting through any silent mourning. — Group Twelve, within the time limit, please decide the next participants among your remaining members.
Neale, Richard, Luan, Kilay, Lira, and Luna.
They all looked at each other seriously. If before some had seemed hesitant or uncertain, now they appeared to be adapting to the situation.
Meanwhile, in the elite stands—
That was a rather boring fight to watch, I'd say. — Matteo F. Mouro commented. — I expected more fun watching two young girls fight.
Kássia D. Apolodoro glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her expression clearly disgusted.
I'd say it was a match that stayed balanced for most of the time. One's weakness was the other's strength. — Igor Xen Don Crates commented, continuing to write in his small notebook.
The girl Nathalia is definitely strong, but from what I saw, she still has a long way to go. She seems too tied to a fighting style focused on her hands while maintaining her base. If she advances, my house will train and refine her body. — Vastos S. Agiades said.
I don't disagree. She seems to fit perfectly in your house full of brute monkeys. — Matteo replied.
Vastos simply looked at him, his gaze so heavy and cold it felt like a blade slicing through him.
From Matteo's reaction, it was clear he hadn't expected that from Vastos.
I know we're still at the beginning of the second stage, but I can't believe you've already found potential talent among the newcomers. — Kássia said, her voice carrying a hint of disappointment. — Neither among the losers nor the winners—no one who has stepped into that arena so far seems suited for the House of Cleopatra.
Be patient, Kássia. My eyes haven't found anyone suitable for the House of Plato either. Though in my case, I've gathered excellent material for my research. — Igor spoke calmly, matching both his appearance and his position within the Order. — Let's simply wait and observe how these newcomers make their decisions, both in choosing their matches and in the fights themselves.
The four of them suddenly turned their attention toward the novice stands—nobles, mediocres, and the poor alike.
A few days earlier…
Right after the agreement between Mentira and the man called C—
Mentira went searching for the other demon who had come to Earth with him, before starting to destroy the northern cities.
For two full days, Mentira ran at around seventy-five miles per hour, tracking the traces of Fury left by the other demon.
Only on the second day did he stop running. Even though he didn't feel hunger, the expenditure of Fury had been significant enough for him to consider devouring more humans before finding the other demon.
He couldn't stop comparing himself to how he had been before meeting the man called C.
What he had just done would have been unthinkable in his old state. At most, he could have run around thirty-seven miles per hour for a few hours, if he was lucky.
By the time Mentira managed to pinpoint the other demon's traces—
It was the same time Neale was arriving in the city of Valerium.
Mentira now stood before a forest surrounded by a mist that grew denser the deeper it went.
The densest point seemed to be at the center—its origin—where the traces of the other demon's Fury faded.
"Vapor…?" Mentira thought, touching the thick curtain of mist before entering the forest.
As he moved deeper, the vapor clung to his body, causing sparks of fire to spread through it.
Perhaps it was because the mist itself was infused with the other demon's Fury, but he could barely sense any animals in that place—if any still remained.
When he began to see the silhouette of the other demon, Mentira drove his claw into his wrist and tore his skin open, forming the mouth in his hand so he could speak.
What do you want? — the demon asked.
It's been a while, demon. — Mentira said as he approached. — You were hard to find. Your Fury and existence were vibrating at a frequency I'm not used to sensing from you.
It's been a long time since I felt your presence too. Your Fury feels different as well.
What do you want?
I now call myself Mentira. I gave myself a name.
" This place… it's far too hot. I'm surprised there are still living trees here." — Mentira thought, touching one.
You gave yourself a name? Interesting. Perhaps I should do the same.
The demon rose from meditation, stepping off a rock into what remained of a lake.
And when Mentira finally saw the demon's new form—
It was that of a human woman.
It was Nuke's mother.
I see you've taken a human body. — Mentira said, circling her. — That explains why your Fury feels different. Your existence is now that of a woman.
Mentira grabbed her by the neck, turning her face.
It seems you devoured her soul so greedily that her skin is already cracking like an eggshell. You've reached the assimilation stage.
The demon grabbed his wrist.
Take your blood-drooling hand off me.
Her human skin was breaking apart, revealing a thinner, reddish layer beneath, her veins writhing violently.
You're stronger than I remember. There's probably nothing left of that human soul if you've reached assimilation.
You're not bad yourself compared to what I remember. Now tell me—why did you come looking for me after all these years?
I have a job for us. It involves the death of many humans. And this time, we're the ones who feast.
You have my attention.
Mentira laughed, full of excitement and killing intent.
Before we continue, since we'll be working together again… what should I call you now?
She didn't take long to answer.
My existence… call it… Balety.
Then let's begin.
Back to the present.
At the exact moment the instructor's timer read:
00:00:11:09
Everyone in the stands focused intently on Group Twelve's decision.
The group signaled to the instructor.
The next fighters were already stepping forward, ready to enter the arena.