In a world ruled by powerhouses, order matters. Strength without structure turns into chaos fast. So ranks exist. Not just to show who is stronger, but to decide who deserves respect, resources, and a voice.
There were many ways to settle this balance. The most common was war.
And war worked.
Too well.
Clans fought. Cities burned. Bloodlines were erased just to prove a point. In the end, nobody really won. The survivors were just standing on larger piles of corpses.
Most people didn't want that anymore.
So another method was chosen.
The Paragon Battle Royal.
It wasn't created for entertainment. It was created out of necessity. A controlled battlefield where clans could show their talents, techniques, and future potential without dragging the entire world into endless conflict.
Instead of armies clashing, selected members fought.
Instead of wars, there were matches.
In the Battle Royal, clans display their true strength in front of everyone that matters. Winning raises their rank. Losing lowers their standing. Either way, the public sees exactly where they belong.
More importantly, powerful clans watch closely.
A smaller clan that performs well can gain protection, alliances, or sponsorship from major factions that see value in their skills. One good showing can change a clan's future overnight.
Of course, not everyone gets a seat at the table.
Only selected clans receive official invitations to the Paragon Battle Royal. The rest are left out, ignored, treated as irrelevant.
Naturally, that system caused problems.
Clans without invites called it unfair. And they weren't wrong. Being excluded meant being stuck at the bottom forever, no matter how strong you actually were.
So a condition was added.
Any clan that didn't receive an invite could challenge one that did.
A direct fight.
Win, and you take their invitation.
Lose, and you prove you weren't ready.
It was brutal. It was risky. But it was honest.
Clans without invites had only one job—to prove they deserved one. And if they succeeded, things changed. Their name entered the system. From then on, future Battle Royals would recognize them.
Meanwhile, the clans that received invites weren't safe either. An invite wasn't just a reward. It was a burden. A target.
Once you had one, you had to protect it.
And you had to prove, over and over, that you deserved it more than anyone else.
If a clan failed to protect their invite and another clan snatched it away, that was the end. No second chances. They would never receive another invite in the future—unless they took one by force from someone else.
Simple rule. No loopholes.
Because of that, the Paragon Battle Royal didn't really start in the arena.
It started the moment the invites were handed out.
From that second onward, every invited clan was expected to show one thing—that they were worthy of standing on that stage. Strength. Discipline. Readiness. Any weakness could be exploited.
Fights broke out every year because of invites. Ambushes. Duels. Entire squads clashing in the shadows. It was common. Expected, even.
But there was one unspoken line.
Across all the years of bloodshed over invites, one thing had never happened.
Not once.
No fight had ever started on the day of the Battle Royal itself.
No clan without an invite dared to attack at the venue. Not on that day. Not in that place. The risk was too high. The consequences too severe.
Because of that, everyone believed one thing.
Once the Battle Royal day arrived, fights over invites were over.
That belief was law.
That was why, when the voice came through the phone and the speech ended—
Everyone froze.
For a brief moment, confusion swept through the crowd. People exchanged looks. Some frowned. Others stayed silent, trying to process what they had just heard.
Most didn't understand it.
But some did.
The quick ones.
And almost all of them were clans that hadn't received an invite.
Their eyes sharpened. Breathing slowed. Thoughts moved fast.
'Is he saying what I think he's saying?'
Then—
Bang!
A ball of fire exploded out of nowhere.
It burst outward in a violent dome, flames rolling across the ground and swallowing everything in its path. Heat slammed into the crowd. The air screamed. Stone cracked.
Looking toward where the attack came from, it was clear now.
A group of clan members stood there, half-hidden by smoke and fire.
"None of you dares to touch us!" a voice roared from inside the flames.
The fire had already hit several people. Bodies were thrown aside. Heat rolled outward. Panic spread fast. The once-calm area collapsed into chaos as people screamed and ran in every direction.
"What is going on?" John asked, his voice tight with confusion.
He didn't get an answer.
"AHHH—!"
A sharp cry rang out from another side of the crowd.
Everyone turned just in time to see a body lift off the ground.
A massive tree root had burst up from below, piercing straight through the man's back and tearing out of his stomach. Blood sprayed. The body went limp instantly. Dead before it hit the ground.
The root didn't stop.
It swung wildly, thick and heavy, smashing into people along its path. Bones cracked. Bodies flew. Screams stacked on screams.
Lucius was in its path.
So was Triple J.
The root shot toward them.
Too fast.
Lucius reacted on instinct. He twisted his body and slashed his hand forward.
A sharp wave of qi tore through the air.
The root split cleanly in two and crashed to the ground, lifeless.
"Why are those people attacking all of a sudden?" John shouted.
He and his sons had already braced themselves, muscles tight, ready for the next strike.
Lucius didn't look back.
"I don't have time to explain twice," he said, voice hard. "We need to move. Now. Head toward the others."
That was when it became clear.
What just happened wasn't an accident.
It wasn't isolated.
More shouts echoed across the venue. More attacks followed. Fire. Roots. Blades. People finally understood what was happening.
The Triple Js didn't question Lucius again. No arguments. No delays. They turned and ran, straight toward the group of Wyndham participants.
They didn't get far.
Roots burst out of the ground without warning.
One after another.
Each one shot up like a spear, all of them aimed at the Triple Js.
They reacted fast.
Feet hit the ground hard. Kicks snapped out. One root had its head crushed. Another was dodged by inches as they twisted aside and kept moving.
Then one slipped through.
A thick root curled around John's waist and tightened. Muscles bulged as it began to squeeze, lifting him slightly off the ground.
John clenched his teeth.
Before it could crush him—
A sharp gust of wind blasted through.
The root snapped apart and collapsed to the ground like dead wood.
"Just keep going!" Lucius shouted.
He didn't wait to see if they listened.
Lucius turned back, eyes sharp, scanning the chaos. He spotted her near the source. A female mage, standing firm, hands raised. Roots littered the ground around her, all moving, all attacking people from different clans at the same time.
So that was it.
Lucius launched himself forward.
One step. Then another. He leapt.
He landed right in front of her and didn't slow down.
His leg swung.
The kick tore straight through her stomach.
Her body split midsection. The top half fell back. The lower half dropped where it stood. Blood splashed the ground. She died before she could even scream.
Lucius twisted his leg, flicking the blood away, then turned and sprinted back.
No pause. No comment.
He caught up to the Triple Js as they reached the others.
They regrouped fast. Everyone tightened their stance. Hands clenched. Eyes scanning. Ready.
Lucius looked past them.
Straight toward the tent he had entered moments earlier.
Standing at the entrance was Shagun.
He was smiling.
A slow, knowing smirk.
His eyes locked onto Lucius, calm and confident, like this was exactly how things were supposed to go.
The Wyndham participants didn't understand what was happening any more than the Triple Js did.
But confusion didn't stop them.
They braced themselves anyway.
Because whatever this was—
It wasn't over yet.
"I managed to get one invite for the Wyndhams," Lucius said, pulling everyone in close.
He kept his voice low, sharp, cutting through the noise around them.
"This whole mess is an opportunity," he continued. "Clans without an invite can take one. But it's a single chance. One shot. If we want to secure more invites for the others, it has to be now."
He didn't pause.
"The rule is simple," Lucius said. "Attack clans that already have an invite. Take it from them."
No speeches. No fluff. Just facts.
"So what target do we head for?" John asked.
Lucius turned his head and pointed.
Straight toward the Synapse Circle ship.
All around them, chaos ruled. Invited clans were scrambling, pushing through crowds, rushing toward the colosseum entrance before things got worse.
But the Synapse Circle?
They hadn't moved.
They stood where they were, calm and untouched, like the storm didn't exist. No panic. No urgency. Even stranger—no one had gone after them.
Not yet.
That was about to change.
Draven was no longer among the crowd. His flying carpet carried him smoothly back to where the rest of the Synapse Circle waited.
His expression was dark.
'This is a change I never expected,' he thought. 'With this, the statistical calculations I ran earlier about the outcome of this event won't be accurate anymore.'
The variables had shifted.
Before he could adjust—
A shout echoed.
Draven looked up.
A group was charging toward them. Several men on foot. A flying mage above. Others with swords drawn, eyes locked on the Synapse Circle.
Draven didn't move.
Neither did the others.
The first to act weren't human.
One of the robots raised its arm. Metal shifted. The limb broke apart into swarming nanobots, reshaping in midair into a new weapon. Energy condensed at the center.
Then it fired.
Boom!
The flying mage was swallowed whole by the blast. No scream. No resistance. His body vanished inside the explosion, leaving nothing behind.
Smoke cleared.
Silence followed.
"Stay away from the Synapse Circle," Lucius warned the others.
His voice carried.
And this time, everyone listened.