The day of the tournament had arrived, and the tension on campus was palpable. The entry-level students of Edgar and Rodger School gathered in the massive arena, their faces a mixture of determination and fear. This was the moment they had all been preparing for—the final trial that would determine their place in the school and, for some, their very survival.
Jorel, Jain, and Ryen stood together near the entrance to the arena, their expressions grim. They had trained relentlessly over the past week, pushing their bodies and minds to the breaking point. But now, as they faced the reality of the tournament, the gravity of the situation settled over them like a shroud.
The arena itself was a colossal structure, a circular pit dug deep into the ground with towering stone walls surrounding it. Rows of stone seats circled the edges, filled with students and faculty from all levels, eager to witness the brutal competition. The air was thick with anticipation, the murmurs of the crowd a constant hum in the background.
Jorel scanned the crowd, spotting the familiar faces of their peers—friends, rivals, and mentors, all watching intently. He could feel the weight of their expectations, the pressure to succeed, to prove himself. But more than anything, he felt the cold, steely resolve that had driven him this far. He was ready.
An instructor, the same tall, gaunt man with hollow eyes who had overseen their previous trial, stepped forward to address the participants. His voice, sharp and grating, cut through the air like a blade.
"Welcome to the final trial," he began, his tone devoid of any warmth. "Today, you will face each other in combat, testing your skills, your resolve, and your willingness to do whatever it takes to survive."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled students. "The structure of this tournament is simple. You will be paired off in one-on-one duels. Your goal is to incapacitate or kill your opponent to secure victory. This is not just about winning; it's about proving that you have the strength to continue at this school. By the end of this tournament, only 100 of you will remain. The rest will be discarded, their futures reduced to nothing."
A murmur of unease rippled through the crowd, but the instructor ignored it, continuing with cold indifference. "The results of this tournament will determine your ranking, and those rankings will dictate your future here at Edgar and Rodger. Your performance will also contribute to your house's overall score, so do not disappoint."
The instructor's words hung heavy in the air as the students processed the harsh reality of what was to come. Jorel felt a cold knot of tension in his stomach, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. He had come too far to falter now.
"Let the tournament begin," the instructor declared, his voice ringing out across the arena.
With that, the students were led to the center of the arena, where they were divided into pairs for the first round of duels. The ground beneath them was packed dirt, rough and uneven, offering little in the way of comfort or stability. The walls of the pit rose high above them, a stark reminder that there was no escape—only victory or defeat.
Jorel, Jain, and Ryen exchanged brief glances, their expressions a mix of determination and solidarity. They knew that from this point on, they would be on their own, each fighting their battles in the hopes of advancing to the next round.
As the first pair of students stepped forward to begin their duel, the tension in the arena reached a fever pitch. The crowd fell silent, all eyes fixed on the combatants as they faced off, their bodies tense with anticipation.
The duel was over in minutes. One student, a muscular boy from Falcon House, unleashed a torrent of fiery energy, engulfing his opponent in flames. The other student barely had time to scream before he was consumed, his body crumpling to the ground in a charred heap. The winner stood over the remains of his opponent, breathing heavily, his expression blank as he registered what he had done.
The instructor nodded in approval, then called for the next pair to step forward.
Jain was among the first of the trio to be called. She squared her shoulders, taking a deep breath as she stepped into the arena. Her opponent was a tall, lean girl from Falcon House, her eyes cold and calculating. Jain could sense the strength of her opponent's emotional pain magic, a wave of sorrow and despair that threatened to suffocate her.
The duel began with a flurry of movement. Jain's opponent wasted no time, unleashing a barrage of emotional attacks that took the form of streams of water, each one crashing against Jain's barriers like a tidal wave. The water, imbued with overwhelming sadness, seeped into her mind, threatening to drown her in despair.
But Jain was ready. She had trained for this, had pushed herself to the brink to ensure that she could withstand such attacks. She summoned her barriers, layering them one over the other, creating a formidable shield that deflected the emotional assault. The waves of sorrow broke against her defenses, unable to penetrate the layers of protection she had crafted.
Jain's opponent snarled, increasing the intensity of her attacks, but Jain held firm. She focused on maintaining her barriers, using the pain of her training as fuel to strengthen her defenses. The emotional weight bore down on her, but she refused to let it break her.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jain saw her opening. Her opponent, exhausted from the relentless assault, hesitated for a fraction of a second. It was all Jain needed. She dropped one of her barriers, allowing a small gap to form, then used the remaining energy to channel a concentrated burst of pain into a counterattack.
The force of the attack caught her opponent off guard, the barrier around the Falcon House student crumbled, and the emotional pain magic that had once been a relentless tide now faltered, leaving her vulnerable. Jain pressed the attack, using the momentum to overwhelm her opponent. With a final, decisive strike, she brought the girl to her knees, her victory assured.
The crowd erupted into cheers as Jain was declared the winner, but she barely registered the sound. Her heart was pounding, her body trembling from the exertion, but she had done it. She had won her first match.
Ryen was called next. He stepped into the arena, his opponent a bulky boy from Eagle House, his muscles rippling with barely contained power. Ryen knew this would be a tough fight—his opponent was physically stronger, and the pain magic he wielded only amplified his already impressive strength.
The duel began with a thunderous charge. The Eagle House student rushed at Ryen, his fists glowing with the energy of his pain magic. Each strike was like a sledgehammer, the ground beneath them cracking with the force of his blows. Ryen barely managed to dodge the initial onslaught, the sheer power of his opponent overwhelming.
But Ryen had trained for this. He had learned to endure, to push through the pain and keep fighting. As his opponent closed in, Ryen focused on his support magic, channeling the pain into his body to heal the damage from the strikes and keep himself in the fight. Each time his opponent landed a blow, Ryen's wounds seemed to close almost as quickly as they were made, his body recovering faster than his opponent could keep up with.
Frustration began to creep into the Eagle House student's attacks as he realized Ryen wasn't going down. He doubled his efforts, each punch heavier than the last, but Ryen kept recovering, his resolve unshaken.
Ryen knew he couldn't keep this up forever. His magic was draining, his strength waning, but he could see the exhaustion beginning to show in his opponent's movements. It was now or never.
As his opponent lunged for another powerful blow, Ryen sidestepped at the last moment, using the opening to strike. He channeled his remaining energy into a final, desperate move—a blast of pain magic aimed directly at his opponent's chest. The force of the attack sent the Eagle House student staggering back, his defenses crumbling as the pain overwhelmed him.
With one last push, Ryen drove his spear into the ground, sending a shockwave of energy through the earth that knocked his opponent off his feet. The boy hit the ground hard, his body finally giving out as he was declared defeated.
Ryen stood victorious, though barely, his body battered and bruised but still standing. He had survived his first fight, but he knew the battles ahead would only get tougher.
Finally, it was Jorel's turn. He stepped into the arena, his mind focused and clear. His opponent was a lean, wiry boy from Eagle House, his eyes sharp with intelligence. Jorel could tell this would be a different kind of fight—his opponent was quick, calculating, and likely to have a few tricks up his sleeve.
The duel began with a tense standoff, both combatants sizing each other up. Jorel could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation of the first move. His opponent was waiting for an opening, a moment of weakness to exploit. But Jorel had trained too hard to give him that chance.
With a sudden burst of speed, Jorel closed the distance between them, his twin blades flashing in the dim light of the arena. His opponent reacted quickly, dodging the initial strike and countering with a swift kick aimed at Jorel's midsection.
Jorel twisted out of the way, narrowly avoiding the blow, but his opponent was relentless. The boy's movements were fluid, almost effortless, as he danced around Jorel's attacks, looking for an opening. Jorel realized that this wasn't a fight he could win with brute strength alone—he needed to outthink his opponent.
He feigned a lunge, drawing his opponent in closer, then used his Displaced Physical Pain Magic. The string-like form of pain shot out from his hand, guiding the energy towards his opponent. At the last moment, Jorel channeled the pain into a series of slashes, each one cutting into the boy's body with precise, controlled force.
The boy gasped in pain, stumbling back as the slashes appeared on his chest and arms. He hadn't expected Jorel to be able to strike from a distance, and the surprise cost him dearly. Jorel pressed the advantage, closing in with his blades and landing a series of quick, powerful strikes that left his opponent reeling.
It was over in seconds. The boy fell to his knees, bloodied and defeated, unable to continue the fight. Jorel stood over him, his breath heavy but steady, his victory secure.
The crowd erupted in cheers once again, the sound almost deafening in the enclosed arena. Jorel barely registered it, his mind still focused on the fight. He had done it—he had won his first match, and more importantly, he had proven to himself that the training had paid off.
As he left the arena, Jorel caught a glimpse of Serina watching from the stands, her expression unreadable. But in her eyes, he thought he saw a flicker of approval. He nodded to himself, his resolve strengthening. This was only the beginning.
The tournament had just begun, and there were many more battles ahead. But Jorel, Jain, and Ryen had made it through the first round, and they were ready to face whatever came next.