Thorne stood dead center in a sea of bodies—about a thousand contestants strong—on the sun-scorched stage of the grand Colosseum. His fists were clenched. His heart was racing. His ego? Inflated to high heaven.
All around him, heavily armed adventurers stretched their limbs, cracked their knuckles, and sharpened weapons that looked like they belonged in a post-apocalyptic fantasy museum. Towering warriors with enchanted warhammers. Cloaked mages with eyes that glowed like cursed lava. Rogues who didn't stand so much as loom threateningly.
The air was thick with testosterone, magic, and unspoken backstories.
From above, a magically amplified voice boomed across the Colosseum. "LADIES! GENTLEMEN! AND CHAOTIC NEUTRALS OF ALL ALIGNMENTS!"
The crowd roared. Thundersticks clacked.
The announcer's voice went on.
"Welcome… to the PRELIMINARY ROUND of the Tournament of Unrelenting Dominance™! A classic Free-for-All Survival Battle Royale!!"
Thorne blinked.
"…Free-for-all?"
"THAT'S RIGHT!" the announcer cackled. "ONE THOUSAND HOPEFULS ENTER! ONLY EIGHT SURVIVE TO MOVE ON!"
Someone next to Thorne dropped their weapon in pure existential despair.
The announcer continued, voice dripping with over-the-top hype:
"In this arena stands some of the finest warriors the continent has to offer! We've got Gold, Emerald, and Platinum-ranked adventurers! Famous swordsmen from the West! Magicians who could turn you into a decorative ashtray! Even that one guy who beat a dragon with his left sandal!"
There was a pause.
"And somewhere in this chaos… we have a man who wrote 'Just trust me' under weapon specialization. Let's give it up for contestant number 727—THORNE!"
A single, confused clap echoed from the stands.
"…That was rude," Thorne muttered.
Back in the VIP seats, the rest of the party was watching with popcorn. Cael had a notepad ready for "analysis," Lys was recording the audio mentally to sample it into lofi later, and Alaric was already placing bets with nearby spectators.
"I give him ten minutes," Renna said confidently.
Cael scribbled something down. "I give him five."
Lys squinted. "I give him negative two."
Meanwhile, on the stage, Thorne exhaled deeply and cracked his neck. He stared ahead at the sheer number of murder-ready lunatics around him.
DING!!!
The starting bell rang.
A fireball exploded five feet from his face.
A fireball exploded five feet from Thorne's face—flames licking the air, heat slapping his skin like it owed it money.
"Really?" Thorne muttered, cracking his knuckles. "We're starting with fireballs? Classic."
With the reflexes of a caffeinated jungle cat, he raised his hand to the sky, summoned his divine spear in a flash of light, and spun it like a baton before slamming it into the ground. A surge of lightning arced down his arm and into the weapon, crackling like a thunder god doing finger guns.
CRACKABOOM!!
The entire ground around him lit up, and his spear's shaft glowed electric blue, humming with raw power. The fireball hit the blade—and fizzled like a soda poured over disappointment.
Thorne didn't flinch.
"Your fireball just kissed my lightning stick," he called out, eyes locking on the robed caster across the field. "And buddy, it wasn't love at first spark."
Thorne infused lightning into his legs—ZAP!—and launched himself forward with enough speed to cause a small sonic boom. Dust flew. Hair blew back. A nearby dwarf's beard caught fire from the friction.
The caster barely had time to squeak before—
WHAM!!!
A flying kick to the face knocked the mage's hood off, revealing an extremely confused half-elf with 400 years of regret and no dental insurance. He hit the ground with a majestic spin and slid to a stop, eyes doing the slot-machine thing before going dark.
A massive holographic number "1" appeared above the mage's unconscious body.
[ ELIMINATED ]
"AND WE HAVE OUR FIRST OUT!!" the announcer screamed. "CONTESTANT 727 JUST DELIVERED A LIGHTNING-FAST HUMILIATION!!! GIVE IT UP FOR THORNE THE THUNDERFOOT!"
The Colosseum exploded with cheers, gasps, and maybe one old man having a mild stroke from excitement. Confetti burst out of somewhere. A bard in the crowd spontaneously composed a victory jingle.
Back in the VIP stands.
"Oh my god," Lys whispered. "He's having a shounen moment."
"This is how it begins," Cael muttered, jotting down notes under 'Possible Delusions of Grandeur.'
Renna stood up and cupped her hands around her mouth. "THORNE! DODGE LEFT! THE GUY WITH THE AXE LOOKS LIKE HE HATES FUN!"
Thorne, now surrounded by six incoming enemies, twirled his spear, grinned, and said one thing.
"Let's make this fun, shall we?"
Lightning danced across the arena.
Thorne's spear spun so fast it looked like a helicopter made entirely of ego and storm power.
He slammed, zapped, and yeeted his way through the battlefield, his body moving like a blur of aggressive electricity and gym-rat arrogance. One guy tried to sneak up behind him with dual daggers? Booted into the stands. Another charged with a tower shield and hammer? Split his shield in half with one overhead spear strike, anime-style.
"That's 17!" Thorne shouted mid-combo, kicking someone in the ribs while dodging three magic missiles like he was doing rhythm dodgeball on expert mode.
[ ELIMINATED ]
[ ELIMINATED ]
[ ELIMINATED ]
Every time someone hit the dirt, the sky holograms flashed like a scoreboard going off on New Year's Eve. By the time he took out number 100, he paused just long enough to catch his breath and dramatically sweep his hair back.
"Only 900 more to go," he grinned, surrounded by unconscious bodies and lightly electrocuted surface.
While Thorne was being a one-man anime opening, several others were not just lying down and being a punch bag.
There was a woman in sleek black armor wielding two scimitars, moving with the grace of a dancer and the murder-intent of a cat after 10 PM. She parried five blows at once and responded by knocking out three people in a single spin. The crowd was calling her "Midnight Storm."
A massive dwarf in golden armor slammed down a warhammer the size of a kitchen table and sent shockwaves so big they launched people into the walls. "Ironbelly the Unshakable!" the announcer bellowed as he eliminated ten at once.
Over by the east gate, a guy in a sharp tuxedo-looking robe cast spells with finger-snaps like he was performing magic and improv comedy at the same time. Lightning bolts, wind gusts, and what might've been a swarm of weaponized doves blasted his competition away. People whispered, "The Gentleman Hexer..."
Back in the middle of the field, Thorne spotted the chaos around him, cracked his neck, and pointed his spear at the rest of the competition like he was calling his next victims.
"Well then," he said, voice smug enough to be taxed. "Let's thin the herd a bit more."
A bolt of lightning struck behind him as he charged forward again, chaos following like mayhem.
As the dust finally settled and the last unlucky adventurer was flung out of the arena like laundry in a tornado, an enormous magical bell BOOOONGed above the colosseum. Fireworks shot into the sky in celebration, despite it being midday.
The announcer's voice thundered over the stadium:
"AND THERE YOU HAVE IT, FOLKS! YOUR FINAL EIGHT! PREPARE YOURSELVES… FOR THE POWER SHOWCASE!!"
The crowd roared so loud birds exploded midair. Magical holograms lit up the sky, displaying the remaining eight contestants, their names, titles, and increasingly exaggerated fan-made nicknames.
Thorne the Thunderhead – The Arrogant Bolt
Thorne spun his spear and pointed it skyward. Lightning cracked down like he'd just challenged the heavens to a one-on-one. His body lit up in pulses of blue electricity, surging across his armor, his veins, and somehow his perfectly spiky hair. He struck the ground with his spear, and a thunder ring exploded outward, sending small rocks flying.
He smirked.
"Just warming up."
Kaelivra the Blade Siren – Midnight Storm
The dual scimitar woman twirled her blades in a mesmerizing dance. Each step left behind a ghostly trail of afterimages. She slashed the air and created wind blades sharp enough to slice through stone columns. The crowd held their breath.
She bowed slightly.
"I prefer to let the silence speak."
Cue crowd screaming.
Ironbelly the Unshakable – Dwarven Fortress
Ironbelly lifted his apocalypse-tier hammer and slammed it down once more. This time, the entire arena shook. The air rippled, and a perfect shockwave dome exploded outward—non-lethal, but dramatic enough to make popcorn fly out of people's hands.
He grunted.
"Still not using both hands."
The Gentleman Hexer – Dapper Doomcaster
With a flick of his wrists and a snap of his fingers, an arcane waltz of elements spiraled around him. Fire, ice, and shadows twirled like dancers on command, weaving together to form a sleek magical suit over his clothes. He tipped his top hat to the crowd.
"Magic is best served with a bit of flair."
Ravael the Silent Spark – Cloaked Arsonist
This one didn't say a word. Cloaked head to toe, he raised one hand. A tiny flame flickered on his fingertip. It danced… then exploded into a spiraling inferno phoenix that circled the colosseum before evaporating into embers.
The silence afterward was almost louder than the crowd.
Anya the Beastcaller – Wildfang Prodigy
Anya let out a high-pitched whistle, and from the shadows of the arena walls, a massive spectral tiger, a lightning hawk, and a rock gorilla all appeared. She leaped onto the tiger's back and rode it in a circle, pointing her sword like a general.
"Pick your predator."
Juno the Mirror Mage – Trickshot Specialist
Juno summoned a dozen floating mirrors around her and fired a single light arrow into one. It bounced between the mirrors, accelerating faster each time, until it blasted into the sky and turned into a shower of fireworks with her initials. She winked.
"Just a reflection of my talent."
Thorne, again
Wait—no, that's just him flexing again in the background.
Thorne: "Gotta make sure they don't forget me."
The crowd was losing their collective minds. People were crying. Children were throwing their snacks in the air. Someone proposed to someone else because the vibes were just that good.
The announcer yelled:
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… THE TOURNAMENT STARTS TOMORROW! WHO WILL CLAIM THE TITLE OF CHAMPION? WHO WILL WALK AWAY WITH THE GOLD, THE GLORY, AND THE ANCIENT ARTIFACT??"
And from the top of the stands, Renna shouted:
"MY MONEY'S ON THE GUY WITH THE BIGGEST EGO!"
Lys nodded beside her.
"Then she's betting on Thorne."
The eight finalists stood inside the waiting room under the colosseum. It was much fancier than expected—velvet couches, magically refilling snack tables, even a bubbling hot spring tucked into the corner. Someone was playing lute music in the background, too smooth to not be enchanted.
A glowing sign hovered above them:
"Congratulations! You've reached the tournament stage!"
Thorne kicked the door open dramatically and stepped inside like he owned the place.
"Did you SEE that out there?! The crowd was chanting my name!"
Ironbelly, a dwarf with arms like tree trunks, snorted and crossed his arms.
"They were chanting 'horn' because ye skewered that fella who had one growin' out his helmet."
Thorne paused for a second.
"...Still counts."
Kaelivra, the lithe swordswoman with silver scimitars, leaned against the wall, watching Thorne with a smirk.
"So you're the loud one. Great. Every arena needs one."
Thorne grinned and pointed a thumb at himself.
"Loud, proud, and soon to be Champion of this city."
Anya, the Beastcaller, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, tossing dried fruit to her transparent gorilla companion.
"If we're stuck in here together, someone better share their tragic anime backstory. It's the law."
Juno, the Mirror Mage, twirled one of her shiny earrings and rolled her eyes.
"Born rich, got bored, learned magic. Now I shoot lasers and reflect on my poor life choices."
Thorne raised a brow.
"That's not a backstory. That's LinkedIn."
Ravael, the Silent Spark, didn't speak. He just held up a small chalkboard and scribbled something.
"I'll set you all on fire."
Everyone glanced at the board, then nodded approvingly.
The Gentleman Hexer, wearing a purple coat and sipping enchanted tea, chuckled.
"My, what a charming group of future enemies. This already feels like a filler episode."
Ironbelly looked around and grunted.
"Ye think this is bad? Wait till someone drops their full childhood trauma mid-fight. We'll be stuck in a flashback for three hours."
Kaelivra narrowed her eyes.
"I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to win."
Thorne cracked his knuckles.
"Then you better gear up, because I'm your final boss."
"Cringe," Juno muttered.
"Deliciously cringe," said the Gentleman Hexer.
"Ten outta ten for confidence," Anya laughed.
Just then, a magical speaker crackled from the ceiling.
"Attention contestants! Please refrain from killing each other yet. Save it for the tournament tomorrow. Thank you. – Management."
Everyone slowly backed off into their corners of the room, exchanging silent glares, smirks, or awkward waves.
Outside, Renna, Lys, Cael, and Alaric had their ears pressed against the wall.
Lys whispered, "Can you hear anything?"
Cael squinted, focused. "Thorne hasn't blown anything up, so… I guess it's going okay?"
Alaric nodded. "He's probably making friends and rivals."
Renna sighed. "Classic Thorne. Being loved and hated all at once."