Male Announcer (voice echoing through the heavy silence):
> "And now, entering the arena… a name carved in steel and shadow — Celeste. Known to many as Model A5. A legacy soaked in victories… five consecutive years, five brutal triumphs. A name no one dared to challenge — until now.
But tonight, something shifts.
Across the battlefield stands a new force, unknown… untouched by past scars. A fresh contender cloaked in mystery and silence. Another Celeste. Another DUCES.
CELER.
A name whispered like a storm just before it breaks. The new blood of this year's DUCES. Unseen in combat — until this very moment.
Two Celestes. Two storms. One fate.
And tonight… only one walks out of the dark."
The atmosphere -
Dimly lit arena, with flickering neon red and blue lights.
Holographic names of Model A5 and CELER rotate overhead.
A deep fog spreads across the ground as the gates creak open.
Meldenma: "C'mon now... step out already. Let's get this fight started."
Her voice echoed through the thick silence of the arena.
But instead of a reply, there was stillness. Eerie. Heavy.
She narrowed her eyes and scanned the vast arena with quiet intensity—like a hunter looking for movement in the shadows.
And then... she saw him.
High above, standing effortlessly at the edge of the balcony—this year's new DUCES.
His presence didn't need an announcement. It demanded attention.
He wasn't clapping. He wasn't cheering.
He was just watching.
Watching the other top DUCES—the one who's been dominating the charts for a decade straight.
And then... that smile.
Sinister. Slow. Knowing.
A smile that didn't say "I'm here to compete."
It said "This was never a competition."
Meldenma (to herself): The way he looked... the way he smiled… it felt like he already knew how this would end.
Suddenly—like a ghost out of nowhere—Model A5 emerged.
No footsteps. No noise. No announcement.
Just... presence.
He walked in, straight into the center of the arena, and stood still. As if this was his ground. As if he'd been waiting.
And that's when the real tension began.
He didn't walk like a man.
He moved like a weapon.
A towering 25 feet tall and 10 feet wide, his entire structure screamed designed to destroy.
His body wasn't made of flesh.
It was pure titanium—unyielding, brutal, invincible. Every nut and bolt forged from tungsten, giving him that lethal shine.
And yet… they hadn't made him ugly.
They made him terrifyingly beautiful.
A soft layer of royal gold outlining ran through his frame, highlighting every sharp edge, every joint, every silent wire. His metallic shell was coated in matte black, sleek and cold—making the gold almost glow like it belonged to a forgotten king of war.
Random engraved patterns snaked across his armor—not for decoration, but for dominance. A display of unmatched craftsmanship.
His chest was broad. His limbs were long and built for combat. Every movement was flawless—not even the faintest click when his fingers flexed or curled.
It was unnatural silence. As if he didn't just walk... he glided through gravity.
And then came the face.
Or rather... the absence of one.
There was no mouth. No nose. No expression.
Just two piercing eyes glowing faintly from beneath a divided skull—a thin but visible line slicing down the middle of his head, as if someone had cracked open a machine and left the scar to remind the world:
This was never human.
It was that split—cold, cruel, clinical—that made him look inhuman, inexpressive... and monstrous.
But perhaps, that's what made him so hypnotic.
Not a fighter. Not a soldier.
A designed disaster.
The crowd—usually loud, wild, uncontrollable—was now frozen in place.
No cheers.
No whispers.
Just wide eyes and held breaths.
Model A5 stood at the center like a mechanical god, crafted not to perform—but to dominate.
Even the wind seemed afraid to pass him.
Up in the stands, Meldenma couldn't tear her eyes away.
Her heart didn't race—it stopped.
Meldenma (in her thoughts):
This... thing. It's not just a fighter. It's a message. A warning. A war, standing on two legs.
Her palms clenched against the railing.
She'd seen top contenders.
Seen ruthless brawlers.
But this was different.
This wasn't someone trained to win.
This was something built not to lose.
A machine whose silence spoke louder than any roar.
And yet, in the distance, she could still feel the stare of the new DUCES above—calm, confident, amused.
As if he knew exactly what kind of chaos was about to unfold.
As if this was only the beginning.
Meldenma gritted her teeth. "I swear, if anyone even dares to crush this thing with a crusher, I'll gouge their eyes out."
Vita let out a sarcastic chuckle. "Girl, every year someone gets crushed trying to take down a Celeste. Doesn't matter how beautiful or powerful they look… they always end up in pieces."
Meldenma glanced around, annoyed. "Why isn't the second Celeste here yet? Ugh, Celer…"
Vita smirked. "Probably made it too big and bulky. That thing must be crawling its way in."
Meldenma scowled. "No way. Slow entry? That's already a demerit point."
Vita nodded dramatically. "Exactly what I was thinking…"
But before either of them could speak again—
BAM!
A deafening crash shook the entire row in front of them.
A giant metallic ball had slammed into the rods with terrifying force. It didn't just hit—it dented them, deeply. The rods groaned under the impact, and though the glass shields around the audience muted the sound, the sheer vibration of it told everyone: that was a hit worth remembering.
One more like that, maybe five at most—and those rods would be in pieces.
It was moving fast. Too fast. Around 200 kilometers per hour, slicing through the arena like a comet, its body grinding against the rods, sparks flying.
But the ball wasn't smooth. No, it had thousands of pores spread across its body. Intricate grooves traced along its surface, almost like it was designed to open up in perfect symmetry—if it wanted to.
Its outer body? Covered in a strange matte silver—you couldn't tell if it was paint, a coating, or some unknown metal. There was no shine. No reflection. Just a cold, lifeless silver.
And the size? A monstrous 400 meters. It didn't look beautiful. It didn't look deadly.
It just looked like a void—a giant, featureless ball with mysterious holes... and a presence that made your skin crawl.
No one knew what it really was.
But one thing was clear—this wasn't just another Celeste.
This was something new.
And it had just entered the game.