Nova watched Anna from a distance, noting the subtle tension in her shoulders as she shifted coins in her palm, her brow furrowed slightly.
The bag in her hands felt too light, and Nova knew the look of someone calculating losses. The weight of paying for the inn had clearly drained her, but pride kept her from saying anything.
He stepped closer and Anna flinched slightly, startled. Then she looked up, quickly hiding her worry behind a forced smile.
"I got us a place to stay. Only for two days, though."
She said, her voice light.
Nova pulled a handful of credits from his coat and handed them to her.
"Use this."
"I have my own money. You already saved me. I don't need—"
She said quickly, shaking her head.
"This is mission funding, not charity.
Nova cut her off, his tone flat.
Anna hesitated, the edge in his voice leaving little room for argument. With a quiet sigh, she took the credits.
"Fine. Mission funds."
They rested for a while, gathering their strength, both aware that this calm was temporary. The real trial was still ahead.
Later, as they approached the arena, the atmosphere had shifted—tension hung thick in the air.
People gathered in excited waves, filling the stands and creating a storm of energy. Anna looked around nervously, her fingers fidgeting by her side.
Nova, meanwhile, stayed still and unreadable, eyes locked on the stage ahead.
The arena announcer walked into the center platform, holding a glowing card. His voice echoed across the stadium.
"Ladies and gentlemen, champions and cowards alike! Due to the overwhelming number of participants in this year's Tournament of Champions, we've made an exciting change to the format!"
The crowd hushed.
"There will be no standard brackets. Instead... a mass elimination round!"
The reaction was instantaneous. Loud boos erupted from the stands, a wave of disapproval crashing across the arena.
The announcer winced but held his ground, clearing his throat.
"This decision comes at the personal request of Champion Stelle herself—"
He said carefully, and that caused the crowd to shut up.
"—who believes this will weed out the weak before they embarrass themselves on the big stage!"
The boos turned into cheers. The energy snapped back, electric now, all eyes scanning for any reaction from the competitors.
Anna leaned closer to Nova and whispered.
"Mass elimination? That's going to be chaos."
Nova didn't respond. His eyes were already watching the arena gates open as competitors began stepping inside—some confident, others shaking, all of them hungry for glory.
"Those who signed up for the competition, make your way into the arena now! Fight until only sixteen remain standing!"
The announcer said, voice booming once more.
Dozens of participants began to enter the wide circular arena floor, weapons strapped to their backs, eyes alert and wary.
Nova stepped forward without hesitation.
Anna caught his wrist for a second.
"Be careful. Even if you're strong… this won't be clean."
He gave her a glance that held no fear, only clarity.
"It doesn't matter how many there are."
And then he walked into the ring—alone in attitude, yet soon to be surrounded by enemies.
______
Nova stood in the middle of the circular arena, flanked on all sides by a sea of combatants.
Over a thousand people filled the massive pit, each one armed, twitching with nerves or bravado, eyes scanning for weak targets. He felt none of it—only stillness. Quiet in the chaos.
Nyx's voice buzzed in his ear.
[For all the noise, this is underwhelming. Verizon Planet is too backwater to draw elite fighters. Most serious warriors aim for tournaments on the inner-rim planets. This one's a spectacle—loud and messy, but not prestigious.]
Nova didn't respond. His eyes slowly traced over the others around him, watching groups form, alliances forged by desperation and paranoia.
Most of them were armed with low-quality plasma blades or enhanced steel weapons. He had his short sword, plain and silent, but he'd already shown that it was more than enough.
The announcer's voice thundered over the arena.
"Let the elimination round—BEGIN!"
The moment the declaration echoed through the air, a surge of bloodlust exploded from the nearest group.
Several fighters—five or six—rushed Nova without hesitation. Likely hadn't been at the arena yesterday. They still thought a humanoid hybrid was an easy kill.
Big mistake.
Nova moved before the first could raise their weapon.
His blade flashed, cutting clean through armor and flesh, spinning once, pivoting low, and stabbing upward into another attacker's gut. Screams tore through the arena.
Two more tried to flank him. He parried one, elbowed the other in the throat, and then dropped the sword in his hand to snatch the other's blade mid-swing.
He twisted it free and buried it in the surprised opponent's side before reclaiming his own sword from the dirt.
Within ten seconds, seven bodies hit the floor around him.
The crowd gasped. The announcer faltered.
"A-A stunning takedown by...the humanoid fighter! Seven opponents in mere seconds—!"
The blood-stained silence lasted only a moment. Nova turned his gaze across the arena, impassive, as the remaining fighters recalibrated their opinions of him.
He could feel it—their fear mounting, their aggression faltering.
Then came a roar. Loud, primal, challenging.
A lizardman slammed his club to the ground and pointed at the others.
"Stop trembling, cowards! If you're afraid of one hybrid, then you deserve to lose. Fight me instead!"
He stomped forward, not at Nova, but into the nearest group of fighters. His words stirred something.
Like a match tossed onto dry grass, the arena ignited again into chaos.
Participants lunged at each other, alliances dissolved, and the space became a battlefield of flailing limbs, howling rage, and flashing steel.
Nova let them. He stepped back, watching as the fools who underestimated him tore each other apart to impress a crowd that only wanted blood.
But then—his instinct flared.
Aether surged.
His head snapped to the left—too late. A sharp spike of concentrated energy burst from a nearby fighter.
The air shimmered as raw, unstable aether detonated like a pulse bomb. Nova barely raised his arm in time, channeling a defensive weave of energy to shield himself.
The explosion ripped through the nearby ranks. Dozens of combatants screamed as they were tossed like ragdolls, limbs shattered, weapons flung from hands.
The very ground cracked and shattered beneath the pulse.
When the smoke cleared and the dust settled, the arena was silent once more.
Bodies lay strewn across the field. Some twitched in pain, others were still. The medics didn't enter—not until the final sixteen were confirmed. The rules were clear.
A slow murmur started to spread as the remaining combatants rose to their feet.
Eight.
Only eight fighters had survived the initial round. Nova stood, sword in hand, coat fluttering slightly from the shockwave. Aether residue crackled faintly around his boots.
To his right stood a cloaked figure—slim, unassuming, the one responsible for the explosion. Their face was obscured by a combat visor, but Nova could feel their eyes watching him.
The announcer's voice came again, more cautious now, more reverent.
"I-Incredible! In a matter of minutes, we have our eight finalists! Eight champions who stood tall when the world around them fell—!"
The crowd roared. Cheers, stomps, howls of adoration.
Nova didn't care.
He sheathed his sword and exhaled, calm again. His eyes met those of the mysterious attacker.
He turned away and began walking toward the edge of the arena where the finalists were instructed to gather. A guard raised a scanner to verify his status.
"Contestant confirmed. Finalist Number Eight."
Nova didn't break stride. The number didn't matter. Only the next fight did.