The void pulsed.
A wave of cold rippled through the fractured colosseum, bending light and twisting the floating shards of broken pillars. The Lost Ones and Varyn's faction stood frozen under the crimson System text burning high above.
[Observation Event Updated.]
[Anomaly Detected.]
[Suppression Scenario Initiated.]
[Last faction standing will be recognized.]
[Failure: Termination.]
The black-armored faction stepped forward. They moved as one. No banners. No House colors. No hesitation. Helms of seamless obsidian, runes etched deep into their armor plates, weapons designed not to incapacitate—but to erase.
Eryndor's eyes narrowed as the cold realization settled. The System had stopped pretending.
"They're not here to test us," he whispered. "They're here to clean up."
The first black-armored figure surged forward with inhuman speed, its blade humming with corrupted energy. Varyn's front line barely had time to raise shields before they were torn apart. One strike. Two bodies fell, their forms dissolving into nothingness.
Panic erupted. Varyn's leader screamed, ordering a retreat. His formation collapsed instantly under the precision assault. Desperation replaced pride.
The Lost Ones held. Eryndor's voice cut through the chaos, cold and absolute.
"Form Echelon Delta. Do not engage directly. Draw them in."
The Unborn crashed into the flank of an approaching black-clad attacker, his chains slamming down like iron meteors. Sparks and blood sprayed across the void floor. The enemy staggered, wounded, but not defeated.
The Mana-Cursed Girl unleashed a violent arc of unstable mana. The blast caught another black enforcer mid-strike, hurling it backward into a shattered pillar. Her legs gave out immediately after. Eryndor caught her before she hit the ground.
"Focus." His tone remained distant but commanding. "Survive first."
She nodded weakly, jaw clenched.
Across the arena, the black faction regrouped with eerie calm. Eryndor's mind raced. They weren't perfect. They adapted—but they followed patterns. He could see it already. The System always repeated mistakes.
A sharp crack echoed. Another of Varyn's students fell, lifeless, as his barrier was shattered like glass. The Varyn leader abandoned his faction and ran toward the edge of the arena. The black-clad executioners didn't follow. Their attention turned. All eyes locked on Eryndor.
The Lost Ones tightened their stance. The leader stepped forward. Slightly taller, armor scorched and scarred by countless past executions. A corrupted System blade hung effortlessly in one hand. Its helm cracked faintly as it tilted its head at Eryndor.
The voice was distorted but unmistakable. "Anomaly. End of line."
Eryndor raised his blade slowly, the corner of his mouth twisting ever so slightly. "Not yet."
The corrupted System blade came down in a blur of motion. Eryndor met it with both hands on his cursed dagger, twisting hard as the impact sent a shockwave tearing across the arena. Cracks spiderwebbed beneath his feet. The force staggered him back two steps.
The black-armored leader pressed forward relentlessly. Eryndor ducked under the next swing, slid across broken stone, and slashed for the back of the enemy's knee joint. Sparks flew. Minimal damage. He noted it coldly.
Their armor absorbed standard mana and kinetic strikes. Adaptation required.
The others were still locked in survival battles across the arena. The Unborn wrestled two black enforcers, chains snapping taut as he dragged them toward the fractured edge. The Mana-Cursed Girl pushed herself upright again, her unstable energy crackling violently under strained control.
A scream. A minor Lost One fell under a clean, brutal stroke from one of the black enforcers. His body flickered, then was gone. Erased. The first death.
Eryndor's mind locked around the loss. Cold acceptance. The leader came again. This time, the corrupted blade passed so close it sliced a shallow line across Eryndor's ribs. Blood welled dark beneath his shredded uniform.
Still standing. Still watching. The System had made a critical error: the more perfect the construct, the easier it was to predict.
The leader raised its blade high, its runes flaring violently. Eryndor moved first. A single feint step. Shift weight. Reverse grip.
The corrupted blade slammed down into empty space. Eryndor twisted around the exposed side and drove his dagger deep into the exposed underplate near the hip joint. The leader staggered. It turned faster than any living thing should, backhanding Eryndor across the arena with a brutal strike. His body hit the ground and slid across the scorched void floor.
Pain exploded along his side. Eryndor coughed once, forcing himself upright. The black leader stared at him, blade lowered.
"Terminate anomaly."
Eryndor wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. The flicker of a cruel smile touched his lips.
"Come and try."
The System text burned ominously above them.
[Anomaly Combat Ongoing.]
[Observation Escalated.]
[Next Phase Imminent.]