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THE ARENA
Dawn painted the combat hall in pale gold as the first match of the Crucible Trials began. The air hummed with suppressed energy—sixty students reduced to thirty, all vying for a spot in the top ten.
Zarek Volen cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as he stepped into the chalk-lined ring. Across from him stood his opponent:
Name: Darien Kross
Age: 16
Ability: "Kinetic Redirection"
Can absorb and release physical force through touch (punches hit twice as hard when blocked).
Appearance:
Hulking frame, shaved head, knuckles scarred from countless brawls.
Reputation: A street fighter from Velmora's slums—no technique, pure brutality.
The referee's hand sliced down.
"Begin."
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Darien charged like a bull, fists raised. Zarek didn't move.
Crack!
A right hook slammed into Zarek's ribs—but he didn't flinch.
Darien blinked. "The hell—?"
Zarek smirked. "You hit like a kitten."
Zarek had grounded himself before impact, dispersing the force into the floor.
Darien's kinetic redirection needed resistance to work—Zarek gave him none.
Darien roared, swinging wildly. Zarek weaved between blows, lightning flickering at his fingertips.
"Rules say no abilities," Darien spat.
"Who said I'm using one?"
Zarek's fist connected with Darien's jaw—not with lightning, but pure speed.
Snap!
Darien staggered, blood spraying. The crowd gasped.
Zarek's muscle memory was honed from weeks of sparring with Kenneth's inhuman reflexes.
Against a normal human? He was a ghost.
Darien lunged, desperate. Zarek sidestepped, hooked a foot behind his ankle, and—
Thud.
Darien hit the ground hard. Zarek's knee pressed into his spine, one hand gripping his hair.
"Yield."
Silence.
Then—
"Winner: Zarek Volen."
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Zarek didn't celebrate. He offered Darien a hand up.
"Work on your footwork."
Darien wiped blood from his lip, grudging respect in his eyes. "…Yeah."
As Zarek walked back to the stands, he caught Kenneth's gaze. A nod. That was all.
But in the shadows, Cassian Veyne watched, scribbling notes.
"Fascinating."
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