"I’m not here to watch," Alvian said calmly. "I’m here to play."
The ogre laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "You? You look like you’d break if I sneezed on you, little mage. The Pit is for warriors."
Alvian didn’t blink. He just raised a finger.
"Gravity."
He channeled mana into his [Vestments]. The [Void Anchor] ability inverted. instead of holding him in place, he projected the weight of his 220 Physique outward.
"BOOM!"
The ogre was slammed face-first into the dirt as if a mountain had fallen on his shoulders. The ground cracked.
"Entry fee paid," Alvian stepped over the groaning giant.
He walked into the tunnel leading to the arena floor. The smell of blood was thick here. Iron and death.
He checked his status.
[Level 40]
[Mana: Infinite]
"Time to put on a show."
-------
The Blood Pit was a bowl of noise and violence. The stands were packed with the dregs of society—thieves, murderers, and disgraced mages—all screaming for blood. In the center of the sand pit, a massive, four-armed ape beast was tearing apart a gladiator clad in copper armor.
"AND THE CHAMPION REMAINS UNDEFEATED!" The announcer, a floating goblin with a magical microphone, screeched. "GORGON THE MAULER! WHO ELSE HAS THE GUTS TO CHALLENGE THE SYNDICATE’S PET?"
Gorgon, the four-armed beast, roared, beating his chest. He was Level 38. An Elite monster captured from the Deep Wilds.
The crowd threw coins.
Alvian walked out of the challenger’s tunnel. The bright mana-lights blinded him for a second before his vision adjusted.
The crowd quieted down, confused.
"Who’s that?"
"A student? Look at his robes."
"He’s lost. Gorgon is going to eat him."
The goblin announcer floated down. "Oho! Fresh meat! A pretty boy from the upstairs school! What’s your name, sacrifice?"
Alvian ignored the goblin. He looked up at the VIP box overlooking the arena. It was shielded by darkened glass, but he could feel the mana signatures inside. Powerful. Organized.
"I want to speak to the manager," Alvian said, his voice amplified by a simple wind spell.
The crowd laughed. The goblin cackled. "The manager? You think you can just walk in here and—"
"Die," Alvian whispered.
He didn’t draw his lance. He didn’t use a spell.
He used [Voidpiercer].
"[World Step]."
He vanished.
"SQUELCH."
He reappeared behind Gorgon. The beast hadn’t even registered that Alvian moved.
Alvian sheathed the dagger.
A thin, black line appeared on Gorgon’s neck. Then on his torso. Then on his legs.
[Passive: Reality Sever.]
The massive, four-armed beast slid apart in four neat pieces. No blood sprayed immediately; the wounds were cauterized by the void.
The pieces hit the sand with a wet thud.
[You have slain Gorgon the Mauler.]
[Experience Gained: 25,000.]
The silence in the arena was absolute. The goblin dropped his microphone.
Alvian looked up at the VIP box again.
"I said," Alvian repeated, "I want to speak to the manager."
The glass of the VIP box shattered from the inside. A man stepped out onto the balcony. He wore a pristine white suit that clashed violently with the grime of the Undercroft. He wore a mask made of gold, depicting a smiling face.
[Target Identified: Syndicate Lieutenant - The Golden Prince]
[Level: 42]
[Class: Puppet Master]
"You have my attention, Godslayer," the Golden Prince said, his voice smooth and cultured. "We wondered when you would come down to the mud."
"You know who I am," Alvian said. "Then you know why I’m here."
"You want to stop the inevitable," the Prince said, leaning on the railing. "But you are in my house now. And in my house, the house always wins."
He snapped his fingers.
The gates around the arena slammed open.
"Release the Menagerie."
From the tunnels, monsters poured out. Not just beasts, but chimeras. Failed experiments like the ones in the Blind Spot, but feral. Starved.
There were fifty of them. Levels ranging from 30 to 38.
"Entertain me, Alvian," the Prince laughed. "If you survive, we can talk."
Alvian looked at the horde encircling him. Chimeras with acid breath, wolves with steel claws, zombies leaking toxic gas.
He sighed. "Inefficient."
He raised his hand.
"[Frost Descent +2]."
He didn’t cast it on the monsters. He cast it on the sand.
"Floor is lava? No. Floor is Void."
He pumped his infinite mana into the ground. The sand froze, turning into a sheet of black ice.
[Crippling Frost Applied: Global.]
Every monster in the arena slowed to a crawl, their limbs heavy with magical frost.
Alvian equipped the [Lance of the Void Winter].
"System. [Klaus’s Upgrade]. Activate."
[Blessing Active.]
He spun the lance.
"Orbital Bombardment."
He pointed the lance at the sky. Beams of violet light shot up, then rained down, tracking the frozen targets.
"PEW! PEW! PEW! PEW!"
It was a massacre. The beams punched through the chimeras, vaporizing them. The crowd screamed and scrambled for the exits as stray beams hit the stands.
In ten seconds, the arena floor was empty, save for Alvian and a pile of loot drops.
Alvian looked up at the Prince.
"Are you entertained?" Alvian asked.
The Golden Prince wasn’t laughing anymore. He stood stiffly.
"Kill him," the Prince ordered his personal guards. "Kill him now!"
Five assassins jumped from the balcony, cloaked in shadows.
Alvian didn’t even turn around.
"Seraphina," he said into his comms. "Your turn."
From the shadows of the VIP box, behind the Prince, a pair of daggers flashed.
"Got him," Seraphina’s voice crackled.
The Prince gasped as a blade pressed against his throat.
Down on the sand, Alvian used [Shadow Step] to teleport directly to the balcony, bypassing the assassins entirely.
He landed right in front of the Prince.
"Meeting adjourned," Alvian said. He grabbed the Prince by the lapels of his white suit and threw him back into the VIP room.
He turned to the assassins who had landed in the arena, looking confused.
"Run," Alvian suggested.
They ran.
A/N: Creation is wild, exhausting, and sometimes my brain wants to run away. Power stones are my only bargaining chip to drag it back. If you liked this Chapter, toss me one or a few, it helps more than you think.