"Hi… my name is Cutie Pie,"
I said, my voice steady and cold. My presence had already caught a hell lot of attention and now I guess...my name as well stood out as I want it too...
The moment my words settled, the murmurs around me erupted into laughter. Some participants doubled over, their laughter echoing across the arena. Others giggled, covering their mouths as if my introduction was the most absurd thing they'd ever heard.
"Cutie Pie?" one man scoffed. "What kind of name is that? Did she wander into the wrong place?"
A group of muscular men at the back burst out laughing. One of them smirked, arms crossed, looking at me as if I were prey. "A girl like her? She'll get eaten alive here," he said, curling his lips in a lustful way.
As if on cue, a tall woman in armor walked up to me. Her crimson hair cascaded down her back, and she stared at me with a mix of pity and disdain. "Listen, sweetheart," she said, crossing her arms and leaning slightly toward me, "people die here. This isn't a beauty pageant. Go home before you embarrass yourself."
The others around her roared with laughter, and a few even clapped mockingly. I kept my face emotionless, showing no reaction to her words. The woman tilted her head, clearly irritated by my lack of response. "I'm serious, Cutie Pie. This isn't a game. Go back to whatever fairy tale you came from."
Before I could respond, a towering man with bulging muscles and a sly grin stepped into my space. His presence silenced some of the laughter. He leaned closer, his hot breath brushing against my ear as his large hand slid onto my waist.
"A cute girl like you shouldn't be fighting," he said, his voice low and suggestive. He grazed his hand on my skin, moving his slightly lower to my hips "Let me take care of you instead. I promise it'll be worth your time."
I looked down at his hand on my waist, then back up into his cocky smirk. My expression didn't waver. I grabbed his wrist and removed it from its touch. "No need," I said flatly. "I can take care of myself."
His grin stopped, and a few gasps rippled through the crowd. I turned away from him and began walking toward a bench on the side, my steps measured and precise, as if none of this bothered me. My face remained blank, revealing nothing.
"She's got guts, I'll give her that," someone whispered.
"Yeah, but guts won't keep her alive," another replied.
I ignored them all, sitting on the bench with one leg crossed over the other. Pulling out a book from my jacket, I flipped it open and began reading as if nothing had happened, my focus seemingly on the text rather than the chaos around me.
The registration line continued, with participants stepping forward to give their names. The air was filled with the sound of friendly, heated and declaration of entry with roars of man who looked no less than animals. I can't argue because my Beta is same.
The occasional cheer for well-known fighters. I paid it little mind until I heard a voice that broke through the noise.
"Seraphine… Damascus..." the girl at the desk said.
The moment her surname left her lips, the atmosphere shifted. It was as if the entire crowd collectively inhaled, their murmurs quickly turning into sharp, venomous whispers.
"Damascus…" someone repeated, their tone laced with disgust.
A man nearby spat on the ground. "Traitor," he hissed under his breath.
"Betrayal runs in their blood," another growled.
"Them and their damn arrogance," a woman added bitterly.
I glanced up from my book, my eyes narrowing slightly as I observed the girl. Seraphine stood there, her blue hair shimmering under the sunlight, her shoulders tense yet firm. Her face betrayed no emotion, though her jaw was tightly set, and her hands were clenched at her sides. She didn't meet anyone's gaze as she walked away from the desk, heading toward the far corner of the arena.
The whispers followed her like a swarm of bees, their sting visible in the hateful glares thrown her way. Yet, she kept walking paying no attention to anyone or anything.
"What's her deal?" I overheard someone mutter nearby.
"Her family," another replied in a hushed tone. "They betrayed their own people during the last war. She's a Damascus, all right. They're nothing but pigs."
"Pigs with a shiny coat of armor," someone else sneered.
I tilted my head slightly, my curiosity piqued. Seraphine didn't look their way, nor did she react to their words. It was as if she were in her own world, entirely unaffected by the storm of resentment brewing around her. Interesting.
The desk clerk cleared his throat, his voice loud enough to regain everyone's attention. "That's the last of the registrations!" he announced. "Participants, listen up!"
The crowd turned toward him, the tension from moments ago fading away slightly.
"The first round of local fights begins tomorrow! These matches will determine who advances to the main tournament, so bring your best! Only the strong survive here!"
Excitement buzzed through the air, and a few fighters exchanged competitive smirks. Some began discussing strategies, while others eyed their potential opponents. I closed my book with a quiet sigh, standing from the bench. As I walked away, the whispers about Seraphine still lingered in the back of my mind.
I placed my sword down gently, the scabbard gleaming faintly in the dim light. Exhaustion weighed on me as I collapsed onto the bed.
A strange sensation washed over me as my body pressed against the soft mattress. For origınal chapters go to NoveIꜰire.net
"A woman's body feels... so light," I muttered, the sound of my own voice unfamiliar.
My gaze dropped, catching sight of a dark silhouette rising and falling gently with each breath I took. It took a moment for me to realize what it was—the black fabric of a crop top snug against my chest. Confusion and curiosity mingled as my hand hesitated, then moved. I groped my own chest, fingers brushing over the soft curve.
"So soft," I whispered, the words slipping out involuntarily.