The automated voice of the announcer spoke loudly through the sky.

"Current contender count: 383 remaining. Incoming, Specialized Phase B: in the indicated region sent to your maps, a special weapon is attainable through specific requirements. Further details will be listed in your device."

Camellia hid in some nearby shade after hearing this, pulling out her device to check the Specialized Phase's details.

{ SPECIALIZED PHASE B: a total of eight sacrifices must be made within the altar radius in order to summon the weapon from its stonekeep. }

Camellia furrowed her eyebrows reading this. "Sacrifices?" She wondered what it'd meant. Either way, she was going to head over to the indicated region to see if she could land herself the weapon. She was scared, but in dire need of an advantage. The Metatron Tournament was her last hope in securing value for her and her family. Ever since the ruination of their hometown district, Crete District, through faction wars and riots, Camellia and her family have been living on the streets in the nearby Kyte District. Food was scarce, and they were constantly on the run to avoid faction fights. When the Metatron tournament was advertised, Camellia saw it as an opportunity to pull her family out of the slumps. The reward was anything you wished for, and she wished for a home, food, and money to supply her family with.

That hope was short-lived.

As soon as Camellia entered the tournament, she realized what she was getting herself into. She thought she'd see people like her; struggling to stay afloat, poor, and in dire need of a lifeline. But no, the majority of people making up the contender population were power-hungry faction members, and filthy-rich individuals with golden-laced weapons. Camellia regretted her decision immediately. The Metatron Tournament was not a chance to support those who needed it. It was a feeding ground for the greedy, and a peasant like her was nothing but prey in such an environment.

Once the tournament began and everyone warped into their selected regions, it was Camellia who chose a spot sure to be scarce of contenders: the middle of a lake. She'd been dropped straight into the water, where she struggled to swim back ashore. When she did, she found herself surrounded by a shrouded forest, and it was in the shady trees of this forest where she'd remained hidden to ensure her own survival. Camellia was willing to do anything to win the tournament, even if it meant hiding until the end. She knew she wasn't as physically strong or enduring as others, and all she'd brought as a weapon was a rock sharpened along the sidewalks of Kyte District. So she'd opted to refrain from engaging contenders, but that was until hearing the announcement for Specialized Phase B. The sound of a special weapon sounded intriguing to her, unlike the reward for Specialized Phase A which was just extra food rations that could keep you energized. If she could wield a weapon that gave her an advantage, her chances of winning the ultimate prize would skyrocket.

"I need this weapon. I need this in order to help mama and papa."

Camellia checked her map and saw that Specialized Phase B was taking place near the outskirts of South City, what used to be Jenzaya District. She exited the forest in its direction and began trekking her way up hills and through valleys in order to get there. When she was approaching the indicated region, she came to a halt when she saw that a group of contenders were already there. They all wore crimson red robes, with hoods over their heads. Camellia immediately recognized them as part of the Renard faction. The Renards were known to be one of the most feared, and most brutal factions in the country. Their reputation was of nothing but violence and domination. Most of their faction wars were left as burning graveyards, filled with nothing but the corpses of their enemies. They portrayed themselves in a very traditional occult way, but they acted with very advanced procedures, making them the most unpredictable of all factions.

"The Renards…They're here too…?" Camellia suddenly felt her chances of survival dwindle to the minimum. Her high hope of retrieving the special weapon was all lost when seeing that nine Renards littered the Specialized Phase region. Still, she was curious as to what needed to happen in order to retrieve the weapon. She moved in closer, staying hidden behind clusters of rocks, but close enough to eavesdrop on the group. She had to ensure she wasn't seen, or else she was as good as dead.

"It says here that we need eight sacrifices," a Renard had said.

"Hm… And there's nine of us."

All the Renards stood in silence for a moment.. As they did, Camellia came up with her own understanding to the Specialized Phase's requirements. "Eight sacrifices must mean eight contenders need to die within the radius… So shouldn't they wait for eight other contenders to come so they could kill them within the radius?" But the realization soon hit Camellia. No one was going to engage a group of Renards head-on. They were feared for a reason. It seemed that the Renards themselves realized this too, as they all looked at each other understanding what needed to be done.

One of the Renards spoke aloud. "Not a single contender has attacked us since this tournament has started."

"They surely won't if we're all grouped together. Our faction is known to be deadly with numbers, is it not?"

"It is… That's why we only have one option: we become the sacrifices ourselves."

Another Renard sighed. "If only the leader had sent a larger number of us into the tournament, we could be left with more than just one after this Specialized Phase."

"Is it necessary to retrieve this special weapon?"

"From what I can tell, this special weapon is stronger than all nine of us combined. Provide just one of us with it, and the chances of the Renard faction winning the tournament is guaranteed. No matter the casualties, we are all sacrifices to ensure that the Renards win the grand prize, aren't we?"

All the Renards nodded in unison. It scared Camellia how willing they were to give up their lives for a bigger picture.

"Then so be it. Eight of us will sacrifice ourselves to ensure that the last one is given the weapon. Shall we?"

They all nodded again. The nine of them then began gathering pieces of rubble from the surrounding area, and stood in a circle.

"Pour les Renards!" They all shouted in french. The nine began hurling pieces of rubble at one another, all while standing still. They struck each other in the legs, the stomach, and even the face. Some began dropping to the floor after being hit too hard in the head, dying instantly as their brains failed to function. Blood was splattering the grounds as two Renards died, then three, then six, and finally eight. Eventually, only one last Renard was left standing, swaying slightly from the injuries he'd received. Camellia couldn't believe what she'd just witnessed; seeing an entire group of teammates turn on each other just for the sake of an agreement for a bigger picture was absolutely absurd to her. The Renard crouched to maintain his balance, before noticing a nearby pile of debris beginning to crumble from the top. Revealing itself from the top was a uniquely-styled knife, with a bronze handle and a seared blade. When the Renard grabbed it, the blade was immediately set aflame.

"Specialized Phase B has been completed. A contender has retrieved the special weapon."

The Renard observed the burning blade in his hand. His device had buzzed, and he checked the notification. It read:

{ Lacerator of Judgement: A blade that will ignite with flames when equipped. Any wounds sliced with the blade will burn and be set aflame. }

The Renard fawned over his newfound weapon's strength. "Your deaths will not be for naught, mes frères. I will use this wisely…"

Camellia suddenly saw a contender running towards the Renard from within the South City. It was a scrawny male with a metal pipe in hand, and too drowned in the interest of his new weapon, the Renard failed to notice the incoming threat.

Clang—!

The metal pipe was slammed right against the Renard's head, and with his already weakened state, he died upon impact and fell to the ground. Camellia watched as the scrawny contender rolled the Renard's shaking body aside and picked up the Lacerator of Judgement, sheathing it as his own and running back into the South City.

"What just happened…?" It was the most daring she'd ever seen someone act in front of a Renard. But whatever it was, Camellia felt like she'd lost a winning chance. The special weapon meant to give her an advantage was long gone, now in the hands of a contender who'd stripped the prize right out from beneath the Renard's deaths. Camellia had already moved away from her safehaven, so she couldn't have come to the site without retrieving something for herself in return. That's when an extreme idea sparked her mind. She knew the fearful reputation the Renards held, and she knew how identifiable their outfits were from any other faction. Her idea was a risk that could either land her an advantage or a disadvantage.

Camellia decided she'd steal one of the Renard's robes and act as a Renard herself.

She rushed over to the radius of dead Renards and quickly stripped the clothing from one of the corpses. After doing so, she ran into the nearby South City, finding herself a shrouded building spot where she could change in the darkness. Wearing the robes of a Renard and acting as a Renard would either keep people away from her as she'd hoped, or attract attention due to their infamous reputation. It was a bargain she was willing to take, because her only option was to win the tournament. Now with a hood dangling over her head, and bloody crimson robes drooping past her knees, she stepped out into the sunlight standing as a sheep among the foxes.

Un mouton parmi les Renards.

Camellia now disguised herself as a Renard, and although she'd never performed any irregularities like the Renards did, she had to portray herself as one through sheer presence alone.