I had been training hard for the past few days, preparing myself for the second round of the tournament. I knew I had to face stronger opponents than before, so I couldn't afford to slack off. I went to the training arena every day, where I practiced with my weapons, the kusarigama and the chain kunai, honing my skills and speed. I also worked on my power, the ability to create illusions, which was my trump card in the battles.
Illusions required a lot of concentration and imagination, and they drained my energy quickly. The bigger and more realistic the illusions were, the more they affected me. In the past, whenever I tried to create large-scale illusions, I would get a terrible headache that would impair my vision and hearing.
But I pushed myself to the limit, trying to overcome my weakness. I experimented with different kinds of illusions, from simple ones like changing the color of an object, to complex ones like creating a fake scenario. I learned how to focus my mind and channel my energy more efficiently. I also learned how to make my illusions more convincing and deceptive. I was able to create bigger illusions without suffering any side effects. Of course, there was still a limit to how big I could go, but it was a significant improvement.
The second round awaited, and I had improved a lot since the first one. Confident in my abilities, eager to test myself against the other contestants and see how far I could go in the tournament. Proving myself, to my friends, and to myself, that was my goal.
Exhausted but proud, I returned to my room in the dormitory after a long day of training. I took a quick shower, changed into comfortable clothes, and lay down on my soft bed. I closed my eyes, feeling my muscles relax and my mind drift. The tournament, the opponents, the fight. I wondered about them, their skills and strategies, their ways of fighting.
I was on the verge of falling asleep, when my phone rang. I groaned and grabbed it.
"Hello?" I said, forcing myself to sound awake.
"Hello, come to the main conference room, right now" a man's voice demanded.
"Okay!" I said before hanging up, sprinting towards the main conference room.
I arrived at the main conference room, and saw many chairs filled with people, most likely the survivors of round one. I found an empty chair and sat down.
After a few minutes of waiting, a man stepped onto the podium in front of us. He was not a stranger; he was Dr. Aria Malik.
"Welcome, everyone! I congratulate you on advancing to round two and I pay my respects to all the people who lost their lives in round one." he said.
"As you may know, today is the beginning of round two, so I will reveal the tournament brackets." he announced and pressed a button that lowered a tv from the ceiling.
The tv turned on and showed the tournament brackets, the pairings for the second round. I scanned the names, looking for mine. I found it, and my eyes widened. The first fight was between me and.....
I couldn't believe it; I blinked several times to make sure I was seeing right. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. It was still there, the same name next to mine. No, it couldn't be real, there had to be some mistake, some error. The first fight was between me and my friend, Ebubekir...
I can't fight my friend, I won't ever do that, even if I tried, I would stand no chance against his gravity and mass powers. He could crush me, or tear me apart, or make me explode. I would just end up like Caleb, a bloody mess, or worse. How could they do this to us? How could they make us fight each other?
Dr. Aria Malik spoke in a calm and authoritative voice. "The first fight will commence in two hours, so the contestants should prepare themselves accordingly. I wish you all a good day."
With anger and a bit of sadness in my face, I get up and go to my room slowly. I feel the eyes of the other contestants on me, some pitying, some curious, some indifferent. I don't care what they think, I just want to be alone.
After reaching my room, I go to my bathroom and wash my face. I look at myself in the mirror. Why am I in this tournament? I don't have any answers, only questions.
I think about the fight, the fight that I don't want to have, the fight that I can't win.
I don't know what to do, I don't know what to say, I don't know what to feel. I have two hours to decide, two hours to prepare, two hours to live. I have two options, to fight or to flee, to kill or to die.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, holding my head in my hands. I feel a surge of emotions, anger, fear, sadness, guilt, confusion. I feel a pressure in my chest, a tightness in my throat, a pounding in my head. I feel a voice in my mind, a voice that is not mine.
The voice tells me to fight, to kill, to betray. The voice tells me that Ebubekir is not my friend, he is my enemy. The voice tells me that he is plotting. The voice tells me that he deserves to die, he deserves to suffer, he deserves to beg.
The voice tells me that I am strong, smart, brave. That I can win, triumph. That I have a purpose, a destiny, a story.
The voice tells me to obey.
I try to ignore the voice, I try to shut it out, I try to silence it. But it is too loud, too persistent, too convincing. It is winning, it is taking over, it is becoming me.
I listen to the voice; I obey the voice.
Rising from my seat, I walk to the door. It opens with a creak and I step out. The arena awaits, where the fight will take place.
Walking towards the arena, thoughts of the upcoming battle filled my mind. My illusions were just visual, not physical. They could deceive Ebubekir, distract him, confuse him, but not harm him. Ebubekir had the power to manipulate any one thing at a time, switching it to another object as he pleased. He was a formidable opponent, but he had limitations. A glimmer of hope flickered in me. Maybe, just maybe, I could win, if I predicted his moves, outsmarted him, exploited his weaknesses.
I entered the arena, where Ebubekir stood on the other side. He looked calm and composed, but with a hint of sadness in his eyes. We had been friends before we got paired against each other, when the voice started talking to me.
The crowd was silent, the air was tense, the atmosphere was heavy. The voice in my head was loud, the voice in my heart was quiet, the voice in my soul was silent. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and listened to the voice.
The battle began, and a series of illusions started. A flock of birds, a pack of wolves. Flying, running, attacking, retreating. Real in look, sound, movement. But not real, just illusions, just figments of imagination.
Ebubekir was not tricked, he was not terrified, he was not distracted. He used his power to create a gravity field around him, breaking my illusions, deflecting my attacks. He then boosted his power to make his fist as hard as a boulder, and smashed me, sending me flying back.
Regaining my footing, I saw Ebubekir charging towards me. A wall, an illusion, quickly created between us. Hoping to slow him down, but he punched through it and continued his charge.
I dodged his punch by a hair's breadth and counterattacked with a swing of my kusarigama. But he blocked it with his arm, and the chain wrapped around it. He pulled me towards him, and I flew through the air, crashing into him. We both fell to the ground, but he was on top, pinning me down.
His weight pinned me down, his power, his gravity, crushing me. Breathing was hard, moving was impossible. An illusion, that's what I needed, but my mind was too scattered, my energy too drained.
Then, I remembered my training, my practice. I focused my mind, channeled my energy, and created an illusion of a swarm of bees. They buzzed around Ebubekir, distracting him. He let go of me, swatting at the bees, and I rolled away, gasping for air.
I got up and attacked him with my chain kunai, slashing and stabbing, keeping him at a distance. He defended himself with his power, creating a gravitational field that deflected my attacks. But I kept attacking, kept pushing, kept fighting.
Then, he changed his strategy. He used his power to increase the mass of his fist, and punched the ground, creating a shockwave that knocked me off my feet. I crashed into the wall of the arena, and slumped to the ground, dazed and disoriented.
He walked towards me, his steps slow and heavy, his face stern and determined. Losing, beaten, done, that's how I felt. But giving up, surrendering, letting him win, wasn't an option.
I stood up, my body aching, my mind spinning, my heart pounding. I looked at him, my friend, my enemy, my opponent.
I unleashed the biggest, most complex, most realistic illusion I had ever created. A scenario of a war, with soldiers, tanks, planes, bombs. Chaos, destruction, death. Fear, despair, hope. All of them, my creations, my weapons.
Ebubekir was taken aback, his eyes wide, his mouth open. He looked around, confused, scared, lost. He was in my world now, my illusion, my reality. And I was in control.
I attacked him with everything I had, my weapons, my illusions, my power. I was relentless, ruthless, merciless.
But Ebubekir was not defeated, not yet. He fought back, with his power, his gravity, his mass. He was a force, a threat, a danger.
He applied his power to invoke a gravity surge around him, dissolving my illusions, consuming my attacks. He then transformed his power to make a mass distortion in his fist, and flung it at me, erupting with a strength that tossed me aside.
I crashed into the wall of the arena, and slumped to the ground, defeated, exhausted, broken. I looked up at Ebubekir, standing tall, standing strong, standing victorious. I saw his power, his strength, his victory.
The crowd was silent, the air was still, the atmosphere was heavy. The voice in my head was gone, but the voice in my heart was louder, and the voice in my soul was clearer. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and listened to them.
Ebubekir had won. He had beaten me, he was the better fighter, and I was proud of him, proud of his victory, proud of his achievement.
Despite losing, I had fought. With all my might, I had given it my all. No regrets lingered in me.
The battle was over, but the war remained. The tournament was ongoing, and I was not out. I would come back glorious, by dominating the free for all battle.
Lying on the ground, under the lights, I sensed something. The voice was not evil, just a part of me, a part that I had ignored. It could be let out, to channel its rage in battle, to use it as a tool against my foes. But the risk was there, the danger of losing myself to it. Only as a last resort would I do it.