The next morning, I woke up feeling more refreshed than ever. The knowledge and skills I had gained from my training session with the mentor were invaluable. It amazed me how much I could improve by simply using my existing abilities more effectively. His feedback filled me with a sense of pride, and I couldn't deny the flutter of my heart at his kind words. Emotions had always played a significant role in my life, and this encounter was no exception.
The tournament's format had been revealed—the duels would consist of five rounds, and there were a total of eighty participants. From what the mentor had shared, over two hundred warriors from across the universe had gathered on Evermore to compete, but only eighty were chosen. Surprisingly, I found myself among them, even though I had never intended to participate in the first place. Strangely, I didn't feel any regret about being part of this grand event.
While I hadn't set my sights on winning the tournament, I definitely didn't want to be eliminated in the first round. The prospect of facing formidable opponents, including the mentor from last night, weighed my mind. He had displayed remarkable strength, and I couldn't help but feel anxious about the possibility of going up against him.
The matchmaking process was set to begin soon, and I anxiously waited for the announcements. Evermore's Colosseum lacked screens, so a tall, imposing man, easily twelve feet tall, stood in the center and announced the matchups. Clad in a heavy, pitch-black armor devoid of any patterns, he commanded attention effortlessly.
As the matchups were revealed, I listened intently. Suddenly, the man's deep voice echoed through the Colosseum, "And the 32nd matchup is Ethan Coldwell and THRA'GUL THE TITAN."
At the mention of "Titan," my heart skipped a beat. My mind conjured up images of massive, fearsome warriors with devilish looks—a description I had read in a magazine from my homeland. The name alone sounded dangerous, and I couldn't shake the feeling of trepidation at the thought of facing such a formidable opponent.
Frustration gnawed at my mind as I mentally corrected my name's misspelling—Caldwell, not Coldwell. The 32nd matchup indicated that our battle would take place after a whopping 31 fights. Perhaps that would afford me some time to strategize, to figure out a plan for that impending clash.
All participants, except for those in the first matchup, were directed to take their seats in a specially designated royal section. It was a grand view that awaited us, a spectacle to be witnessed. The fights were promised to run without any interruptions, one after the other.
Once again, the eerie voice of the tall man echoed, louder this time, "PREPARE THYSELVES FOR THE INAUGURAL CLASH OF THIS DAY'S TOURNAMENT, HONORED LADIES AND NOBLE GENTLEMEN! I HEREBY PRESENT UNTO THEE THE NOBLE WARRIORS OF AETHERIA! LO, BEHOLD SERAPHINA OF AETHERIA—ADORNED IN SILVER ARMOR, ETCHED WITH INTRICATE DESIGNS, A TRUE PARAGON OF MEDIEVAL CHIVALRY! AND CAELUM, AND THE TWILIGHT SAGE—A FIGURE SHROUDED IN MYSTERY AND ENIGMA, KNOWN FOR MASTERING SWORDSMANSHIP AND ANCIENT ARCANE ARTS!"
His voice carried a fervor that ignited the air. "THESE WARRIORS OF AETHERIA, OFFSPRING OF THE MOST HONORABLE CLANS, SHALL ENGAGE IN A BATTLE UNLIKE ANY OTHER! SO LET NOT THE HOURS PASS IN WAITING, BUT LET THE CLASH COMMENCE!"
With spellcasting precision, a barrier was erected around the fighting arena—a precaution to prevent any overwhelming energy from affecting the watching participants.
Despite the tension in the air and the grandeur of the moment, my thoughts were fixated on my own impending battle. The warriors in the field, Seraphina and Caelum, emanated an aura of immense strength, far beyond anything I could imagine. Their mere presence sent shivers down my spine, and beads of sweat formed on my brow. Oddly enough, I found myself disinterested in their clash, preoccupied instead with plotting my own strategy for the forthcoming fight.
Silently, I rose from my seat, my steps leading me away from the spectacle. I was drawn to a room situated behind the Colosseum, seeking solitude amidst the chaos. As I neared the exit, an overwhelming surge of bloodlust hit me like a tidal wave. Instinctively, I turned around, my heart pounding in my chest. Yet, as my gaze swept the battlefield, I found both Seraphina and Caelum locked in a tense standoff, their gazes locked in an unspoken challenge.
Shaking off the unnerving feeling, I quickened my pace. The intensity of their power was something I wasn't prepared to face head-on. Walking away, I realized that in this realm of gods and warriors, the strength differential was astounding. I had to focus on what I could control—my own preparations for the battle ahead.
As I entered the room, my mind was a chaotic whirlwind of stress and anxiety. In my haste, I accidentally collided with a massive figure, and as I looked up, he spoke in a rumbling voice, "You must be Coldwell."
I couldn't help but correct him, a surge of irritation coursing through me. "It's CALDWELL, not Coldwell," I retorted, unable to let my self-respect waver.
"You've got some guts," he remarked, his tone laced with a mixture of curiosity and warning. "Heard you petrified someone; that's a significant crime here, you know?"
Leaning in close, his presence looming over me, he continued with a menacing tone, his words dripping with bloodlust, "I'm looking forward to our match. I'll strike you so brutally that your bones will shatter into fragments, your flesh will be rent apart in tatters, and the sheer force will leave your visage so disfigured that even your own reflection will recoil in horror."
With those chilling words delivered, he turned and walked away, each step resonating like a countdown to my impending doom. The atmosphere around everyone here was saturated with bloodlust, but his aura held a particular weight that sent shivers down my spine. He had to be the Titan I was scheduled to face, towering and imposing as I had imagined. But his words held a depth that echoed in my thoughts.
Now alone in the empty room, I sank into contemplation, my mind grappling with strategies for the upcoming fight. The previous night's training had provided me with insights, notably the reduced gravity compared to Earth 99. Could that be an advantage? Perhaps I could utilize it to leap higher and evade attacks more swiftly. Yet, a gnawing doubt arose—what if this giant I was about to face was equally accustomed to this altered gravity? The realization struck me like a lightning bolt. My learning curve during that intensive night of training had been steep, revealing unnecessary movements that hampered my agility.
Hours stretched on, each minute feeling like an eternity as I wrestled with my racing thoughts. My eyes grew heavy, yet sleep remained elusive, evading my grasp like a wisp of smoke. Leaning my head against my hand, I massaged my temples in an attempt to soothe the tension that had taken residence there. But even in the stillness of the night, my mind was a whirlwind.
Then, a deafening clang shattered the silence, and I bolted upright in my chair, heart pounding like a drum. My name echoed through the air, a jolt of panic coursing through me. "Coldwell! Ethan Coldwell!"
For a split second, confusion held me in its grip. But then the urgency of the situation hit me like a tidal wave. It was my turn to fight. The realization snapped me out of my daze, and without a second thought, I snatched up the nunchucks that lay on the table beside me. Their familiar weight in my hands provided a grounding anchor in the storm of chaos.
The journey to the arena was a blur, adrenaline pushing me forward with a singular purpose. Footsteps echoed through empty corridors as I raced toward the battle that awaited me. The fatigue that had haunted me earlier was replaced by an electric surge of energy, my mind now consumed by the imminent clash.
The entrance to the arena loomed before me, the roars of the crowd and the crackling tension in the air sending shivers down my spine. I stepped into the arena, and the world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the vast expanse of the battleground and the eyes of the spectators fixed upon me.
My opponent, Thra'gul the Titan, stood across from me—an imposing figure radiating an aura of power that was impossible to ignore. Our gazes met, a wordless challenge passed between us, and the weight of the moment bore down on my shoulders.
The battle commenced, and my body moved with a fluid grace, the nunchucks an extension of my very being. I focused on evading Thra'gul's strikes, the training I had undergone fueling my every move. The clash of our weapons reverberated through the arena, the cheers of the crowd melding into a deafening symphony of anticipation.
However, amidst the flurry of movement, an unfamiliar sensation coursed through the nunchucks in my grip. They vibrated with a strange energy, and a soft glow emanated from their polished wood. The distraction was enough to throw me off for a split second, my movements faltering.
In that brief moment of vulnerability, Thra'gul seized the opportunity. His strike sent my nunchucks sailing from my hands, the metallic clatter echoing in the arena. Panic surged within me as I scrambled to my feet, my gaze fixated on the weapons that lay several feet away.
But as my fingers closed around the nunchucks, an intense surge of energy surged through them. In an instant, they transformed, reshaping themselves into a sword—a weapon completely foreign to my training. Shock rippled through me as I stared at the blade in disbelief, my mind racing to comprehend the sudden change.
Frustration and panic welled up within me. This wasn't what I had trained for, not what I had prepared myself for. The sword felt unwieldy in my grasp, its weight unfamiliar and its balance a mystery. My advantage had become my disadvantage in the blink of an eye.
Thra'gul advanced, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. The newfound weapon in my hands felt like a burden, my every strike unsteady and uncertain. The crowd's cheers seemed distant as I grappled with the alien weapon.
As the battle raged on, I fought to adapt to the sword, my movements growing more calculated as I tried to regain my footing. Thra'gul's skill was evident, and his strikes grew more ferocious with each passing moment.
Despite the odds stacked against me, a spark of determination ignited within me. I had trained relentlessly, honing my skills with the nunchucks. I wouldn't let this unexpected twist be my downfall. With every ounce of willpower, I summoned every scrap of training and instinct within me.
The arena was a whirlwind of movement, steel meeting steel in a dance of combat. My mind raced, my heart pounded, and the crowd's roars faded into the background. With each strike, each parry, I fought to regain control over the weapon that had betrayed my expectations.
But as I clashed with Thra'gul, a sinking realization settled in my gut. The sword was a hindrance, an obstacle to my own expertise. I had to find a way to adapt, to make the best of a dire situation. The battle was far from over, and as the clash of weapons echoed through the arena, I was determined to prove that I was more than the weapon in my hands.