You might be wondering where Sandro is during all the excitement of the tournament. While the battles rage on with fervor, he has remained sequestered in his own private room.
In the dimly lit chamber, a chessboard sat between two chairs. One was occupied by Sandro, draped in his reality-woven coat, his eyes glimmering with that calm, knowing gleam. The other chair, however, was empty. The game, however, was not one of solitude. The pieces on the board were moving, but not solely at Sandro's command.
A black knight glided forward, its motion smooth and deliberate. Sandro's golden eyes flickered briefly, watching the piece settle into place. His fingers never touched it.
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Predictable," he muttered under his breath, barely audible.
His long fingers, thin and nimble, hovered over the white queen. With a slow, measured motion, he nudged it into position. The move was calm, deliberate, and precise—his opponent, unseen, did not react. There was no need. The game continued, and each move was simply a reaffirmation of a fate already set in motion.
Pawn. Rook. Bishop.
The pieces continued their silent dance, every movement perfectly countered as though they were mere pieces in a cosmic puzzle, their outcome already decided long before the board had even been set. Sandro's gaze never wavered as he leaned back slightly, watching the play unfold.
The black king stood on the board, untouched, shielded by its army. No matter how fiercely the white side fought, it could never breach the defenses. His fingers tapped against the table in quiet rhythm, his mind far removed from the game.
Then, with a sudden shift, another piece moved on its own.
Check.
Sandro's eyes narrowed slightly. He exhaled slowly, savoring the moment. "So, it's time," he mused.
He lifted his queen, spinning it delicately between his fingers, before placing it down with unwavering certainty. And then, without hesitation—
Checkmate.
As the final piece fell into place, a candle beside him flickered and died. In the distance, somewhere far beyond his private chamber, something within the Doom-Verse shifted. A fighter's breath faltered, a foot slipped at the wrong moment, and a blade met flesh where it shouldn't have.
Sandro chuckled softly, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "You never learn."
With a swift motion, he reset the board, all the pieces returning to their starting positions.
"Again?" he asked aloud, but the only response was silence. Still, the next move had already been made.
But enough of Sandro, for now. Let us return to the tournament. The bloodshed in the coliseum had intensified, but Doom Master, seated in his throne, was far from pleased. He tapped his fingers impatiently, his aura radiating with an intensity that seemed to shake the very fabric of the multiverse. His dissatisfaction was palpable.
"Hanz!" he roared, his voice like a thunderclap. "Why, in the hell, are these fights so boring and predictable?"
Hanz immediately fell to his knees, trembling in fear under the weight of the Doom Master's presence. Beads of sweat dotted his brow, his body quaking in the face of his lord's overwhelming power.
"I'm sorry, my lord," Hanz stammered, his voice filled with nervousness. He could feel the immense aura around the Doom Master press down on him, an invisible force that made the very air thick with tension. The tremors were felt across the multiverse. Even the most powerful entities sensed it.
"My lord, please calm down! You'll see one of your favorite fighters from the previous tournament. Please, allow me this last chance," Hanz begged, his voice tinged with desperation.
The Doom Master let out a long, frustrated sigh and gradually weakened his aura, though it still hung in the air like a suffocating cloud.
"This is your last chance," he muttered, his voice cold, filled with a threatening finality. He tapped his trident on the armrest of his throne, releasing a final blast of energy that sent Hanz flying backward.
Hanz struggled to his feet, shaking from the impact. He stood upright, sweat trickling down his face, but his eyes shone with determination.
"Thank you, my lord," he said, his voice still trembling but gaining strength. "I promise this next duel will not disappoint."
The crowd roared with excitement as Hanz glanced out over the arena, his voice booming with energy. "Let's meet the next fighters!"
The coliseum erupted in applause, the spectators eager to see the next duel. Hanz continued, "Let's meet Team Xylais, the Ghost, and Manu, the Cyber-Orc!"
The cheers from the crowd grew deafening. "Welcome back, Xylais! We hope you will win this time! Don't disappoint us!" they shouted in unison.
Xylais, ever the confident figure, raised his hand in greeting, his posture composed, as though the crowd's approval was nothing more than a fleeting noise.
"And now, let's meet our second team!" Hanz called out with a flourish. "The team of Shinobis, Hocking and Ms_Circle!"
Another explosion of applause. "Good luck! Aim for victory! Show us what you've got!" the audience cheered.
The Shinobis waved in unison, their faces serene as they spoke. "It's a pleasure for us to be here," they said, their voices calm, controlled.
"Let's not keep the crowd waiting any longer. The duel begins now!" Hanz's words were punctuated by the sound of a gong.
The fighters squared off. Hocking, with his eyes sharp and focused, approached Xylais. "Let the strongest win," he said, offering his hand in a gesture of mutual respect.
Xylais, however, simply smiled and took Hocking's arm, not in greeting, but as a prelude to his next move. With a swift motion, he hurled Hocking toward Ms_Circle, catching the shinobi off guard.
Ms_Circle, barely having time to react, caught Hocking midair and gritted his teeth. "That's trickery," he grumbled, but before he could say more, Manu's war flail came crashing down—straight into his face.
With remarkable speed, Hocking deflected the blow with a dagger, just in time to avoid being crushed by the impact.
"That's low, you know," Hocking muttered as he quickly summoned five shadow clones using his Kage Bunshin no Jutsu. The clones surrounded Manu, each one attacking with Rasenshurikens, the spinning energy spheres aimed to overwhelm their opponent.
Manu, quick on his feet, conjured a shield of water before him, the water rippling as it absorbed the impact of the Rasenshurikens.
Xylais, watching with an air of disinterest, whispered, "Useless," under his breath. In the blink of an eye, he appeared behind Hocking. With a single, forceful punch, he destroyed one of the clones. "Hmph, I was aiming for the original," Xylais said, glancing over at Ms_Circle. "Your work?"
The shinobi smiled cryptically. "Of course…" he began, but before he could finish, Xylais disappeared again, reappearing behind him. His fist collided with empty air. "Hm? Mind control again? But your mastery is too weak."
With a chilling laugh, Xylais unleashed his illusions. The field shifted into endless nightmares, an overwhelming, suffocating darkness that swallowed the entire arena.
"Now, you're mine," Xylais purred as a giant illusion of himself formed, swallowing the entire opposing team.
They awoke in the heart of the illusion, surrounded by a sea of stomach acid that began to rise, submerging them.
"Where are we?" Hocking shouted in panic, but the acid began to rise faster, and the two shinobis found themselves struggling to stay afloat.
"Hurry, Circle!" Hocking shouted, gasping for air. "Use your mind control!"
With the last of his strength, Ms_Circle cast his mind control over Xylais, attempting to weaken his illusions. At that exact moment, Hocking hurled a dagger straight at him.
The dagger found its mark. Xylais was stabbed directly in the heart, and he fell to the ground without a single movement.
"Hah, finally, he's dead!" Hocking shouted triumphantly. "Now it's just this orc left!"
But as he looked down at Manu, ready to finish the fight, something strange happened. The body of Xylais sat up, his grin twisted and dark, seated atop Ms_Circle's lifeless form.
"You didn't get it, did you?" Xylais sneered, his voice mocking. "This was all just an illusion."
Fury surged through Hocking. "You bastard! I'll—"
But he was cut off as his own dagger was thrust into his throat. Blood gushed out with a final, gurgling cough, and Hocking collapsed to the ground, dead.
Xylais, now standing tall, smirked. "This time, I will win!" He stood up straight, turning to Manu. "Let's go, you useless bastard."
"Yes, yes, of course," Manu muttered obediently, like a dog following its master.
Together, they walked toward the Doom Master's seat, the wild cheers of the crowd echoing in their wake. "We knew you would win, Xylais! You're the best! Take it all the way!" they screamed.
Xylais and Manu both bowed before the Doom Master, who regarded them with a dark satisfaction.
Hanz took the mic again, his voice full of energy. "Let's meet our winners! After a mostly one-sided duel, they triumphed with one of the most devilish tactics we've seen yet! Now, let's give them a warm welcome!"
The coliseum erupted in raucous applause, and as Hanz finished speaking, the winners disappeared into a flash of light.
Turning to Doom Master, Hanz asked, "Was this fight enjoyable for you, my lord?"
The Doom Master's expression softened into something resembling enjoyment. "Yes," he replied, a hint of approval in his voice. "Though it was a one-sided duel, Xylais's use of his powers was impressive. You didn't disappoint me, Hanz."
Hanz bowed deeply, a sense of relief flooding him. "I'm glad to hear that, my lord. If you'll permit me, let's continue the tournament."
With the Doom Master's nod of approval, Hanz addressed the crowd once more. "Let's meet the next fighters!"