Hope’s footsteps echoed across the arena as he descended from the stage, the remnants of his last battle still fresh in the air. Blood was smeared across his body like a dark badge of honor, but Hope felt nothing. The violent clash had left him numb, as if his very soul had been torn open and left to bleed without end.

  The crowd remained still, their eyes wide in disbelief, unsure of what they had just witnessed. The power he had unleashed on Zane was unfathomable to them, and the brutality was so raw it seemed to freeze time itself.

  It had been a clean, brutal fight. Hope had gone from standing still to delivering a lethal blow without a moment’s hesitation. Zane’s death wasn’t just the end of the battle—it was a statement.

  Hope had tasted something powerful in that fight, a power that, for a brief moment, had made him feel alive, in control, and all-encompassing. But now, as he walked away from the stage, all of that was gone, leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

  Cedric’s voice sliced through the heavy silence, his words measured and cold. “Next fight.”

  The announcement seemed almost surreal after the bloodbath that had just occurred, as if the world hadn’t shifted with the death of one of the top ten. Yet, the other contestants who had been waiting for their turn snapped out of their dazed states, their expressions hardened, their nerves on edge. They knew that death was no longer an abstract concept but an imminent reality that could claim any of them at any time. Focus was the only thing that would keep them alive.

  Hope turned away from the stage and made his way toward a secluded spot in the stands, far away from the other competitors. He wasn’t interested in watching the next fight. There was nothing left for him in this moment, and the world around him seemed to blur into the background. He needed space.

  As he found a spot in the far corner of the spectator’s area, Hope sat down, wiping his bloodied hands on his tattered clothes. The sensation of the blood against his skin, sticky and thick, made him feel even more detached. It was as though he had lost something vital. Something irreplaceable.

  Ren, standing at the edge of the arena, couldn’t help but glance toward Hope as he moved away from the stage. There was something about him, something familiar, but Ren couldn’t place it. It was like a half-remembered dream that danced just beyond his reach, teasing him with fragments of forgotten truths. His mind drifted for a moment, focusing on the fight he had just witnessed. He had seen raw power in Hope, something untamed and wild. Ren felt a strange pang in his chest, a feeling he couldn’t quite identify.

  “Where have I seen him before?” Ren murmured under his breath.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  He brushed away the thoughts, shaking his head to clear the fog that was clouding his focus. There were more important things to think about, after all. The trial was still in motion, and there were competitors still fighting for their lives.

  Hope, meanwhile, sat still, eyes fixed on the floor as his mind wandered. He had felt something in that fight. Anger. A sharp, burning sensation that had come alive inside of him. For the first time since the beginning of the trial, he had felt something powerful stir within him.

  He had thought for so long that his emotions had been dulled, that the relentless grind of training and battle had burned away anything that made him human. Yet now, here he was, feeling the fire of rage coursing through his veins with an intensity that was almost intoxicating.

  He didn’t understand it. He didn’t know why it had happened, but it was undeniable. Anger. A fierce, overwhelming anger that had driven him to fight like a wild animal. It was a feeling he had never experienced before—at least not like this. But then, as quickly as it had come, it faded. The fire that had burned so brightly within him was gone, leaving only an ember of its former heat. Hope tried to chase the feeling, but it was like trying to catch smoke in his hands. The answer to what this meant, to what had just happened to him, eluded him.

  But in that moment of realization, he understood something else, something deeper. He now had a direction. The path ahead of him seemed clearer, even though the answers remained just out of reach. Whatever it was that he had tapped into—whatever it was that had made him feel so powerful—he knew that it was the key to unlocking the strength he sought. The question was whether he could grasp it before it slipped away forever.

  The sound of whispered voices reached his ears, and Hope’s attention shifted. He heard fragments of conversation, their words laced with shock and disbelief.

  “Sam Mitchell, Evan Davis, Leo Harris... three of the top ten died in this trial. It’s absurd.”

  Hope’s heart stirred at the mention of names he recognized. Zane Foster, the one he had killed, had been part of the top ten as well. That meant… four of the top ten were now dead.

  He glanced around the arena, searching for the faces of the remaining participants. He spotted Alex Carter, Lea Ember, Claire Bennet, Liam Brooks, Caleb Turner, and Callie Turner—the only ones left standing. Only six out of the original ten.

  Cedric’s voice cut through the murmurs of the remaining competitors, calling them to attention.

  “Gather around” he said, his tone steady, almost indifferent.

  Hope stood up slowly. As he made his way toward the center of the arena, he noticed that the others were gathering in silence, their faces grim with the knowledge that the end of this trial was drawing near. They were no longer just competitors; they were survivors, each one clinging to life with a desperation that made Hope’s stomach churn.

  When the remaining participants had gathered in the center, Cedric stepped forward. His gaze swept over the group, each one of them standing like statues under his scrutiny. Hope could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, but he remained silent, his face unreadable.

  Cedric paused, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the group of 54 survivors. He took a deep breath, and then, with a voice as calm and cold as the winds of winter, he spoke.

  “Congratulations” Cedric said, his voice carrying a sense of finality. “You are now part of the Phoenix Cry Pavilion.”

  Milestones for extra chapters:

  Followers

  - 1

  - 10

  - 20

  - 50

  - 100

  - 150

  I will be adding more milestones as we proceed and as i think of them. Enjoy!