The colossal DMR stadium roared with the cheers and shouts of a frenzied crowd, the air thick with anticipation as the tournament was about to begin. Two hundred and fifty participants, poised for battle, were about to be dispersed across five distinct dimensions. Each dimension, a meticulously crafted realm of its own, would hold fifty combatants, locked in a brutal struggle until only ten remained. High above the arena floor, a massive screen promised a breathtaking spectacle for the eager spectators.
In a vast, echoing preparation room, Adam stood rigidly in line, a knot of nervousness tightening in his stomach. The moment they had all been training for had finally arrived. He ran a hand through his hair, a silent question hanging in the air. "Am I fully prepared for this? No, I shouldn't be asking myself that. I am ready for anything." The words, a mantra of self-assurance, barely registered above the pounding of his heart. The cavernous room, almost deserted save for the rows of tense participants, seemed to amplify the silence.
The participants stood in regimented rows as a woman approached, her touch light but deliberate on each shoulder as she moved down the line. Adam watched, puzzled by the ritual. She neared, her hand hovering over the shoulder of the man beside him, then moved on to Adam. She almost continued to the next person, but paused, stepping back to gaze intently into his eyes, her expression serious, almost troubled. "Hmmm, that's weird," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the low hum of the crowd.
"Huh?" Adam replied, his confusion evident. She reached out again, her hand hovering hesitantly over his shoulder. A frown creased her brow. "Why isn't this working?" she muttered to herself. Then, with a sharp slap, her hand connected forcefully with his shoulder.
"Ow!" Adam yelped, the sudden pain jarring. A ripple of murmurs ran through the other participants, their attention drawn to the unexpected interruption. "Okay, kid, come here," she said, pulling Adam away from the increasingly curious onlookers. She stopped, her gaze intense as she seemed to scan him from head to toe. "What type of power holder are you?" she asked.
"I'm a flame power holder," he answered.
"This doesn't make sense, then," she muttered, biting her thumbnail and falling into deep thought. "I don't understand—" Adam began, but she cut him off. "Seems we'll have to put you in the normal way. You're going first," she said, pulling him toward another room.
The second room was a jarring contrast to the stark preparation area. A comfortable couch sat opposite a large, flat-screen television, a small, round table nestled between them. The unexpected domesticity within the imposing tournament building was jarring; Adam felt a flicker of unease. Then, she opened another door. This time, instead of a hallway, a breathtaking vista unfolded before him.
He stepped across the threshold and found himself in a world bathed in the golden light of a perpetual sunset. Lush green grass stretched to a distant horizon, dotted with the silhouettes of countless trees. The barrier that contained this simulated world seemed impossibly far away, a faint line on the horizon. The sunset itself was strangely captivating; while he knew the sun was artificial, the vibrant hues of orange, pink, and purple painted a breathtaking scene. It was beautiful, yet unsettling. The memory of a past training accident flashed through his mind—a moment of uncontrolled power that had shattered a similar barrier, causing the entire simulated world to vanish. This felt different, somehow more real, more permanent.
He walked further into the landscape, the soft grass yielding beneath his feet. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving him alone in the heart of the dimension, the silence broken only by the whisper of the wind through the leaves.
The pocket dimension, moments ago a tranquil expanse of sunset-hued grassland, erupted into chaos. Forty-nine figures, shimmering into existence, materialized seemingly at random across the landscape. One moment, the rolling hills were empty; the next, they were dotted with the bewildered forms of Adam's opponents, their expressions ranging from disoriented confusion to outright panic. Some landed gracefully, others stumbled, a few even crashed unceremoniously through the branches of the towering trees. The sudden influx of people shattered the previous serenity, replacing it with a palpable tension that crackled in the air.
Adam, caught completely off guard, stumbled back, his eyes wide. "What in the—" he began, the words trailing off as he took in the scene. He could hear the murmurs and gasps of his fellow competitors, their voices echoing strangely in the vast, open space.
Meanwhile, back in the colossal DMR stadium, a hush fell over the roaring crowd. All eyes were near the massive screen dominating just above the arena, where a woman in a sharp, elegant suit stood with a microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, her voice ringing with controlled power, "after months of rigorous training, countless hours of preparation, and the unwavering dedication of our participants, the moment has arrived. The DMR Interdimensional Tournament… is about to begin!"
The crowd roared its approval, a wave of sound washing over Eddie as he settled into the seat beside Tilda. So engrossed was she in the massive screen displaying the interdimensional tournament that she didn't notice his arrival. Eddie shifted his attention between the screen and Tilda, a small smile playing on his lips. "Hey," he greeted softly.
Tilda blinked, startled, her gaze finally leaving the screen. "Oh, hi," she replied, a hint of fluster in her voice. "I didn't notice you sitting down just now."
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"Nah, it's fine," Eddie said, glancing around at the packed stadium. "There's a lot of people here." He turned his attention back to Tilda, noticing the concerned frown etched on her face as she stared at the screen. "You're worried about Adam, aren't you?" he asked gently.
A sigh escaped her lips. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm afraid Adam might not win."
Eddie's smile widened, a reassuring warmth in his eyes. "Might not win? This is Adam we're talking about," he said, his voice brimming with confidence. "He's definitely going to be one of the people left standing. You just have to believe in him."
A vivid image of Adam, face streaked with sweat and grime, but his eyes burning with unwavering determination, flashed through Tilda's mind. A mixture of trust and a deep, gnawing concern warred within her. "He's going to win this," she murmured, the words more a self-affirmation than a statement, a fragile hope she desperately clung to. "I should believe in him," she repeated, the conviction still tentative.
She stole a glance at Eddie, his profile sharp and unwavering against the backdrop of the roaring crowd. His quiet confidence was a comforting presence beside her. The memory of her past battle, the struggle against a formidable opponent, resurfaced. The details were hazy, blurred by time, but the outcome remained crystal clear: Adam's victory. His strength, his resilience, his refusal to yield—those were the images that burned brightest in her memory. They were the images that fueled her belief.
"After all," she whispered, a small, genuine smile finally gracing her lips, "he's Adam."
Adam’s gaze drifted upward, catching sight of several drones hovering silently in the sky. They were sleek, almost invisible against the sunset sky, but their purpose was clear: transmitting the images of this brutal battle to the screens in the stadium. "Let the tournament begin," the amplified voice of the woman boomed across the arena.
Suddenly, a drone exploded in the sky above him, showering the landscape with a cascade of crimson dust. The meaning was instantly clear to all the participants; it was the signal. The battle had begun.
With a jolt of adrenaline, Adam heard the first explosions, distant at first, then rapidly growing closer. Blasts of light erupted in the distance, painting the sky with fleeting streaks of color. It sounded like utter chaos. Fifty power holders, each with unique and devastating abilities, were locked in a desperate struggle for survival.
"Fifty different power holders with different powers in an all-out battle," Adam muttered, his voice barely audible above the growing din of explosions. "And I'm supposed to survive it, to come out standing amongst the nine people left standing." He turned, his gaze settling on the dense forest behind him, a wall of tall, slender trees stretching into the distance.
"Should I hide until it's over?" he mused, the question more to himself than a statement. "I'll eventually be found, but I would have bought myself time. Most of my opponents would be tired, weakened…" The thought held a certain appeal, a strategic advantage in this brutal free-for-all. But the forest also represented a risk; it could become a trap, a place where he could be ambushed. The decision hung heavy in the air, as heavy as the tension that vibrated through the very ground beneath his feet.
As Adam took a step toward the concealing shadows of the forest, a voice, sharp and commanding as a shattered shard of glass, sliced through his thoughts. "Don't you even dare."
The words weren't merely heard; they vibrated within him, a physical impact that sent a tremor through his very bones. Ragnar's voice. He'd believed the entity within him could only communicate while he was unconscious, a silent, slumbering presence. This unexpected intrusion was a violation, a shocking breach of their unspoken agreement. A cold dread, sharp and icy, pierced the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Before he could even register the threat, a surge of raw energy slammed into him, a searing bolt of power that ripped through his chest like a white-hot brand. The air crackled with ozone, the scent sharp and acrid in his nostrils. He tasted blood, metallic and coppery, as the impact sent him sprawling, the ground jarring against his body with bone-shaking force. The world exploded in a kaleidoscope of blinding light and deafening sound before fading to a disorienting, throbbing darkness.
He scrambled to his feet, his muscles screaming in protest, crouching low, his senses on high alert. Each breath was a ragged gasp, his chest a furnace of pain. He scanned his surroundings, his vision swimming, searching for his attacker, but found nothing. Then, a blur of motion—a streak of shadow against the vibrant sunset—a figure, impossibly fast, hurtled toward him, a fist cocked back, ready to strike with the force of a battering ram. Adam reacted instinctively, crossing his arms to meet the attack. The attacker's entire body pulsed with a blinding blue light, an aura of raw energy that seemed to crackle and writhe in the air. As the fist connected with the metal shackles on Adam's wrists, a shockwave of energy surged through his arms, a searing pain that momentarily stole his breath. Even through the protection of the metal, the force of the blow was staggering.
The blue light dissipated as quickly as it appeared, revealing a young man, roughly Adam's height, with brown hair that seemed to shimmer in the fading light. Before Adam could react, a second blow landed—a devastating punch to the stomach that echoed with the sound of a thunderclap. The force of the impact was staggering, a crushing wave of energy that ripped through his body, stealing his breath and sending him soaring through the air, a human projectile launched into the surreal sunset sky.
The massive screen in the stadium split into four quadrants, each showcasing a different location within the pocket dimension. Tilda gasped, her breath catching in her throat as she watched Adam get hit, his body launched into the air like a ragdoll. Eddie, sitting beside her, felt his own breath catch. He saw Adam's opponent clearly, a figure radiating power.
"Whoa… who is that guy?" Eddie asked, his voice tight with concern.
Tilda’s eyes were glued to the screen, her voice barely a whisper. "That's Chris. He's… a unique power holder. Incredibly strong." A wave of anxiety washed over her.
Eddie, watching Adam's seemingly helpless flight, felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach. "This guy's really got bad luck," he muttered, his concern growing with each passing second.
High above the ground, Adam continued his uncontrolled ascent, the wind whipping past him. The forest floor rushed up to meet him. "Dammit, Ragnar," he gritted out, the words a furious whisper lost in the wind. "This is all your fault." He braced himself for the impact, the trees looming closer, promising a brutal collision.