Alphonse's boots echoed heavily against the stone path as he was forcefully escorted towards a looming metal gate. The scent of iron and sweat filled the air, an indicator of what lay beyond. With a loud groan, the gate lifted, revealing a colossal gladiatorial arena. Its sheer size was dizzying, and the clamor that emanated from the stands was deafening.

The ground beneath him felt gritty, and Alphonse looked down to find a mixture of sand and clay underfoot. But it wasn't the surface that held his attention for long. The stands were teeming with lifeforms he'd never seen before. A sea of alien eyes, of every color and size imaginable, stared back at him, filled with a range of emotions from pure hatred to curious interest.

On his left, a group of beings covered in iridescent scales and fins whispered to one another in a language that sounded like water gurgling over rocks. To his right, a hulking, furry creature, with six muscular arms, grunted and snorted, showing off its razor-sharp tusks.

But amidst the visual spectacle, the dirt and grime that covered most of the onlookers were impossible to ignore. Their roughened skin, matted hair, or whatever equivalents they possessed, hinted at a life of hardship.

Suddenly, a sharp prod in his back jolted him, urging him towards the center of the arena. As he neared the middle, a flamboyant falcon-like creature descended from a perch high above. Its feathers shimmered in golds and blues, and its talons glinted menacingly in the sunlight. This was the announcer, the master of ceremonies.

A hush fell over the crowd as it began to speak, its voice melodic yet commanding. "Ladies, gentlemen, and beings of every form! Welcome to the Arena of Fate!"

A series of rowdy shouts and cheers erupted, but with one expansive flap of its wings, the announcer silenced them. "Today, we present to you a new challenger! A stranger in our midst."

Alphonse rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Talk about overdramatic."

The falcon-like creature continued, "He has two choices before him—beg for the mercy of the gods and live a life of servitude or fight valiantly for his life!"

Alphonse smirked, lifting both hands to proudly display his middle fingers. "I choose option three."

The announcer cocked its head, clearly puzzled by the unfamiliar gesture. "What strange sign is this?"

"It's universal for 'I don't give a damn'," Alphonse retorted with a smirk.

Whispers spread throughout the stands. Many of the beings seemed perplexed by Alphonse's audacity. As he scanned the crowd, multiple blue boxes began popping up above their heads. Each one was inscribed with cryptic symbols and caused a sharp pain to jolt through his mind. Grimacing, he tried to blink them away.

"Feeling a bit overwhelmed?" The announcer teased.

"Just trying to figure out how I ended up at an intergalactic zoo," Alphonse quipped.

In the crowd, a cluster of beings with long, slender bodies and translucent wings buzzed in amusement. Next to them, stout rock-like creatures with glowing eyes vibrated, producing a sound eerily similar to chuckling.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The announcer sighed dramatically, "Very well, brave—or perhaps foolish—stranger. Prepare for battle. But remember, the gods are always watching."

Alphonse, never one to back down from a challenge, flashed a cocky grin. "Let them watch."

The sun, clearly having nothing better to do, baked the arena like an oven. The kind you'd roast a chicken in. Only, today's roast seemed to be Alphonse.

As the opposite gate creaked open, out waddled not one, but six comically undersized goblins. If you had to describe them, think of wrinkled green raisins, but armed and much more malicious. Their weapons of choice? An eclectic mix of the cutlery section of a thrift store. One had a cleaver that had seen better days, another a fork that would have given any tetanus shot a run for its money. Their clothes? Raggedy pieces that looked like they were borrowed from discarded puppets.

"Oh, come on!" Alphonse exclaimed, trying to hide a chuckle, "You guys raid the kitchen before coming here?"

Before the hilarity of the situation could fully sink in, Alphonse's vision blurred as blue boxes popped up above each goblin's head:

Species: Goblin- ERROR!

Known Weaknesses: ERROR!

Recommended Strategy: ERROR!

This was accompanied by a jolt of pain that made it feel like someone had thrown a wet toaster into the bathtub of his brain. "Ouch! Alright, alright, point taken. No more games," he muttered, wincing.

The goblins, sensing vulnerability, let out shrieks that sounded like a symphony of nails on a chalkboard. And they charged.

Now, the thing about goblins is they're quick. And sneaky. In no time, Alphonse found himself surrounded. The one with the rusty fork lunged first, aiming for his calf. Alphonse sidestepped, but the cleaver-wielding goblin swung, narrowly missing his side.

The dance was chaotic. A grim ballet. Every evasion led to another goblin lunging, every counter-attack was met with a parry. One particularly bald goblin, with a nasty scar running down its face, managed to graze Alphonse's arm with its jagged dagger. Alphonse grimaced, feeling the sting of the wound.

With every passing second, Alphonse's situation grew dire. The goblins, though small, packed a punch and worked surprisingly well as a team. He had to think quickly.

Spotting a loose chain on the ground, he picked it up and swung it, knocking the fork-wielding goblin off its feet. Using the brief moment of respite, he managed to kick another approaching goblin square in the face, its nose crunching in a comically satisfying manner.

However, the numbers game caught up. A heavy thud on his back announced the presence of a goblin that had leapt onto him. Another came running, aiming for his legs, attempting to pin him down.

The world slowed. Alphonse's instincts kicked in. He rolled on the ground, squishing the backpack goblin, and then, with a mighty heave, sent the leg-attacker flying into the stands. But the onslaught continued.

His vision blurred from exhaustion and the continual blaring of the error messages in his brain. Just as it seemed the end was near, with a final surge of adrenaline, Alphonse managed to snatch the cleaver from one of the goblins and with a swift, precise arc, dispatched two in quick succession.

Panting heavily, Alphonse stood in the midst of the arena, surrounded by unconscious goblins, the crowd in a stunned silence.

The falcon announcer, momentarily lost for words, finally managed to say, "Well, that was... unexpected."

Alphonse, falling to one knee and spitting out blood, replied, "I've had tougher fights in clearance sales."

Amid the deafening roar of the crowd, Alphonse's vision blurred. His tattered clothes were stained with green goblin blood, but more worryingly, his own red blood was now seeping from multiple gashes. Every breath felt like dragging a serrated blade across his chest. But even in this state, there was a fire in his eyes, a defiance that shouted, 'It'll take more than this to bring me down.'

As if on cue, the falcon-headed announcer swooped down from his elevated perch, landing gracefully in front of the battered Alphonse. With each step, the shadow cast by the announcer grew larger, and his malevolent smile wider.

Leaning in, the announcer's beak nearly touching Alphonse's face, he whispered, "Round one was fun, wasn't it? But are you ready for round two, or would you rather submit to the gods now? Believe me, it'll be easier. Submit."

And with a theatrical flourish, he pointed to three magnificent yet terrifying creatures. These were no mere beasts. They had the fierce heads and wings of eagles, their eyes piercing and predatory, and the muscular bodies of tigers, rippling with power and agility. Even the seasoned guards holding them back seemed to strain with the effort.

Alphonse, summoning strength from somewhere deep within, managed to summon enough saliva, tinged with his own blood, and spat it defiantly at the announcer's feet. Raising his bloodied hand, he slowly extended his middle finger. "I'd choose that oversized spider as my god any day over doing a damn thing for you," he chuckled weakly, coughing up a bit more blood as he did.

Just as the situation seemed its most grim, time appeared to stand still. The noise of the crowd faded, and the entire arena seemed cloaked in an ethereal silence. A golden box shimmered into existence before Alphonse's weary eyes.

Submission request accepted.

Primordial approval required...

Primordial approval granted.

System unlocked.

Path unlocked.

Primordial upgrade bestowed.

Class unlocked.

As the golden box's message completed, somewhere in the vast darkness of the void, the great Primordial of Chaos began to stir. A colossal eye, swirling with galaxies and nebulae, slowly opened, focusing on a prompt only it could perceive. A deep, rumbling chuckle echoed through the emptiness, shaking the very fabric of existence.

"Oooooh, this should be fun!" the Primordial mused, its voice dripping with mischief and anticipation.