Chiara stood there, her eyes fixed on the headless corpse as it dropped to the ground.

What... what is happening?

Blood sprayed into the air, covering the body of a young man already drenched in his own. His muscles red and bulging, his chest heaving, heart pounding so loud she could hear it from where she stood, meters away.

Siddharth… died?

As her mind struggled to process it, she was suddenly jolted awake by a shout. No… by the mighty roar of a beast.

For some reason, she felt the emotions in that roar—pride, defiance, rage.

Those emotions hit her so deeply, it was like a wave crashing over her, forcing her to nearly step back, sweat forming on her forehead.

She couldn’t think. Her eyes were locked on the man, the one shouting to the heavens. The man who cheated death and remained champion of life. The man who survived. The man who won.

She wanted to look away… but she couldn’t. The power of that roar held her captive.

Everything else faded from the world.

It was just that sound—raw, primal, consuming everything in its path. It was as if the world itself had stopped to listen, frozen in the force of that single moment. Time ceased to exist, and there was only the man and his roar, echoing out into the void.

Only when it finally stopped did time seem to return. Her surroundings came back into focus, the air rushing back into her lungs as if she'd forgotten to breathe.

She looked down.

All that remained of Siddharth was a sword lying in the dirt, and an orb.

Chiara’s mind reeled, struggling to catch up with the reality in front of her.

Siddharth… was gone.

Her heart stuttered. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. How… how did this happen?

Suddenly, words she had heard before hit her mind like a hammer against glass:

“If I face Siddharth in that ring… Siddharth will die.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

"I don’t want to kill you, Siddharth."

“If we fight, you will die.”

Those words, spoken by him. She hadn’t believed them then. They had seemed like the ravings of a man who didn’t understand who he was up against. A fool.

But now… her own words echoed back at her, sharper, more painful than ever:

“And what do you have, Alonso? The bliss of ignorance?”

“You have lost it.”

“It’s delusion, Alonso.”

“You think you’re different? Special?”

“You should be terrified! You’re walking into that ring blind, and if you keep acting like this, there won’t even be a fight. It’ll be a slaughter.”

“He’s a monster. You’re a fool ....”

Each sentence landed like a punch to her gut, the force of her own disbelief and scorn turning against her. It crushed her, piece by piece. The arrogance of her certainty, the weight of her condescension—it all came crashing down in that moment.

The fool had been herself all along.

Her words, meant to cut him down, now echoed back as hollow judgments. She had been so sure. So cruel in her dismissal. But it was her blindness that had led to this. Her ignorance.

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She had called him an idiot.

But Alonso was the one still standing.

And Siddharth… Siddharth was no more.

And she… what was she anymore?

Chiara gritted her teeth, pushing back the wave of grief threatening to pull her under. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t passive. But this—this—wasn’t just the loss of an ally. Siddharth had been more than that. He was supposed to be the pillar that stood next to her, the unbreakable force that would guide them through the trials of the Tower.

She had trusted him. Relied on him.

Siddharth wasn’t just vital for the Oasis and its people—he was vital to her. Her greatest ally in the challenges ahead. The one person she thought could always rise, no matter what the Tower threw at them.

And now… he was dead.

The reality of it hit her again, hard, like a blow to the chest.

Her gaze locked on Alonso. They… they had messed up.

A duel between the strongest of the Oasis—Siddharth, the swordmaster, the Rishi, the pillar, the hero—and Alonso… the monster.

It should never have come to this. Together, they could have been unstoppable—Siddharth’s mastery of the sword, his wisdom, his novel control of EM as Shakti, his leadership, combined with Alonso’s raw, untamed power. They could have forged a path through the trials ahead, two pillars holding up the hopes of everyone.

Why… why had it come to this?

WHY?!

The question echoed in her mind, her thoughts spiraling out of control.

But the ache in her chest only grew, and the image of Siddharth—strong, invincible Siddharth—falling headless to the dirt replayed in her mind, over and over again.

Her gaze shifted to Alonso, still standing, blood-soaked. The man who should have been a hero beside him.

----------------------------------------

The roar faded into the air, leaving only a ringing silence behind.

Alonso stood there, chest heaving, his body trembling under the weight of the battle. His muscles ached, burning with exhaustion, his vision blurred slightly from the blood loss and strain.

He could feel it—his body was barely holding together, the adrenaline was the only thing keeping him on his feet. The moment it faded, he knew he’d collapse, crumbling into the dirt.

But not yet. He wouldn’t let that happen just yet.

He turned, slowly, his eyes scanning the gathered crowd.

Every face locked on him, every gaze filled with raw emotion. Disbelief. Shock. Denial. Anger. Sadness. It was all there, etched into their features as they tried to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

He could feel their judgment, their confusion. This is what they had wanted, wasn’t it? The spectacle of bloodshed, the glory of a fight to the death.

He straightened, gritting his teeth against the pain that surged through his body, but he welcomed it. He basked in it. Because this—this agony, this carnage—was exactly what they had come for. And… he will show it to them.

His eyes, though blurry, locked onto theirs, daring them to say otherwise.

"Are you not entertained?!!"

The words rang out, laced with exhaustion, but they carried all the weight of his defiance. He looked at them, daring them to respond, to justify the bloodshed, the death they had forced. His chest rose and fell, his muscles trembling under the strain, but he stood there, unwilling to fall. Not yet. Not until he had made them see.

This was what they wanted?

This was the cost.

Alonso’s chest heaved, every breath heavy, his vision blurred and unfocused. His fingers gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, blood running down the blade and his arms. His lips curled into a bitter smile.

"I have everything to prove!?" His voice cracked, but it came out like a roar. He pointed to the ground where only a sword and orb remained. "Is this proof enough!? Is this good enough for you?! Did I pass your damn test!?"

A drop of blood spilled from his lips as he spoke, but he didn’t stop. His teeth glistened crimson as he pushed the words out, gazing at them, daring them to meet his eyes. His legs trembled, the pain in his muscles screaming for him to fall. But he refused. He would stand. Even if it was on the verge of collapse, he would stand.

"I wanted to go my way! I wanted to be left alone!" His voice grew harsher, sharper, fueled by fury and exhaustion. "I wanted no part of this fucking society, this shit you call the Oasis! But no—no, you dragged me into this. You made me raise my weapons. You made me fight."

His gaze swept over the crowd, his breath ragged, eyes locking on those who watched in silent horror, disbelief etched on their faces.

"I didn’t bend then. I won’t bend now." His voice turned to ice, a cruel edge creeping into his words. "You wanted to force me to bow? This—" he gestured to the blood-soaked earth, to the silence, to the death that lingered in the air—"this is my answer."

The crowd stood in stunned silence. Some fell to their knees, unable to process the weight of what had just happened. Others turned their faces away, rage twisting in their expressions, but none of them moved. None of them dared to step forward.

He was on the edge of collapse, teetering between consciousness and the dark abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

But something deep inside him resisted. Some dark, cruel part of him wanted them to come. Dare me, it whispered. Come forward. Try.

"I, Alonso, was sentenced to death..."

He paused, his voice hollow, cutting through the silence like a blade.

"And now… I’m alive, and Siddharth is dead."

Alonso raised his sword, eyes cold and unblinking.