The roar of the crowd was deafening, but Arden tuned it out. His focus was razor-sharp, his senses attuned to the shifting air and the sound of footsteps on the arena floor. The dim light reflected off his opponent’s armoured frame, casting long shadows across the bloodstained ground.
The opponent, a hulking brute with cybernetic enhancements and a serrated war hammer, grinned menacingly. “You’re a dead man,” he growled, his voice amplified by the arena’s speakers.
Arden didn’t reply. His fingers flexed around the hilt of a long sword, its steel blade shimmering faintly. With a deep breath, he steadied his heartbeat, his sharp blue eyes scanning for an opening.
The brute charged, the war hammer descending in a wide arc. Arden sidestepped with practised ease, the hammer smashing into the ground and sending shards of concrete flying. The crowd roared in approval, but Arden paid them no mind.
With a swift motion, he brought his blade upward, the edge slicing cleanly across the brute’s exposed arm. Sparks flew as the sword clashed against cybernetic plating, but the strike found flesh underneath.
The brute roared in pain, swinging the hammer again. Arden ducked low, his movements fluid and calculated. His sword flashed in the dim light as he aimed for the brute’s knees, cutting into the joint with precision.
“You’re fast,” the brute snarled, staggering but refusing to fall. “But how long can you keep it up?”
Arden didn’t answer. He spun the sword in his hand, the blade glowing faintly as his power surged. Focus on the weapon, he thought. Make it an extension of yourself.
The brute adjusted his stance, blood dripping from his wounds but adrenaline keeping him upright. He slammed a button on his wrist, and a shield unfolded from his forearm with a metallic snap.
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Arden’s eyes narrowed. He’s shifting to defence. Fine.
With a flick of his wrist, the long sword in his hand dissolved into faint wisps of light. A heartbeat later, a massive battle axe materialised in its place. The crowd erupted in cheers as Arden hefted the weapon effortlessly, its double-edged blade gleaming.
“Let’s see if that shield holds up,” Arden muttered.
He surged forward, the axe whistling through the air as he swung it with devastating force. The brute raised his shield just in time, the impact sending a resounding clang echoing through the arena. The brute grunted, his feet skidding across the floor as he struggled to absorb the blow.
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Arden stepped back, feinting a second swing with the axe. The brute raised his shield instinctively, exposing his left side. Arden flicked his wrist, and the axe dissolved into light mid-swing. In its place, a dagger appeared, and with a quick, fluid motion, Arden drove the blade into a gap between the brute’s armour plates.
The brute bellowed in rage, staggering backward and flailing wildly. Arden stayed just out of reach, his movements deliberate. The crowd roared louder, cheering his calculated precision.
He spared the crowd a fleeting glance, their chants echoing in his ears. They cheer because they’re entertained, he thought. But they don’t realise they’re fueling something far worse.
“You talk too much,” Arden said, his voice calm but cold.
The dagger dissolved, replaced by a sleek spear. Arden lunged forward, the spear’s point finding the gap between the brute’s chest plating. The fight ended in an instant, the brute collapsing to the ground, defeated but alive.
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The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers. “And the winner, once again, is Arden! The Blade Summoner!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, but Arden didn’t linger to bask in their admiration. He turned and walked toward the exit, his expression unreadable. His eyes flicked briefly to the conduits running along the arena walls, their faint glow pulsing rhythmically. Still feeding energy into the system, he thought. They’re using every fight for something bigger.
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The cheers faded into the background as Arden’s thoughts drifted.
The precinct was quiet that day, the smell of coffee and paper filling the air. Arden sat at his desk, surrounded by case files and crime scene photos. His badge glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window.
“You’ve got a reputation for being thorough,” his partner had said once, dropping another file onto the already precarious stack. “Don’t let this city chew you up.”
But the city had chewed him up and spat him out. The system was rotted through, the Syndicate’s corruption woven into its very fabric. His partner had warned him to stop digging. Arden hadn’t listened.
The files disappeared first. Then witnesses stopped cooperating. And when Arden came close to exposing the truth, his badge was taken. Forced resignation, they’d called it. Officially, he’d been insubordinate. In reality, he’d been a threat.
They wanted to break me, he thought, his jaw tightening. But all they did was make me more focused.
He wasn’t sure what had become of his partner, but the Syndicate’s shadow had loomed large over them both. It was that shadow that led him here, to the arena. Each fight wasn’t just survival—it was reconnaissance, a way to expose the Syndicate’s hidden hand.
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He passed a group of fighters muttering about upcoming matches, their eyes flicking to him with a mixture of fear and respect. He paid them no mind, his focus set on the glowing terminal embedded in the wall ahead.
The conduits hummed faintly, their light pulsing like a heartbeat. Arden approached, his hand brushing against the hilt of a dagger strapped to his thigh.
“This place is a ticking time bomb,” he muttered. “And I need to figure out how to disarm it.”
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To Be Continued...
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