The Eternal Arena didn't open quietly.
It ripped the heavens apart like tissue paper.
Across the world, at the exact same second, a blood-red crack split the sky from horizon to horizon. Thunder that sounded like a million war drums exploded. Golden letters, taller than mountains, burned themselves into the clouds for everyone to read:
THE THOUSAND-YEAR BLOOD TOURNEY BEGINS. 5,000 CHOSEN. 2 MAY LIVE. ENTER, OR YOUR WORLD ENDS WITH YOU.
Then the summoning seals activated.
Haru Cyrius was chopping wood in the middle of nowhere when the mark on his chest lit up like molten gold. The axe slipped from his hands.
"Not again…" he muttered.
The Hero's Crest—the same seal that got stolen from him eight years ago—was glowing again, burning through his shirt. Before he could curse, the ground vanished. Wind screamed. Light swallowed him whole.
One heartbeat later, he crashed face-first onto white marble that stretched forever. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs.
"Ow. Real classy entrance, Arena."
He pushed himself up and froze.
He wasn't alone.
Far from it.
Thousands of warriors stood on the endless marble plain under a bleeding crimson sky. Some wore royal armor that screamed money. Some looked like walking disasters wrapped in chains and shadows. Others floated, wings of fire or ice spreading behind them. The air stank of killing intent so thick you could chew it.
And every single one of them looked like they belonged on a theater poster titled "Coolest Motherfuckers Alive."
A massive holographic screen—bigger than any castle—appeared in the air. Ten faces materialized one by one, each reveal accompanied by thunderclaps and epic choir music that shook souls.
The announcer's voice boomed, deep, dramatic, and way too excited:
"BEHOLD—THE TEN DIVINE SEEDS OF THIS CYCLE!"
First frame. A boy with messy silver hair and eyes that refused to give up. Golden chains wrapped around his arms like punishment.
"HARU CYRIUS—THE STOLEN HERO! The one whose destiny was ripped away! Will he snatch it back, or stay trash forever?"
Haru flipped the sky off. A few nearby fighters snickered.
Second frame. A black-haired guy standing in a pool of shadow, twin blades dripping void. His face could freeze hell.
"YURA ZAHDAVEL—THE SILENT EXECUTIONER! Last of the god-hunting clan. Rumors say he's already killed three deities. Today he's here for the rest!"
Yura didn't even blink. People instinctively stepped away from him.
Third. A brown-skinned teen in desert robes, ancient runes crawling under his skin like living tattoos.
"AKIRA QADRAWI—THE CURSED MAGUS! Boy genius or walking apocalypse? Even the Arena isn't sure!"
Akira just sighed like he was tired of existing.
Fourth. A mountain of muscle and scars, eyes glowing red. Horns. Claws. The works.
"AZRA—THE NAMELESS BEAST! Science experiment? God's mistake? Nobody knows. Everybody runs."
Azra cracked his neck. The sound was scary.
Fifth. Golden hair, royal cape flapping in non-existent wind, sword longer than most people are tall.
"PRINCE WILDANE—THE FALLEN HEIR! Lost his kingdom in one night. Came to take something bigger."
Wildane smiled like a prince who'd already won.
The girls' side lit up next, and the temperature somehow got hotter and colder at the same time.
"CLARA—THE HEALING SPEAR! Kind face, murderous hands. She'll fix you… right after she breaks you."
A gentle blonde girl waved shyly, spear dripping holy light.
"XYPHIRA—THE FALLEN GODDESS! Once sat on a throne in heaven. Got bored. Decided to murder her way back up."
Crimson hair, golden eyes, smile that promised very bad things. Very fun bad things.
"YUNA FARADA—THE WIND-THIEF! Stole hearts, treasures, and probably your lunch. Good luck catching her."
A cheeky brunette stuck her tongue out at the camera.
"LADY SAKURA—THE LAST SAMURAI! Betrayed by everyone she loved. Her blade remembers."
Pink petals exploded around a stoic beauty gripping a katana.
"CHRISTINE—THE ETERNAL CHAMPION! She already WON this damn tournament a hundred years ago… and came back for round two. What the hell did she wish for?!"
A red-haired woman with ancient eyes just smirked.
The screen finally exploded into fireworks.
The announcer laughed like a maniac.
"WELCOME TO THE ASCENSION TRIALS! 24 hours. 5,000 fighters. Only 1,000 walk out alive—or unconscious. Alliances allowed. Betrayal encouraged. Killing? Totally fine! Your Arena Crest will save you… maybe."
A glowing emblem burned itself onto the back of every fighter's hand.
"Clock starts… NOW!"
The marble plain shattered.
Continents rose from nothing—jungles made of blades, oceans of lava, floating islands connected by lightning bridges. Monster roars shook the sky. Gravity flipped for fun in some zones.
And then the screaming started.
Haru rolled under a flaming hammer the size of a house and came up running.
"Okay, new plan—don't die in the first five minutes!"
He dashed across a crystal bridge while two idiots behind him tried to kill each other with lightning and poison fog.
A massive shadow fell over him.
Azra landed like a meteor, cracking the bridge. Red eyes locked on Haru.
Haru raised both fists, grinning despite everything.
"Yo, big guy. Wanna dance?"
Azra roared. Claws ignited with black fire.
Before they could clash, a lazy voice cut in.
"Pick on someone your own size, puppy."
Yura Zahdavel appeared out of nowhere—literally stepped out of Azra's own shadow. One void blade rested against the beast's throat.
Azra growled but backed off a step. Even monsters respect "do-not-fuck-with" energy.
Yura glanced at Haru, cold as winter.
"Run, stolen hero. You're not worth the time yet."
Haru opened his mouth to snap back—then sensed killing intent behind him.
He spun just in time to block a holy spear with his forearm.
Clara stood there, smiling sweetly while trying to impale him.
"Sorry! Nothing personal!" she chirped. "My sister needs the wish!"
Haru blocked another thrust. "Lady, there are four thousand nine hundred ninety-seven other people—go stab them!"
"Can't! You look like you'd feel guilty if you hurt a girl. Easier kill!"
"...That's messed up levels of cute and terrifying."
Above them, Xyphira floated past on wings of pink flame, laughing as she whipped a dozen warriors into red mist.
Akira teleported by in a burst of runes, muttering, "I just want a quiet library, is that too much to ask?"
Prince Wildane surfed a tornado, shouting, "For the glory of Wilderfall!" while cutting flying sharks in half.
Yuna Farada zipped past Haru, snatched the water flask off his belt without slowing down, and blew him a kiss.
"Thanks for the drink, cutie!"
Haru blinked. "Did I just get robbed in a death game?"
The Arena's countdown blared across the sky:
23:59:12 REMAINING
Haru took a deep breath, cracked his knuckles, and felt the stolen Crest on his chest burn hotter than ever.
"Fine. If the world wants a rematch…"
Golden spiritual energy exploded around him like a supernova. Chains shattered. For the first time in eight years, real power surged through his veins.
"I'll take everything back—with interest."
He launched forward into the chaos, fists glowing.
Somewhere in the distance, the announcer's voice laughed again.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and monsters—place your bets! The God-Slayers' Game has officially begun!"