The beast wave finally died down after what felt like forever.
Smoke rose from cracked islands. Monster corpses piled high like hills. The crimson sky dimmed a little, almost like it was catching its breath.
The massive scoreboard blazed new numbers:
FIGHTERS REMAINING: 3,741 POINTS LEADERS ANNOUNCED IN 10 MINUTES TIME LEFT: 20:12:07
Haru Cyrius slumped against a broken stone pillar, chest heaving. Blood—his own and monster—dripped off his fists. The golden chains on his arms were cracked now, glowing faint.
Clara knelt nearby, holy spear planted in the ground, healing light flickering over Leonhardt's torn armor. The big lion was on one knee, broadsword stuck in the dirt for support.
Suyin and Khaleed? Gone. Teleported out after the six-way chaos. Azra had vanished into the smoke after one final roar, leaving only craters and shredded bodies.
Leonhardt grunted. "We lived. Good enough."
Clara smiled softly, but her eyes were tired. "Points should be decent. We cleared a boss-tier beast together."
Haru nodded, then froze.
A cold whisper slid into his mind—like wind through a graveyard.
Your fate was stolen, boy. Do you want it back… or the truth about who took it?
He whipped his head around. Nothing. Just smoke and distant screams.
"You guys hear that?"
Clara frowned. "Hear what?"
Leonhardt shook his head.
Haru rubbed his temple. "Nothing. Probably the blood loss talking."
But the Hero's Crest on his chest burned hotter, like it agreed with the voice.
Across the shattered battlefield, other Divine Seeds were wrapping up their own monster parties.
On a frozen cliff:
Yuzde Solencov, the Frost Noble, stood untouched in the center of a perfect circle of ice statues—former beasts and fighters frozen mid-scream.
He lowered his elegant hand.
"Frost Dominion Pillars."
Ten massive ice spears rose from the ground, then shattered into snowflakes. His points counter ticked crazy high.
The announcer boomed:
"THE FROST NOBLE JUST TURNED A WHOLE WAVE INTO MODERN ART! COLD-BLOODED AND CLASSY!"
In a dream-like mist zone:
Farah Hanazel danced through illusions, purple sand swirling.
Beasts charged—only to fight nightmare versions of themselves.
"Nightmare Bloom!"
Everything dissolved into butterflies. Farah giggled, brushing hair from her flushed face.
"Too easy~"
On a wind-swept plateau:
Armane, the Quiet Monk, floated three feet off the ground, eyes closed, hands in prayer.
A tornado of wind blades spun around him, slicing a hundred beasts into ribbons without him moving a muscle.
"Calm Void Release."
The tornado vanished. Silence. Corpses fell.
He opened his eyes—full of guilt—and kept walking.
The announcer loved it:
"THE SILENT MONK DOESN'T SPEAK… BUT HIS WIND SURE DOES! ABSOLUTE DESTRUCTION!"
Back with Haru's group, the temporary truce was holding, but tension crackled like static.
Leonhardt eyed Haru. "You fight like someone with something to prove."
Haru smirked. "Pot calling the kettle black, prince."
Clara giggled, then winced—her own healing couldn't fix everything instantly.
Suddenly, the sky flashed gold.
TOP 100 POINT EARNERS – BONUS HEALING INCOMING
Names scrolled huge across the heavens.
Azra – The Nameless Beast Akira Qadrawi – The Cursed Magus Yura Zahdavel – The Silent Executioner Xyphira – The Fallen Goddess Yuzde Solencov – The Frost Noble … Haru Cyrius – The Stolen Hero Clara – The Healing Spear Leonhardt Weiss – The Exiled Lion
Golden light rained down on the top 100. Wounds closed. Stamina surged back.
Haru felt power flood his veins. Chains cracked further.
"Nice," he muttered.
But the moment the healing hit, that whisper returned—louder, clearer, just for him.
The Arena remembers what was taken. Watch the others. Some wear masks thicker than steel.
Haru glanced at Clara and Leonhardt. They looked normal. Relieved.
He shook it off.
Then the ground shook again.
Not beasts this time.
A massive stone tablet rose from the center of the biggest floating continent. Ancient runes glowed blood-red.
Every fighter still alive turned toward it.
The announcer's voice dropped low—almost respectful.
"SPECIAL EVENT: THE WHISPERING MONOLITH Touch it… if you dare. Secrets of the Arena. Secrets of your rivals. But every truth has a price."
Fighters hesitated. Some charged straight for it. Others backed away.
Haru felt the pull—like the tablet was calling his name.
Leonhardt gripped his sword. "Trap?"
Clara bit her lip. "Or opportunity."
Haru stood. "Only one way to find out."
The three headed toward the monolith, leaping across broken islands.
They weren't alone.
Prince Wildane surfed in on a storm wind, landing with royal flair.
"Secrets? I could use a few of those."
Lady Sakura appeared in a swirl of petals, silent but nodding.
Yuna Farada zipped up, grinning. "Ooh, mystery box? I'm in!"
Even Yura materialized from shadow, cold eyes on the tablet.
One by one, more Divine Seeds gathered. Tension thick enough to cut.
The first fighter to touch it—a random armored dude—screamed as visions hit him.
His eyes rolled back. He collapsed, Crest flashing black. Eliminated.
The announcer laughed nervously.
"Price paid! Next?"
Xyphira floated forward, smirking.
"My turn, darlings."
She touched the stone.
Pink light exploded. Her eyes widened—then narrowed with pure rage.
She pulled back, wings flaring.
"Interesting," she hissed.
No elimination.
Akira stepped up next, runes glowing.
Touched.
His calm face cracked for the first time—fear.
He staggered back, whispering, "No… it can't be."
Azra roared and slammed a claw on the stone.
Black fire erupted. He didn't flinch. Just growled deeper.
Haru watched, heart pounding.
Clara touched gently.
Her gentle smile vanished. Tears welled up.
"My sister… she's…"
She didn't finish. Just gripped her spear tighter.
Leonhardt went next—roared as memories hit him.
"The real killer… is still here."
His eyes locked on someone in the crowd.
Finally, Haru stepped forward.
Everyone watched.
He pressed his palm to the cold stone.
Vision slammed into him like a truck.
He saw a shadowy figure—face hidden—stealing his Hero's Crest eight years ago.
Heard laughter from gods high above.
Saw flashes of the Arena… not as a tournament.
As a massive golden seal cracking slowly.
Underneath? Something huge waking up.
A voice—not the whisper this time, but deeper.
The champions are sacrifices. The winners don't save the world. They break the final lock.
Haru yanked his hand back, gasping.
The monolith crumbled to dust.
Silence.
Then chaos.
Fighters started accusing each other. Alliances shattered. Some attacked on the spot.
The announcer sounded almost scared:
"TRUTHS UNLEASHED! THE ARENA'S MASK IS SLIPPING! WHAT DID YOU ALL SEE?!"
Haru stared at his shaking hand.
Clara grabbed his arm, voice trembling.
"Haru… is it true? Are we just… bait?"
Leonhardt's knuckles white on his sword.
"Doesn't matter. I'll still win. I'll still fix everything."
In the distance, Xyphira laughed—manic, dangerous.
Yura's shadows deepened.
Akira's runes flickered unstable.
Azra roared at the sky.
The scoreboard flashed:
FIGHTERS REMAINING: 3,612 TIME LEFT: 19:45:33
Haru looked at the others—at the Divine Seeds gathering like storm clouds.
The game wasn't just survival anymore.
It was god-slaying.
And it had only just started bleeding truth.