The roar outside was downright thunderous. It was an ocean of noise crashing even through the stone walls of the chamber I was in. Though this hall was tucked deep within the participants’ quarters, separated from the Colosseum’s grounds by a single winding tunnel, I could still feel the crowd’s collective pulse pressing in from afar. The sheer density of excitement out there carried a kind of physical weight, something that even my Air Sense struggled to fully grasp.

  I steadied my breathing, forcing my heart to slow as I turned my attention to the so-called “competition.” Calling it just a test of combat skill would’ve been na?ve, every participant was allowed to bring tools, weapons, concoctions, and who knows what kind of experimental potions or gadgets. Some might even carry functioning sealed artifacts, if they were working as intended.

  Lysska had mentioned how dormant artifacts had been acting strangely of late, but since none had given me trouble, I hadn’t thought much of it. Here, though? The possibility of someone lugging around a misbehaving artefact suddenly felt like a very relevant concern.

  When I extended my senses to study them all, I noticed a consistent gleam in their auras, every single one of them was a red core. Some pulsed with the steady strength of high reds, others shimmered faintly like those who’d only just ascended. It was, admittedly, an impressive lineup.

  For their ages, it was downright commendable. No one looked a day over twenty, though I knew from records that the oldest among us, whose face I happened to be wearing, was twenty-seven. He’d been called a prodigy in his own right, and standing among these others, I could see why. Reaching red core before thirty and undergoing body reconstitution? That wasn’t something ordinary.

  There were forty-three participants this time, a slightly higher turnout than in recent years according to Lysska. Still, in a city of millions, that number was microscopic. These were the rare few, the one-in-a-million kind of talents who actually made it here.

  Not all hailed from Varkaigrad either. Some had arrived from distant sect territories scattered across the wild expanse of Vraal’Kor. This was, in fact, the first time I’d seen wolf-like beastkin— the Waryns— in person. Not one, but four of them towered nearly eight feet tall, clad in rough, primitive-looking armor.

  They hailed from the northern sect of the Gray Aegis, tucked deep in the icy mountains of Vindheim. From what I’d heard, that region’s cold was punishing enough to drive away all but the hardiest beastkin— mainly the bear-like Urgoths and the wolfkin, the Waryns. One of the Waryns had a massive, snow-white wolf by his side, its fur practically glowing under the dim lamplight. The creature blinked up with wide, crystalline-blue eyes, radiating such innocent curiosity that it immediately tripped my floof detection system.

  I wanted to pat it. To steal it. To take it home and feed it treats forever.

  Unfortunately, one of the Waryns noticed my lingering gaze and bared his teeth in a warning snarl. The fluffy wolf followed his master’s stare toward me, and the instant its eyes met mine, the poor thing’s ears flattened, fur bristling as all color drained from its face. It let out a soft whimper, trembling.

  Well. That answered one question. It seems the beast-born can still scent a riddle, even when it wears a flawless disguise.

  I shook my head and relocated to a different corner, mostly because the Waryns were giving me the kind of stink-eye that promised dismemberment if I so much as glanced at their precious furball again. That, and because the Drakkari woman from earlier, the one who’d been glaring daggers at this borrowed face of mine— was slowly, very slowly, inching closer.

  I could tell she knew this guy, and I wanted nothing to do with anyone who might recognize the face I was borrowing, at least not until things officially kicked off.

  So I went for the classic deterrent move: pulled out a flask of some highly questionable liquid (really just my disguise extender, but I’d picked a bottle that screamed “portable booze”), took a few long, deliberate swigs, and gave a death glare to anyone who even considered approaching.

  Worked like a charm. Luckily, I didn’t have to keep up the drunk-loner act for long.

  Because soon enough, the crowd’s rumbling crescendo hit a fever pitch, the announcer’s magically amplified voice booming loud enough to shake the walls. Even from here, we could hear him clearly as he declared the official start of this year’s Spirit Hunt.

  He began calling out participants one by one. People started filing out into the Colosseum proper, some looking excited, others focused, a few pale and trembling.

  Then came the name of the man whose face I currently wore.

  I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and began walking toward the light at the end of the tunnel. The roar of the crowd hit me like a living wave as I stepped into the open arena.

  ***

  The sheer scale of the Colosseum was enough to dizzy even a trained mind. The announcer’s magically enhanced voice still cut through the chaos with perfect clarity, but the space itself was enormous, so vast that my Air Sense couldn’t reach the distant spectator stands, even though I wasn’t standing dead center. The arena could’ve swallowed my old town, Randall— three times over— and still had room to spare.

  Despite being underground, the ceiling was covered with impressive illusion magic, mimicking an open sky so flawlessly it almost tricked my senses. It even had drifting clouds, sunlight filtering through like the real thing.

  From the corner of my vision, I spotted the prestigious section of the stands. It was a cordoned-off area where the wealthy and powerful sat in sparse comfort. Its raised balcony offered the best view of the entire Colosseum, and seated there were the Council of Five Claws. The Flameclaws were positioned at the front, unmistakable in their distinctive crimson robes.

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  Even at this distance, their presence was suffocating. When my aura brushed theirs, it felt like pushing against a wall of molten pressure. My instincts screamed out of your league, and I didn’t argue.

  At the center of the gathering sat the matriarch. She was composed, elegant and nothing like the last time I’d seen her with a blade pressed to Lord Veyan’s neck. Behind her, half-slouched and clearly unimpressed, was her daughter, Vernia. Her expression screamed I was dragged here against my will.

  It had been some time since I’d last seen her, but the change was obvious. I could feel her power from here, she’d already reached mid-red core. The last time we met, she’d been stuck at the bottleneck of yellow before I helped her push through into red. And now? She’d already cleared her first major threshold. Her growth was nothing short of monstrous.

  I briefly wondered why she wasn’t among the participants, she easily met all the requirements. But before I could linger on that thought, the heavy sound of stone grinding echoed across the arena as the last participant entered, and the tunnel’s entrance sealed shut behind us with a flash of defensive energy.

  The Spirit Hunt had begun.

  “And that concludes our roster of contenders!” the announcer’s magically woven voice thundered, confirming the last soul had joined the fray. The great stone gate behind him, a massive maw carved into the far wall of the arena, began its grinding ascent. “Now, let the Hunt commence! Listen closely, for your first trial is upon you.”

  The crowd’s roar swelled into a wall of sound.

  “The Colosseum’s own power will now scatter you,” his voice rang out, “each to a random corner of a specially conjured domain. There, you will not only hunt your rivals, but find yourselves the hunted. For the shadows of that place teem with lurking horrors, drawn to the scent of your ambition and the glow of your cores alike. Your goal is twofold: eliminate your competition and survive the local terrors. The eight who accumulate the most eliminations while evading their own defeat will be declared champions, advancing to the next round.”

  He paused for effect. “And fear not a final, fatal misstep. The Colosseum itself now stands as your guardian. Its ancient magic will kindle around you, a shield to intercept any blow meant to permanently extinguish your spark.”

  Everyone already knew this rule. The moment a fatal strike landed, the Colosseum’s failsafe would trigger, teleporting the participant to safety before death could claim them. The barrier protected life, not pride. Being forced into that emergency recall still counted as elimination for the trial. Survival was no free pass, it was humiliation made public.

  As he spoke this final assurance, the newly opened stone corridor began to radiate a blinding, pure prismatic light. It flooded outward, swallowing the entire arena in its brilliance. And in that moment, I felt it— a subtle, immense, and familiar energy settling over my form like a second skin. From its feel, I knew it was magic spun from the threads of divinity. I looked at my own skin and could sense a subtle layer of it still lingering, even after the blinding wave receded and the energy turned invisible.

  Not only that… I instinctively touched my throat, and my eyes widened.

  …there was something in my new fire gland. No, it couldn't be. Don't tell me the reason it was rejecting mana for being an inferior fuel was because it had developed a taste for divinity instead?!

  What I held now was a negligible amount, but it was enough to confirm that nothing was wrong with the gland itself; it had simply upgraded in a way that rendered my mana useless for its purpose. Where in the world would I even find a steady source of divinity? And why did my status screen stonewall me whenever I tried to pry more information from this glitched part of my being?

  I shook my head. At least one thing was now confirmed: the divinity it required for fuel didn't need to be my own. That wild wave of power had engulfed us, and the gland had instinctively drunk a tiny sip. What if I deliberately consumed something imbued with it? Would that provide an indirect wellspring for my fire?

  Depending on its potency, that might just be a fair trade.

  But I wasn’t about to test that theory while surrounded by dozens of sharp-eyed killers and a magically broadcasted audience.

  No, that experiment would wait.

  Preferably until I was alone.

  And unwatched.

  Everyone around me was similarly disoriented the moment that wave of divinity hit.

  A shared disorientation swept through the contenders as the wave of divinity washed over us.

  “Contenders, may fortune carve your path!” the announcer cried.

  The very ground beneath our feet shuddered. I sensed another gathering of raw divinity, and a second rainbow light engulfed us. This energy seized me, a hook lodged behind the navel, and my being was unceremoniously yanked from its place in the world. Forced teleportation. Resistance would have been as futile as trying to catch smoke.

  And really, why all the theatrical yanking? The arena was already vast enough to lose a city in. What purpose did it serve to ship us off elsewhere? It seemed a layer of unnecessary spectacle, but then, I supposed spectacle was the entire point of this exercise.

  I exhaled and let my body ride the distortion, eyes shut as space folded in on itself. The transition hit like a soft pop behind my ears, and then the world reassembled. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know where we were— a forest. The air was damp, within it was the scent of moss and wet bark, and there was faint chirr of unseen things in the silence.

  We hadn’t all landed together either. My senses picked up two other presences nearby. They were close enough to be dangerous, far enough to misjudge.

  And then, without warning, mana spiked behind me.

  Instinct kicked in. I dashed sideways just as a barrage of razor-sharp icicles tore through the ground where I’d been standing a heartbeat earlier.

  The attack came from a faerin girl. She was slender, sharp-eyed, with twitching foxian ears and three tails that lashed behind her like blades. She held a staff tipped with a glowing azure crystal, her expression flickering between surprise and smug composure.

  “Well, didn’t expect that,” she said coolly, adjusting her crescent-shaped glasses, the little silver chains dangling from them chiming faintly. Then she raised her staff again, voice clinical. “I studied every one of my competitors, Toma? Taranov. You, unfortunately, don’t stand a chance against anyone. Especially not your ex-fiancée. Better if I send you off painlessly before she gets her hands on you.”

  Her mana spiked again, this time even more focused, precise and deadly.

  Unfortunately for her, I wasn’t really Toma? Taranov. Just wearing his face.

  Still, there was a reason I’d chosen this particular disguise. The man had a lightning affinity, which was already handy but the main thing I was seeking was plausibility. Using my signature Quantum magic here would’ve raised too many suspicions, and I couldn’t afford to give myself away until this trial was over.

  Lightning, though? That would pass without question.

  And it wasn’t like I needed to go all out for this.

  I cracked my knuckles, feeling my mana align with the affinity woven into my fingertips. Sparks began to crawl across my arms, flickering eagerly between my fingertips. It seemed as good a time as any to test the new spells I had learned.

  “Let’s see if your research holds up,” I muttered, a grin pulling at my lips as the first threads of my spell came to life.

  Jade (the competent dragon):

  Has a plan… that involves traumatizing people.

  Also considering whether divine energy is technically edible.

  “It’s not murder if the Colosseum teleports them away first.”

  Faerin Opponent (the “competent” researcher with three tails):

  Adjusts glasses with precision.

  “Let’s see if you can predict this mov —” freezes as something zips past her ear, close enough to shave a hair.

  (Will later file this experience under “unexpected peer review.”)

  Vernia Flameclaw (Jade’s supposed twin(?)):

  Currently experiencing existential discomfort at being seated among elders who keep whispering about “lineage anomalies.”

  Secretly cheering for chaos but trying very hard to look composed.

  “Please let something explode so I can leave.”

  Matriarch Flameclaw (acting perpetually elegant):

  Perfect posture. Immaculate poise.

  Is 97% certain Jade has pulled some sort of tomfoolery again, but not sure what yet.

  Unnamed Waryn (the one with the fluffy wolf):

  Still glaring at the weird drunk dude.

  (He disappeared, but the principle remains.)

  Has no idea why his familiar tried to hide under a chair.

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