Rain and Blood The rain in New Veyra didn’t wash the streets clean. It only made the filth run faster. Kael Ardan sprinted through the neon soaked alleys, lungs burning, boots slapping against puddles that reflected the city’s towering skyline. Behind him, the rhythmic thud of heavy boots echoed off the steel walls corporate enforcers, trained killers who didn’t stop until their target was dead or in chains. A hollow thump rang out, followed by the hiss of something slicing the air past his cheek. A bullet? No an electrified dart. It embedded in the wall beside him, crackling blue before the current died. “Target is moving west cut him off at Sector 9!” A voice boomed from the comms behind him. Kael’s mind raced. His body screamed for rest, but his instincts screamed louder: Keep moving. If they caught him now, he wouldn’t get a trial. Not in New Veyra. Not when you were a gutter rat accused of killing a corporate executive. He skidded around a corner, almost colliding with

Into the StrikeThe claws were inches from his chest when Kael moved.Not back. Forward.The motion caught Raze off guard. His claws raked across Kael’s shoulder instead of skewering his heart, sparks flashing where metal met flesh. Pain lanced down Kael’s arm, but he didn’t stop.The Void roared inside him.[Assimilation Initiated]Black tendrils erupted from Kael’s forearms, lashing around Raze’s cybernetic wrists before plunging into the seams where flesh met metal. The sensation was… overwhelming. Like biting into lightning and steel.Raze bellowed, swinging his arms to shake Kael off, but the tendrils dug deeper, drinking in heat, muscle memory, raw power.[Strength +2][Skill Fragment Acquired: Shock Pulse – Grade F]The tendrils retracted in a snap, and Kael stumbled back now holding a fragment of Raze’s own cybernetic power Using the Stolen PowerRaze didn’t pause. The champion charged again, fists blurring in a flurry of claw strikes.But this time, Kael felt it the rhythm,

Blood on the SandThe cheers still echoed in Kael’s ears as they dragged him back through the steel corridors of the Pit. His hands were slick with blood not just the Iron Pack’s, but his own, warm and sticky under the torn cuffs of his shirt. The Void was silent for now, sated, but its hunger still pressed against the edges of his mind like an animal pacing in a cage.The guards didn’t speak. The silence was thicker than the smell of blood. They didn’t even try to cuff him this time.In their eyes, Kael was no longer just a convict he was a weapon. Brakk’s LessonBrakk was waiting in the cell, sitting cross legged on the lower bunk like he owned the place. When Kael stepped inside, the old man’s gaze flicked over him, reading every cut, bruise, and drop of blood.“You survived,” Brakk said.Kael snorted. “You sound disappointed.”Brakk chuckled low. “Not disappointed. Cautious. You killed Raze, and now the Iron Pack. That puts you high up the food chain. But here’s the thing abou

The Warden’s office was a predator’s den disguised as luxury. Floor to ceiling glass looked out over The Pit the roar of the crowd muffled but still palpable through the reinforced soundproofing. The floor was black marble threaded with veins of pulsing neon, like the very stone was alive. Hole screens hovered in the air, each streaming a different fight from somewhere in the arena complex bone breaking close ups, spurts of arterial spray frozen in high definition slow motion for the paying audience. The Warden himself sat behind a sleek obsidian desk, fingers steepled, eyes sharp and calculating. Kael stood before him, the dried blood of Moro still faint under his fingernails. The Void System was quiet, but he could feel it awake, coiled inside him like a shadow waiting for the right moment to move. “Sit,” the Warden said, his voice low and smooth. Not a request. Kael sat. The chair was too comfortable for a prisoner soft leather, contoured perfectly. It felt like a trap.

The cell door slammed open long before the morning siren.Kael’s eyes snapped open to the sound of heavy boots and the metallic clink of manacles. Two guards in black riot armor stepped inside, weapons drawn not because they thought he’d resist, but because it was procedure when escorting someone to the Pit’s most dangerous match.Brakk was leaning against the bars across the corridor, arms folded. His one good eye studied Kael in silence for a moment before he finally muttered,“The King doesn’t fight you, Kael… he destroys you. And he enjoys it.”Kael smirked, though his jaw was tight. “Then I’ll enjoy it more.”The guards shoved him down the hall, past cells where inmates pressed against the bars, whispering or shouting in anticipation. Everyone knew what it meant when someone was dragged out this early. This wasn’t a warm up fight. This was an execution order wrapped in entertainment.Pre-Fight PoliticsIn the prep chamber, the Warden herself was waiting.She sat behind a steel de