The Rise of Max bladeheart

THE XEON SYSTEM

C1 - A Fading Light

The roar of the coliseum was deafening. It rolled through the vast stadium like a crashing wave, voices merging into an unrelenting storm of anticipation and excitement.

Thousands of spectators filled the towering stands, their cheers echoing into the night sky. The air trembled with the weight of their voices, chanting a name with fervor.

"Bladeheart! Bladeheart! Bladeheart!"

Towering above the battlefield, massive holographic screens displayed the scene in crisp, high-definition detail. Every crack in the shattered ground, every plume of dust, every flicker of light from the combatants’ abilities—it was all magnified for the audience.

The battlefield itself was in ruins. Cracks ran deep through the stone, jagged and uneven. The metallic barriers that had once stood firm were now twisted and crumpled like discarded scrap. Smoke curled lazily from craters scorched black.

Amidst the wreckage, five figures stood together, their bodies tense.

They were clad in emerald combat armor, its sleek design glinting under the harsh arena lights. Despite their numbers, their stances were uneasy—feet shifting, hands trembling ever so slightly.

Their breathing was labored. Their eyes darted toward the lone figure standing opposite them.

He was different.

His armor wasn’t emerald. It was crimson.

A striking contrast against the battlefield’s dull grays and browns, the deep red hue of his uniform made him look almost surreal—like a specter standing amidst the wreckage.

His golden-brown hair, damp with sweat, barely shifted in the artificial wind generated by the arena’s environmental controls. Strands clung to his forehead, but he made no effort to push them away.

He simply stood there.

Not tense. Not hurried.

Still.

Unshaken.

His eyes, cold and unfeeling, settled on the five before him. There was no arrogance in his expression, nor was there amusement. He didn’t look at them like opponents.

He looked at them like dead men walking.

His fingers twitched, and the faintest flicker of red light pulsed to life in his palm.

The glow was subtle at first, almost harmless. But as seconds passed, it intensified, casting jagged shadows across his face.

The five warriors stiffened.

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of one’s face, but he didn’t dare wipe it away. Another shifted his weight ever so slightly, his breathing quickening despite his attempts to steady it.

Silence stretched between them.

Then, at last, the lone warrior spoke.

His voice was quiet. Measured.

"You’re not leaving this battlefield standing."

The words weren’t a threat.

They were a fact.

A final declaration of how this fight would end.

He raised his hand.

Vrreii~

The glow in his palm surged. The air itself seemed to ripple, bending under the force of his energy.

A sharp intake of breath.

A single heartbeat of hesitation.

And then—

The arena exploded into chaos.

"That’s me. Max Bladeheart."

"But before I was a name people cheered for—before my presence alone was enough to make warriors hesitate—I was nothing."

"Weak. Powerless. Forgotten."

"So how did I get here?"

"To understand that… we have to go back."

Three Years Ago

The mountain stood tall against the endless stretch of night sky, its jagged cliffs bathed in pale silver moonlight.

The wind moved through the trees, rustling the thick canopy of leaves. It wasn’t a harsh wind, but there was something unforgiving about it tonight. It carried the scent of damp soil, of pine needles crushed underfoot. It whispered through the rocks, whistling in the cracks of the cliffside.

Far below, BB City stretched out in a sea of artificial light.

From up here, the city didn’t seem so suffocating. The blinking neon signs, the towering buildings covered in holo-advertisements, the ceaseless movement of people—it all looked… distant.

Like a world he was never truly a part of.

At the very edge of the cliff, a lone figure stood.

The boy’s uniform—a maroon jacket and slacks, slightly too big for his lean frame—flapped gently in the wind. The fabric was wrinkled, his sleeves unevenly rolled up. His shoes were scuffed, the soles worn from long walks with nowhere to go.

His hair…

It wouldn’t stay one color.

It flickered between shades—red, then blue, then green—before finally dulling into a pale blond.

His shoulders were stiff, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Not out of casual indifference, but to hide the trembling.

His breath came out slow. Controlled.

But his fingers curled tightly around the fabric inside his pockets, gripping onto something—anything—to keep himself from shaking.

His gaze drifted toward the city below. His eyes, usually so sharp, so filled with quiet defiance, looked hollow.

The neon lights flickered. The world below carried on as usual.

And he stood there, utterly unnoticed.

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke.

"What’s the point of being alive if I’m not even allowed to dream?"

The words barely left his lips before a quiet, humorless chuckle followed.

"No… someone like me… doesn’t even have the right to dream."

His fingers curled tighter.

A slow exhale.

He could feel his heartbeat in his throat. It wasn’t racing. It was slow. Dull. Like a drum beaten too many times.

He took a step forward.

Just one more step.

And then—

A flicker of light in the sky.

His brows furrowed.

At first, he didn’t react. Stars were always visible from this mountain. It wasn’t uncommon to see one shining a little brighter than the others.

But then…

It moved.

"…What?"

His eyes narrowed.

It wasn’t just shining—it was growing.

Larger. Brighter.

His pulse spiked. A sudden, sharp sensation crawled up his spine.

That’s not a star.

A breath hitched in his throat.

His feet shifted back instinctively. His body tensed, every muscle in his legs coiling, preparing to run.

"Why does it keep getting bigger…?"

The glow intensified.

His stomach twisted.

Then, like a slap to the face, realization hit.

"Shit—!"

It was moving toward him.

Fast.

And before he could even turn—

Blam!

The impact struck the cliffside like a meteor, sending a deafening shockwave rippling through the air.

Crumble. Crumble. Crumble.

The ground beneath him trembled. Cracks spread in jagged, chaotic lines.

Then—

It gave way.

His heart lurched. His stomach flipped.

He was falling.

Wind howled in his ears. His body tumbled through the air, weightless.

A scream tore from his throat, but it was lost to the rushing wind.

Somewhere, in the blur of falling rock and night sky, a tiny crimson light darted toward him.

Small. Almost insignificant.

And as his mouth remained open from his scream—

It slipped inside.

Unnoticed.

And then—

Everything went dark.