Aarav's breath was steady, but his heart pounded like a war drum.
The Tournament Grounds stretched before him—a vast, desolate battlefield scarred by ancient battles. Towering stone pillars jutted from the earth, some cracked, others stained with old blood. The sky above was a deep, unnatural crimson, pulsing like a dying ember.
This was no mere arena.
This was a graveyard of gods and monsters.
And now, it would bear witness to his war.
Aarav scanned the field. Hundreds of fighters had already gathered, each radiating an aura of sheer, lethal power.
Some stood alone, like shadowed executioners awaiting their victims. Others moved in tight formations—alliances forged in blood and survival.
Not all of them were human.
His eyes flickered to a monstrous figure clad in blackened steel, its face obscured by a mask of bone. Another warrior, draped in golden chains, floated above the ground, his eyes glowing like molten suns.
Aarav exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He didn't fear them.
They would soon learn to fear him.
Behind him, Varun stood watching, his golden eyes unreadable.
"This is the true battlefield, Aarav." His voice was smooth, edged with something that sounded almost like amusement. "Not a place for the weak. Not a place for mercy."
Aarav didn't reply. He didn't need to.
He had bled too much to stop now.
A voice suddenly echoed across the battlefield, deep and thunderous.
"Let the First Trial begin."
The air grew heavy.
Aarav tensed.
And then—
The battlefield erupted into war.
The moment the words echoed across the battlefield, chaos erupted.
Blades clashed, fire roared, and the sky itself trembled with the sheer force of unleashed power.
Aarav moved.
A warrior lunged at him from the side—a brute of a man, easily seven feet tall, his fists crackling with lightning.
Aarav ducked. The air screamed as the thunder-fist missed him by inches.
Too slow.
Before the warrior could recover, Aarav stepped in, pivoting on his heel, and drove his knee into the man's ribs.
A sickening crack.
The brute stumbled—only for Aarav to spin, his fist trailing blue fire, and slam it straight into his chest.
The force sent the man flying backward, his body smashing into a crumbling stone pillar.
One down.
Aarav barely had time to breathe before another enemy appeared.
This one was different.
Not a brute. A killer.
She moved like a shadow, her twin daggers gleaming, coated in a poison that hissed against the air.
Aarav grinned. "Finally. Someone interesting."
The assassin didn't respond. She just vanished.
His eyes narrowed. Fast.
A whisper of movement—behind him.
Aarav twisted, barely avoiding the dagger aimed at his throat. But she was relentless, her attacks a blur of steel and death.
He blocked, dodged, countered—but she was fast.
Too fast.
Aarav's grin widened. Perfect.
He let his fire flare—not to attack, but to bait her.
She lunged, expecting an opening.
But Aarav was already moving.
A sharp step forward—into her guard.
Her eyes widened, realizing too late—
His elbow drove into her stomach. The force knocked the wind out of her, staggering her just long enough for Aarav to catch her wrist.
With a twist, he turned her own dagger against her—pressing it just beneath her chin.
The assassin froze.
Aarav exhaled, his voice calm. "Fast. But not fast enough."
She smirked, blood dripping from her lips. "We'll see."
Aarav felt it—the killing intent from behind.
Another attacker.
The assassin wasn't alone.
Aarav twisted away just in time.
A blast of searing fire erupted behind him, scorching the earth where he had stood mere moments ago. The assassin disappeared into the smoke, her figure vanishing like a wisp of shadow.
Aarav's pulse thrummed. A third fighter had entered the battle.
He turned to face them.
A man stood a few meters away, his hands wreathed in living fire. He was tall, lean, and wrapped in dark red robes, his head shaved except for a single braid of hair trailing down his back. His eyes glowed amber, burning like twin embers in the dim light.
Aarav clenched his fists. Another challenger.
The man raised a single hand, and fire coiled around his fingers like a serpent.
"You fight well," he said, his voice calm, controlled. "But fire belongs to me."
Aarav smirked, letting the blue flames flicker to life around his own hands. "Let's find out."
The fire-wielder wasted no time.
With a flick of his wrist, a torrent of flame surged forward, roaring like a living beast. The heat was intense—hotter than normal fire, hotter than anything human.
Aarav didn't move.
He didn't need to.
At the last moment, he thrust his hands forward—his own fire surging outward.
Blue and red flames collided.
For a moment, the battlefield was drowned in blinding light.
Then—the fire cracked.
Aarav gritted his teeth as his flames buckled under the pressure.
This guy—he wasn't just using fire.
His flames carried something else. Something heavier. Something divine.
Aarav's mind raced. This wasn't normal fire-wielding. This was something higher.
The enemy's flames weren't just heat.
They carried the weight of a curse.
The realization hit him a second too late.
The fire split apart, curling around his defenses—and struck him full force.
Pain.
Searing, mind-numbing pain.
Aarav barely managed to stumble back, his skin burning with an unnatural intensity. His blue flames flickered, struggling to fight back.
The fire-wielder smirked. "Your flames are strong. But they lack purpose."
Aarav spat blood, his eyes narrowing. "Then I'll give them one."
He clenched his fists—and the battlefield rumbled.
The blue fire around him shifted.
It darkened.
For the first time—Aarav felt something new inside his flames.
Something ancient.
Something hungry.
The next attack wouldn't just be a clash of fire.
It would be a battle of wills.
Damn.
Before he could react—
The battlefield exploded in flames.
Aarav staggered, his skin still searing from the cursed flames. But deep within the pain, something stirred.
His fire—his very soul—had changed.
The air thickened. The battlefield, once filled with clashing warriors, seemed to fall into a brief, eerie silence.
The fire-wielder tilted his head, his smirk faltering for the first time. He felt it too.
Aarav exhaled, the blue flames coiling around his arms shifting. Their glow darkened, turning from their usual azure into something deeper.
Something like the color of a dying star.
The fire-wielder's gaze sharpened. "What… is that?"
Aarav met his eyes and grinned. "You tell me."
The flames around his fists twisted, and for a moment, Aarav felt something pulling.
Not just the heat.
The life within the fire itself.
The enemy hesitated. It was brief—a fraction of a second—but enough.
Aarav moved.
Faster than before. Faster than his own body should have allowed.
The battlefield blurred.
In a single heartbeat, he was in front of the fire-wielder, his fist blazing with the new, darkened flame.
The man's instincts kicked in—he raised both hands, summoning another blast of cursed fire—
Too slow.
Aarav's strike landed.
His flaming fist smashed into the enemy's chest—not just burning, but consuming.
The man's eyes went wide as his own flames collapsed, turning against him.
Aarav could feel it now.
The power of his fire—it wasn't just heat anymore.
It devoured.
The fire-wielder's scream was brief—cut off as his own flames swallowed him whole.
Then—silence.
Only a few embers remained where he had stood.
Aarav exhaled, his fists still trembling from the sensation. The power in his veins felt unstable. Hungry.
Whatever had awakened in him—it wasn't satisfied.
Varun, who had been watching from the shadows, finally stepped forward. His golden eyes gleamed.
"Now," he murmured, "you are ready."
Aarav clenched his fists.
Ready for what?
Whatever it was—he knew one thing.
This was only the beginning.
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