Chapter 27: Echoes of the Fallen
The sand of the arena was still stained with yesterday's blood, but something in Ryo had changed. He walked across it like a ghost, no longer just a fighter, but a man who had glimpsed the machinery behind the curtain—a system that fed on flesh and erased those who dared to resist.
And now, he needed answers.
Taro found him after the match, bruised and bloodied but still standing. The older fighter tossed him a canteen and leaned against the stone wall, his shadow stretching across the dirt.
"You've been different since they let you out," Taro said. "Quieter. Focused. What did you see?"
Ryo didn't answer right away. Instead, he asked, "What do you know about the ones who came before us? The fighters who tried to rebel."
Taro's expression darkened like a storm cloud.
"They don't talk about them," he said. "Because they don't want us to know they ever existed."
He pulled something from under his tattered belt—an old patch, stitched with a broken symbol. A half-sun, cracked down the middle.
"They called themselves the Ashen Circle," Taro continued. "A group of champions who made it all the way to the top. People thought they disappeared after the final round. The truth? They tried to burn this whole place down."
Ryo's grip on the canteen tightened.
"They failed?" he asked.
"They were erased," Taro said. "One by one. Their names, their records—gone. The organizers made sure nobody would remember they even fought here."
"But you remember," Ryo said.
Taro gave a bitter smile. "I was just a kid when I saw one of them. A woman with a shattered arm and fury in her eyes. She saved me during a riot in one of the holding zones. Told me not to stop fighting... even when the arena wasn't the biggest threat."
He looked Ryo dead in the eye. "You remind me of her."
Later that night, when the guards weren't looking, Ryo broke into the archive room.
It was deep beneath the arena—beneath even the cells—hidden behind layers of reinforced steel and biometric locks. The datachip Kael had given him pulsed softly against his palm.
He inserted it into the central console.
Files lit up. Hundreds of them.
But the names were scrambled—encrypted and buried behind code like graves waiting to be dug up.
Except one.
KAZUO MORI – Champion Year 7
Ryo opened the file.
A grainy video played. A tall man stood in the center of the arena, surrounded by flame. Not the special effects kind—the real kind. Bodies lay scattered. Alarm sirens wailed in the background.
Kazuo looked straight into the camera. His eyes burned with the same resolve Ryo saw in his own reflection.
"To those watching," Kazuo said, "we tried. We fought. We bled. We warned you. If this footage ever makes it out, remember: the Maw isn't just a tournament. It's a factory. And we were its broken tools."
Then the footage cut to static.
Ryo stood there, fists trembling. Not from fear—but fury.
They had wiped this man from existence. But they hadn't destroyed his spirit.
They couldn't.
And if there had been others… there was still hope.
The next day, Ryo was thrown into a match against a fighter twice his size—a wall of muscle and rage named "Husk."
Husk didn't speak. He didn't think. He fought like a machine, no style, just force. But behind the beast's eyes, Ryo saw something—recognition. As if, somewhere deep beneath the layers of serum and conditioning, a fragment of a person remained.
They clashed like titans. Ryo ducked and weaved, blood flying with every strike. The crowd howled. But Ryo wasn't trying to win.
He was trying to reach him.
"You were someone once," Ryo hissed between blows. "Who were you before the serum?"
Husk snarled, slammed him to the ground.
But when he raised his fist for the final blow… he hesitated.
Ryo looked up, dazed and bleeding.
And then—Husk spoke.
A whisper. A name.
"…Kazu…o…"
Ryo's eyes widened. Was this—?
Before he could ask more, a dart hit Husk in the neck. The giant stumbled, roared, then collapsed—his eyes rolling back as enforcers rushed the ring.
The match was called. Ryo was declared the victor.
But it didn't feel like a victory.
Back in his cell, Ryo stared at the chipped wall. The same name repeated in his head.
Kazuo…
Had Husk been one of them? One of the Ashen Circle? Was he a survivor—or a failed experiment?
The truth was slipping through cracks, but now Ryo knew where to dig.
The arena wasn't just a place for battle.
It was a graveyard full of voices trying to be heard.
And Ryo? He was going to make sure the world heard them scream.