(Read Author's Thought)
In a world where wealth and fame were the ultimate prizes, the Colosseum was the battleground where power was won. Fighters clashed not just for survival but for riches, status, and a place in history. The ranks were unforgiving: Rank C held the greatest power, enforcing the law and controlling the system. Rank X was reserved for the elite few who commanded fear and respect, while Rank V, though high, was not yet considered elite—where warriors fought to rise or fall.
Outside the arena, the struggle for dominance was just as fierce. Bounties, covert missions, and unstable alliances fueled the ambitions of those seeking to carve out their own power. In a world where betrayal was commonplace and trust was a fragile commodity, only the ruthless thrived. The game of survival was relentless, and the strongest—those willing to do anything to ascend—were the ones who truly shaped the fate of the world.
Godwin knew the price of ambition all too well. His rise in the Colosseum had been fueled by a relentless hunger for power, but it was the loss of his closest ally—his brother—that had truly hardened his heart. They had been unstoppable together, both fighting their way through the ranks side by side, each one pushing the other further, faster, higher. But that bond was shattered in an instant.
During a brutal, unjust match in the Colosseum, his brother was pitted against an opponent far too dangerous—an opponent meant to make a statement, not a fair fight. The crowd had roared as Godwin's brother fell, the blood staining the sand, the life draining from his eyes. The system had taken him, and the pain of that loss was something Godwin could never escape.
Now, Godwin sought revenge. Every fiber of his being was dedicated to making those responsible for his brother's death pay. No longer was it about glory or rank. It was personal. The Colosseum had taken everything from him, and Godwin would tear it apart piece by piece, starting with the one who had claimed his brother's life. He would make them bleed as he had bled.
The training hall groaned under the weight of his strikes. Godwin moved like a machine—flawless form, relentless rhythm, sweat pouring from his chiseled frame. Each blow he threw wasn't just practice. It was punishment. A war against memory.
He wasn't fighting an opponent.
He was fighting the scream.
His brother's scream.
"Godwin!" a voice barked from the corridor—sharp, clipped, military.
He turned.
A commander stood there, flanked by two guards in obsidian black. Their presence alone meant one thing.
Dominion Unit.
Dominion Unit.
Godwin didn't ask why. You didn't apply to become Dominion. You were chosen. Forged in battle. Tempered by loss.
Within the hour, he stood beneath the Dominion banner. No crowd. No speeches. Just a blade—black steel with a silver edge—presented in silence.
He took it.
The blade was cold in his hands. Sleek. Beautiful. A weapon not made for ceremony, but for silence.
The room emptied. He remained.
He stared at the empty space beside him. That space where his brother should have stood. They trained together, bled together. If not for that unjust match, his brother would've been here. Maybe even before him.
Stronger. Smarter. Faster.
But his brother wasn't promoted. He was discarded—fed to a rigged fight in the Colosseum, executed for someone else's gain.
Godwin's jaw tightened. His grip on the blade firmed, not out of pride, but promise.
He would not let it happen again.
A low chime rang through the silence. The unmistakable tone of a Colosseum summon
Godwin's promotion into the Dominion Unit wasn't handed to him lightly. It took time. It took brutal training. Every moment spent climbing through the ranks had been a preparation for this moment. But the climb wasn't about prestige anymore. Dominion wasn't about showing off power. It was about taking the power of the Colosseum and using it.
The brutality of the Dominion Unit was legendary. A deadly shadow force, filled with warriors forged through years of bloodshed. Godwin had earned his place not just through physical prowess, but through sheer will. He carried his brother's memory with him every day, and it made him unstoppable.
His rise was swift, and though there was a quiet whisper around the Colosseum that Godwin was a dangerous man to cross, nothing could prepare him for the day the Dominion Unit called for him.
In the months following his promotion, Godwin became a machine—sent on covert missions, hunting down enemies of the system, and earning more power than he had ever imagined. But there was always one thing on his mind: Ryke.
Ryke was the son of Tyr, a Rank C fighter with immense power. He had orchestrated the match that killed Godwin's brother. Ryke had been untouchable, protected by his father's influence. But in Godwin's eyes, Ryke was the one who needed to pay. And he would. No matter what.
Godwin was deep in training, his body and mind a blur of motion. Every strike, every breath, was an extension of the rage and promise he'd made to his brother. The hours in the training hall felt endless, but they were necessary. He had to be ready for whatever came next.
Then the sudden hum of a phone broke through the intensity of the room. His eyes narrowed, a slight shift in his stance as he wiped the sweat from his brow. It was unusual for him to receive a call. His hand moved toward the device instinctively.
The voice that came through the phone was deep, rich, and unmistakable.
"Godwin," Elias said, his voice a low rumble. It wasn't just a voice—it was power, authority, a weight that carried far more than the words. The kind of voice that made people listen.
Godwin's grip on the phone tightened, his pulse quickening. The name was familiar—Elias, a Rank C fighter and one of the few men who commanded the arena with as much presence as his own. And now, Elias was calling him.
"I don't take calls from the Colosseum," Godwin muttered, a quiet sneer crossing his face. But this wasn't a call from the system. Elias was different. He wasn't some distant figure hiding behind the spectacle of the arena. Elias was a man with power, a man who didn't need to play games. And Godwin knew his words would carry weight.
Elias' chuckle resonated through the phone, smooth but dangerous.
"This isn't the Colosseum calling. This is me. I know what you want, Godwin. I know why you're here. You've been making waves. But it's time to stop hiding in the shadows. Come out into the light."
The words lingered in the air like a threat, but there was something more in his tone. A challenge.
Godwin stood still, the weight of Elias' words hanging in the room. He wasn't just being summoned—he was being invited into the fray. A fight that could change everything.
"What do you want?" Godwin's voice was steady, though the fire still burned deep in his chest. He wasn't one to hesitate, but the ambiguity of the situation gnawed at him. Elias was a force in the Colosseum. If he was calling him out, it meant something big was coming.
Elias' tone sharpened, the deep voice filling the silence with the quiet power that came with authority.
"I want you to face the man who killed your brother, Godwin. I'll make sure the arena knows your name, just as you've been making sure they remember his. But first, you'll have to earn that right. I'll be waiting."
The line went silent for a moment before a soft click echoed through the phone.
Godwin stood there, staring at the device in his hand, the weight of Elias' challenge settling deep into his chest. He had no choice now. He would have to face Ryke, but before that, he would have to prove himself worthy in Elias' eyes. The fight was coming, and he was done running.
The phone buzzed again, the vibration cutting through the stillness of the room. Godwin's brow furrowed as he glanced down at the screen. Elias' name flashed on the display.
He swiped the screen to answer, his voice tight. "What now?"
Elias' deep voice filled the line, unfazed by the edge in Godwin's tone. "You've got a big fight ahead of you, Godwin. But you're not walking into this blind. Ryke's not like the others you've faced. He's got a few tricks up his sleeve, and I'm gonna make sure you know them all."
Godwin's muscles tensed, his mind sharpening. "What kind of tricks?"
Elias' voice lowered, the menace seeping into every word. "He's fast, unpredictable. Likes to keep his opponents on edge. But his real advantage? He'll use every dirty tactic in the book. Low blows, distractions—anything to make you hesitate. You can't afford to give him an inch."
Godwin's grip on the phone tightened, but his voice was controlled. "I don't hesitate."
Elias chuckled darkly, as if he knew something Godwin didn't. "We'll see. Don't underestimate him. He's a survivor. And you're not just fighting for yourself anymore, are you? You're fighting for something bigger."
Godwin was silent for a moment, the realization hitting him square in the chest. This fight wasn't just for his brother's death—it was for everything he'd lost, everything he still wanted to take back. But Elias was right. Ryke wasn't a fighter to be taken lightly.
"I'll be ready," Godwin finally said, his voice a cold promise.
"Good," Elias replied. "You've got a few days. Don't waste them."
The line went dead once more, leaving Godwin standing alone in the dark room, the weight of the battle ahead pressing down on him. He could feel the fire in his chest burn even hotter now. Ryke had no idea what was coming for him.