Chapter 3 - The Collapse of the Arena and the First Lightning Strike
The stadium was deafening. Over one hundred thousand spectators roared as the massive steel blast doors slid open, flooding the colossal sand-strewn arena with blinding stadium lights.
Baron Ashworth marched out first, his heavy granite armor clanking rhythmically, raising his arms to soak in the thunderous applause of the upper-tier elites. He was a crowd favorite, a guaranteed powerhouse.
A moment later, Nate Ryder stepped out of the shadow of the tunnel.
The contrast was absolute. No sponsors. No shiny armor. Just a lone, slender figure in a basic black jumpsuit, walking slowly toward the center of the ring with his hands casually resting in his pockets.
Up in the VIP box, the crowd erupted into mocking laughter and loud jeers.
“Look at that loser! Did he wander out of a soup kitchen?”
“Ten credits says Baron finishes him in five seconds!”
“Hey, trash-boy! Go back to scrubbing floors!”
Tyler Ashworth leaned forward against the glass railing of the VIP lounge, a smug, sadistic grin spreading across his face. He held a glass of champagne, raising it slightly toward the arena floor as if already toasting a victory.
Down in the ring, the referee—a towering A-rank veteran with a cybernetic eye—raised his glowing plasma staff high above his head.
“Fighters ready?” the referee barked.
Baron slammed his fists together, a thick layer of brown, rock-hard elemental armor encasing his entire body. “I’m going to crush your ribs into powder, Ryder!”
Nate didn't speak. He simply lifted his gaze toward the VIP box, locking eyes with Tyler Ashworth through the reinforced glass across the stadium. Even from a hundred yards away, Tyler felt an icy shiver race down his spine—a sudden, inexplicable spike of pure dread that made his champagne glass slip from his fingers, shattering against the marble floor.
“Begin!” the referee shouted, slicing his staff downward.
*BOOM!*
Baron exploded forward, his B-rank Stone Juggernaut speed turning him into a living cannonball, kicking up a massive plume of sand as he charged straight at Nate with enough kinetic force to shatter a steel bulkhead.
The crowd gasped in delighted anticipation.
Nate didn't dodge. He didn't brace for impact.
He simply raised his right hand.
*CRACK-K-K-KOOM!*
A bolt of pure, blinding azure lightning—thick as a cathedral pillar—tore through the closed stadium roof out of a clear sky, striking Nate’s palm and instantly cascading outward in a roaring shockwave of primordial plasma.
The entire arena floor vaporized into fine glass dust within a fifty-foot radius.
Baron’s charging momentum stopped dead in a fraction of a millisecond. The heavy granite armor encasing his body didn't just crack; it instantly liquefied under the three-million-degree heat of the plasma discharge.
Before Baron could even scream, a surge of raw, crackling electricity coursed through his body, lifting him three feet off the ground and slamming him unconscious against the edge of the reinforced energy shield surrounding the ring.
Silence.
Absolute, deafening, tomb-like silence fell over one hundred thousand screaming spectators.
The holoscreens flickered violently as the stadium’s main power grid short-circuited under the sheer electromagnetic output.
In the center of the molten glass crater stood Nate Ryder, his dark hair lifting in the static wind, his eyes burning with the furious, untamed majesty of an awakening god.
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He hadn't just won the match. He had broken the entire arena.
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