Dr.Sacah examined Lucius with her usual clinical precision, checking reflexes, breathing, cardiovascular response.
"Any injuries from your last match that need attention?" she asked.
"Some bruising. Nothing serious."
She paused, looking at his bandaged left arm. "May I?"
Lucius hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Everyone saw it during the tribunal. No point hiding it now."
He unwrapped the bandages, revealing the crystalline prosthetic. Clear, geometric, refracting light at odd angles.
Dr. Lois leaned closer, genuine scientific fascination replacing her professional detachment. "May I touch it?"
"Go ahead."
Her fingers made contact with the crystalline surface. She traced the geometric patterns, tested the articulation points. "Remarkable. The structure is completely unlike anything I've studied. Not glass, not ice, not any standard crystalline formation I recognize." She pressed slightly, testing density. "And it responds to neural input like natural tissue. The integration is..." She shook her head. "I don't understand how this is possible."
"Neither do I," Lucius replied simply. "The Architect fixed it. I just use it."
"The legendary Architect." Her tone suggested skepticism, but she couldn't deny the evidence. "Well, whoever created this is either a genius or has access to technology centuries beyond current medical science."
She stepped back, making final notes. "You're cleared for combat. Physically, you're in good condition." She looked at him directly, professional mask slipping. "But King... be careful out there today."
"I'm always careful."
"I mean it. Plague is different. I've treated fighters he's faced before. The ones who survived long enough to make it to medical." She paused. "His methods aren't just about winning. He experiments. Tests pain thresholds. If you end up at his mercy, it won't be quick."
Lucius rewrapped his prosthetic. "Noted."
"I'm serious. William Walker is straightforward—speed and skill. But Plague..." She shook her head. "Just be careful."
"I will."
---
The waiting area setup was unusual.
Normally, fighters entered through separate corridors—blue and red—and waited in individual rooms before their matches. This kept opponents apart, prevented premature confrontations, maintained order.
But today's match was a triple threat. An extremely rare format. The officials had debated the logistics extensively before deciding on a compromise: Plague would get his own isolated waiting room —nobody wanted him planting parasitic insects on opponents beforehand—while the other two fighters would share the blue corner room.
Which left Lucius and William Walker together.
William had entered first through the blue corridor. Lucius arrived second, stepping into the utilitarian space—benches along walls, lockers, fluorescent lighting, a monitor showing arena preparation.
William sat wrapping his hands methodically. He looked up as Lucius entered, pausing briefly.
They'd never spoken before. Different brackets. Their paths simply hadn't crossed until now.
William resumed wrapping, the silence stretching for a moment.
Then: "That tribunal yesterday. That was something."
Lucius moved to a bench across from him, sitting. "What about it?"
"The way you defended yourself. Systematic. Precise." William finished his right hand, started on his left. "Reminded me of my own situation. Being accused. Having to prove innocence when people already decided you're guilty."
Lucius looked at william "Oh yeah your that sprinter, the one that was accused of doping".
William responded "So you know".
"It was quite the scandal, all over the news"
With a heavy sigh "The headlines called me a disgraced athlete. Drug cheat. Violent criminal." William's hands stilled briefly. "None of it true, but that's what everyone remembers."
"That's the public version. The sanitized story." William's jaw tightened. "Real version is uglier."
He looked up, meeting Lucius's eyes.
"I was training for the Olympics. Best times in my division. Everything was perfect. Then my ex-girlfriend and a rival competitor decided they wanted me gone. Fabricated drug accusations. Planted evidence in my locker. Paid off a lab tech to falsify results. My ex testified she'd seen me using performance enhancers—complete lie."
His voice stayed level but carried suppressed anger.
"Got suspended. Lost sponsors. Lost everything I'd worked for since childhood. Then a reporter ran the story before the investigation concluded. Published accusations as facts. Destroyed my reputation permanently even though nothing was proven."
William's fists clenched.
"Found out later the reporter was paid. My rival had money, connections. Wanted me eliminated from competition. So I confronted him. Demanded to know why he'd destroyed my life without evidence." He paused. "He laughed. Said it was just business. That I should've been smarter about making enemies."
"You hit him," Lucius observed.
"Broke his jaw. Would've done worse if security hadn't intervened. Got assault charges. Spent six months in jail. By the time I got out, the investigation had cleared me of drug accusations—but nobody cared. I was the violent athlete who attacked a reporter. That's all anyone remembered."
William resumed wrapping his hand.
"Tournament's my only option now. Win enough to start over. Maybe clear my name if I can prove I never needed drugs to be the best."
Lucius nodded slowly. "The reporter deserved it."
William looked up, surprised.
"He destroyed your life for money," Lucius continued, tone matter-of-fact. "Broke his jaw? That's restrained. Most people would've done worse."
Something shifted in William's expression—relief, or appreciation for being believed. "Thanks. Not many people see it that way."
"Most people don't think past headlines."
They sat in comfortable silence, the monitor showing arena staff making final preparations.
William finished wrapping and leaned back. "So. Semifinals. Triple threat format. This'll be interesting."
"Should be quick," Lucius said. "Plague's dangerous but predictable. You're fast. I'm adaptable. One of us takes him out, the other two fight for the win."
"Or we all tear each other apart simultaneously."
"More likely."
The intercom crackled. "Fighters to staging positions. Match begins in ten minutes."
Both stood.
William nodded once. "Good luck."
"You too."
---
The arena was absolutely packed.
Semifinals brought maximum attendance—every fighter who remained, every executive with access, all staff not on essential duty. The energy crackled like static before a storm.
In the commentary booth, Jamal leaned into his microphone.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WELCOME TO THE SEMIFINALS! Round 4, Fight 1!" His voice carried perfect arena acoustics—loud enough to hype, controlled enough to stay clear. "And THIS is the match we've ALL been waiting for!"
Beside him, Haurang adjusted his microphone, analytical calm showing cracks of genuine excitement. "This isn't just a semifinal. This is a triple threat. Extremely rare format. Three fighters, one arena, last one standing advances to the finals."
"You know what that means, Haurang? CHAOS! Beautiful, unscripted, unpredictable CHAOS!" Jamal's grin was audible. "And I am HERE for it!"
The Jumbotron activated, displaying three panels:
PLAGUE
PREVIOUS MATCHES: VICTORY VS OLIVER SCOT, VICTORY VS DIABLO
WILLIAM WALKER
PREVIOUS MATCHES: VICTORY VS XU LEO KIM, VICTORY VS LIU YAN, VICTORY VS IDRIS
KING -
PREVIOUS MATCHES: VICTORY VS TACT, VICTORY VS FRIDAY, VICTORY VS IRON CLAD WANG
"Three very different fighters," Haurang observed. "Plague is a veteran with decades of experience. Insect manipulation and control—he's dominated the pit multiple times through systematic assault."
"William Walker is SPEED!" Jamal cut in. "Former Olympic-level sprinter with explosive movement. Took down Idris through pure velocity!"
"And King remains largely unknown. Exceptional technique demonstrated. Crystallization ability revealed during tribunal. But he's kept most capabilities concealed. This triple threat will force revelation."
"Or force him to DIE trying to hide it!" Jamal laughed. "That's what I love about this format—you can't hold back against two opponents!"
The three entrance gates opened.
From the red entrance: Plague emerged, and the crowd's reaction was immediate—fascination mixed with revulsion. Ancient, somewhere in his eighties, body bent and skeletal. Simple gray robe hanging loose on his frame, feet bare. Paper-thin skin, liver spots, visible veins. Face deeply wrinkled, hooked nose, protruding ears. Eyes milky with cataracts but centers showing that predatory gleam.
He shuffled forward with audible wheeze, hands crossed behind his back in that distinctive pose.
"PLAGUE!" Jamal announced. "The veteran experimenter! If you're squeamish about bugs, look away now!"
From the blue entrance: William Walker. Athletic, powerful, controlled energy of a professional sprinter. Form-fitting tactical gear, wrapped hands, posture suggesting coiled springs.
The crowd gave solid applause—respect for demonstrated skill.
"WILLIAM WALKER!" Haurang called. "Speed incarnate! He'll need every bit of that velocity today!"
From the center entrance: Lucius emerged in his combat attire. Left arm bandaged concealing his prosthetic. Expression neutral, royal blue eyes scanning the arena analytically.
Mixed crowd reaction—some cheering, others suspicious post-tribunal, many just curious.
"And KING!" Jamal's voice carried hype and curiosity. "The mystery fighter! Survived murder accusations yesterday, now fighting for his tournament life!"
Each fighter moved to different arena sections—Plague far right near barrier, William left, Lucius center-back. Roughly equidistant, forming a triangle. Sixty feet between each.
Standard pit configuration. Sand floor, electromagnetic barriers at edges, reinforced observation walls. No obstacles. Just open space and three dangerous fighters.
The commentators' voices rang out: "Fighters ready!"
All three settled into ready stances. Plague's hands remained crossed behind his back. William dropped into sprinter's starting position. Lucius stood neutral, hands loose, watching both opponents analytically.
"BEGIN!"
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Each fighter assessed. Waiting for commitment. Calculating angles, distances, threats.
Then Lucius did something completely unexpected.
He slowly lay down on the sand. On his side. Head propped on his right hand. Like someone casually observing a mildly interesting show.
The arena went silent.
His voice carried clearly across the pit:
"You guys can fight it out. I'll take on whoever wins."
One heartbeat of shocked silence.
Then the arena EXPLODED.
"DID HE JUST—" Jamal's voice cracked. "IS HE LYING DOWN?! IS HE SERIOUS?!"
"That's..." Haurang sounded genuinely stunned. "That's the most disrespectful thing I've seen in fifteen years of commentary."
The crowd was chaos—shocked laughter, outrage, confusion, appreciation for sheer audacity. Some cheered the boldness. Others booed the arrogance. Most just stared in disbelief.
In the fighter section, Odd buried his face in his hands.
William stared for a moment, then—despite himself—smiled slightly. A laugh escaped. 'Complete weirdo.'
But Plague's expression showed no amusement. Just cold calculation and rising anger.
Charlotte adjusted recording angles in the hidden observation room. "He's lying down in a triple threat semifinal."
Hannah's fingers tapped irregularly. "Tactical provocation or genuine arrogance?"
"Both, likely."
The casual disrespect accomplished one thing instantly:
It united his opponents against him.
---
Sand erupted three feet in front of Lucius.
A centipede burst upward—ten feet long, segmented body glistening, mandibles wide. Arcing down toward his prone form with predatory precision.
Lucius twisted, rolling sideways as mandibles snapped on empty sand where his head had been.
He came up on one knee—
William was already there.
The kick came from his blind side, explosive speed closing distance before Lucius could fully orient. William's boot connected with his ribs with devastating force.
CRACK.
The impact sent Lucius tumbling, body rolling three times before momentum stopped.
"THERE IT IS!" Jamal shouted. "Walker with the opening strike! Plague's already summoning!"
"King just unified opponents against him," Haurang observed. "Tactical error or deliberate strategy?"
Lucius came up quickly, hands raised, assessing. Both opponents now focused on him.
'Maybe that was a bad idea.'
No time to dwell.
Sand exploded beneath him.
Something massive erupted from below. Eight legs, each thick as steel pipe, segmented and covered in coarse hair. A daddy longlegs—grotesquely oversized. Eight feet tall, body bloated and pulsing.
The legs closed around him like a cage. The creature twisted, mandibles opening to reveal a mouth lined with grinding teeth designed for carnivorous feeding.
Lucius reacted on instinct. Hands shot out, grabbing upper mandible. Feet braced against lower. Arms and legs straining, holding the mouth open as it tried to close around him.
The smell was horrific—decay and digestive fluids. The mouth contracted, pulling him deeper. His arms shook with effort.
Shadow fell across him from above.
William had launched into the air, body horizontal, both legs extended. Heavenly drop kick aimed directly at Lucius's back.
Lucius's mind calculated instantly. Distance. Angle. Timing. Force vectors.
He pulled himself deeper into the mouth—counterintuitive, but it gave leverage. Core muscles engaged as he twisted inside the creature's mouth just as William's kick connected.
The drop kick missed Lucius completely.
Both William's feet slammed into the daddy longlegs's head with tremendous force.
CRUNCH.
Exoskeleton shattered. Head caved inward, chitin fragmenting, internal fluids exploding outward in green-black spray coating both fighters.
The massive body convulsed once, collapsed.
Lucius landed in a crouch, covered in gore. William landed nearby, equally covered, already moving back into stance.
"Holy—!" Jamal's voice carried genuine excitement. "Did you SEE that?! Walker just destroyed Plague's hybrid with a drop kick!"
"But King used the attack," Haurang noted. "Turned his opponent's assault into a solution. High-level tactical thinking."
Lucius wiped ichor from his face.
William was already moving.
Speed was his specialty. He rushed forward with constant directional changes. Left, right, feint, commit. Making himself unpredictable.
Lucius barely got his guard up before William's first strike—a jab Lucius had to redirect, the force suggesting no holding back.
But the jab was a feint.
William disappeared from vision, reappearing behind him.
'This guy's faster than I thought.'
The thought flashed as William's low sweep caught both ankles.
Lucius's feet went out. He fell backward, already seeing William's follow-up—palm on ground, body flipping to bring his leg down like a hammer toward Lucius's chest.
But Lucius's hands were already moving above his head. He planted both palms and executed a backward handspring, launching upward just as William's foot cratered the sand.
Lucius's rotation brought him upright. He immediately went low with spinning kick aimed at William's face.
William slid backward, dodging, then sprang up.
Lucius used the kick's momentum to flow into a spinning flip, coming down with his own aerial kick.
William rolled aside, came up in crouch, launched a simple jab.
Lucius's hands came up to redirect—but William was already moving again.
He appeared at Lucius's left with heavier punch. Lucius blocked. William vanished and reappeared behind with another strike. Lucius flowed into position, redirecting momentum.
The pattern continued—William attacking from impossible angles, using speed to strike from left, right, behind, even above when he'd jump and redirect mid-air. Each strike from different vector, trying to overwhelm through velocity.
But Lucius kept up.
His technique flowed like water, redirecting force rather than blocking, using opponent's momentum against them. Each strike William threw got turned aside, energy directed harmlessly past rather than absorbed.
"This is INCREDIBLE!" Jamal's voice carried genuine awe. "Walker's moving at overwhelming speeds, but King's keeping pace through pure technique!"
"Speed versus flow," Haurang added. "Force versus redirection. Perfectly matched."
The crowd was on their feet, watching the blur of motion—William disappearing and reappearing, Lucius flowing between defensive positions.
But everyone forgot about the third fighter.
Plague stood at arena's edge, hands crossed behind his back, watching with calculating eyes. He shuffled forward slightly, then stopped.
Turned to face the combatants directly.
His right hand emerged from behind his back, moving toward his face with deliberate slowness. Gnarled fingers reached into his mouth—past lips, deeper, pulling something from his throat.
When his hand emerged, it held something oval. Small. Like a tiny lizard egg, pale and glistening.
He positioned his hand carefully—thumb over index finger, preparing to flick.
Then flicked.
The egg shot forward with unnatural force—far more power than an elderly man should generate. It cut through air with sharp whistle, trajectory aimed perfectly at the two fighters.
William was mid-attack when the egg approached. His next strike would carry him directly into its path—he'd inhale it.
But Lucius's right hand shot out.
Fingers closed around the egg mid-flight. Caught it. Crushed it immediately between his fingers.
Shell cracked, releasing foul-smelling liquid dripping between his fingers.
William noticed the intercept, adjusted angle, came from different direction.
But Lucius was watching Plague now.
A smile spread across the old man's wrinkled face. Dry lips pulling back to reveal yellowed teeth.
Then sand exploded everywhere.
Not one location—dozens. All around Lucius and William simultaneously.
Centipedes burst from below. Huge ones. Thirty feet long, bodies thick as a man's torso, covered in chitinous armor. Multiple segments, hundreds of legs moving in coordinated waves.
One erupted directly between Lucius and William, forcing them to leap apart.
Then it kept rising.
And rising.
Its head appeared—mandibles like car doors, multiple eyes reflecting arena lights with alien gleam. The centipede's body continued emerging, coiling upward like a grotesque tower.
Plague shuffled forward and hopped onto one of the segments. The centipede adjusted immediately, stabilizing to give him a platform. He stood there, hands crossed behind his back, twenty feet above arena floor, perfectly balanced.
"Oh no," Haurang said quietly. "He's setting up."
"Setting up for WHAT?!" Jamal demanded.
Another centipede erupted. Then another. Then three more. Giant arthropods bursting throughout the arena, bodies rising and coiling, creating a maze of segmented flesh and chitinous armor.
Plague's centipede began moving—not aggressively, just circling. Slowly. Around and around the arena floor where Lucius and William stood, trying to orient in suddenly changed terrain.
The circling continued. The centipede's body wrapped around itself, forming concentric rings. Each loop brought it closer to the center.
Creating a dome.
Segments overlapped, gaps narrowing. The ceiling of centipede flesh lowered gradually as more body wrapped inward.
Lucius and William realized simultaneously. They looked up at narrowing space, then at each other.
The dome was almost complete.
They were being trapped inside.
Final segments interlocked with sickening organic sound. Gaps remained—small openings where segments didn't quite meet—but the dome was sealed enough to prevent easy escape.
Outside, Plague remained atop his creation's head. He reached into his robe, hand emerging with something else. Throat convulsed, mouth opening wider than should be anatomically possible.
He vomited.
Not liquid—larvae. Dozens poured from his mouth in grotesque stream, each finger-sized. They fell into gaps between centipede segments, wriggling through openings, dropping into enclosed space below.
Inside the dome, Lucius and William stood back-to-back, both looking up at larvae beginning to hatch.
The crowd couldn't see inside anymore. Just the massive dome of centipede flesh, motionless except for slight breathing movements.
But they could hear it.
Buzzing started immediately. High-pitched. Multiple insects moving at once.
Then William's shout—pain, surprise.
"We've lost visual!" Jamal called. "Plague's sealed them inside! Whatever's happening in there, we can only guess!"
Inside the dome, one larvae had hatched near William's leg.
The creature that emerged was nightmare fuel—grasshopper body, segmented and muscular, but with mosquito head. Long proboscis extending from its face, designed for burrowing. Entire body covered in slimy coating making it hard to grip.
It bounced—grasshopper legs providing incredible spring—and latched onto William's calf.
Proboscis stabbed into flesh.
"Shit!" William bent down, grabbing the creature and ripping it away. Proboscis tore free with wet sound, blood following.
But more were hatching.
The mosquito-hopper hybrids burst from larvae shells throughout the dome, bouncing off centipede walls in erratic patterns, hard to track, harder to avoid.
They swarmed William specifically—he was faster, more threat to Plague's setup. A dozen bounced simultaneously from all angles.
He swatted three away, dodged two more, but the rest got through. They latched onto arms, back, other leg. Proboscises stabbing in, trying to burrow deeper.
William tore them off, but more kept coming. His speed meant nothing in confined space with attacks from every direction.
Lucius was having easier time.
His technique focused on precise movements—crushing creatures before they could latch, redirecting bounce trajectories into centipede walls where they splattered, maintaining defensive positioning minimizing exposed surface area.
But he saw William getting overwhelmed. Saw the blood. Saw more hybrids hatching every second.
"Truce!" Lucius called out.
William ripped another hybrid off his shoulder, breathing hard. "What?!"
"Temporary truce! Back to back—we clear the swarm together, then go back to fighting!"
William hesitated half a second, then nodded. "Fine!"
They moved to dome's center, backs pressed together, creating defensive circle. Lucius faced one direction, William the other.
The mosquito-hoppers kept coming—bouncing off walls, launching from every angle.
But now they had coverage.
Lucius crushed three simultaneously as they approached his zone. William's speed let him snatch two out of air before they could latch. They worked in sync without coordination—each defending their hemisphere, trusting the other to handle theirs.
The swarm began to thin. Bodies of crushed hybrids littered sand. Remaining creatures became more cautious, programmed aggression meeting actual resistance.
"He's not going to let us just kill his bugs," William said, breathing hard. "He'll send more."
"Then we break out," Lucius replied.
"How?"
"You're fast. I'm strong. Pick one."
William glanced at centipede dome surrounding them. Segments were thick, heavily armored. But living tissue, not stone.
"I'll break through," William decided. "You cover me."
He looked up at dome's lowest section—about fifteen feet above. Crouched. Legs compressed like springs.
Then launched.
Speed ability activated fully. The burst of acceleration was visible as blur. He shot upward, rotating mid-air, feet leading. Boots hit centipede flesh with tremendous force.
The impact punched through.
Not completely—exoskeleton was thick—but it cracked. Created a hole. Light streamed through from outside.
William landed, immediately bounced again. Used centipede walls as platforms, building velocity. Each impact cratered flesh, shattered more exoskeleton.
The dome began breaking apart.
Sections collapsed as William destroyed support segments. Sunlight flooded in. The confined space opened rapidly.
William burst through the top, finally free, landing on outside of what remained.
And immediately went after Plague.
The old man stood on his centipede twenty feet away, hands crossed behind back, watching with clinical interest.
William launched himself forward, using other centipedes as platforms. He bounced between them—one segment to another, building speed with each jump, closing distance in seconds.
Plague didn't move. Just watched.
William reached the centipede Plague stood on. Ran up its body like a trail. Three other centipedes tried to intercept mid-way, bodies whipping through air to block his path.
He dodged all of them.
Pure speed, pure technique, pure determination.
He closed the distance to Plague, went airborne for final strike. Legs compressed, then extended. Flying kick with all his momentum—moving past speed of sound, air around his foot compressing visibly.
Plague's hand moved slightly.
One of his armored diving beetles shot out of sand nearby—four feet long, thick black carapace, horn on its head. It positioned itself between William and Plague just as kick was about to connect.
William's boot hit the beetle's armored back.
Force transferred through. The beetle flew backward into Plague—
But Lucius was there.
He'd launched himself high into air while William was making his run, using broken centipede segments as platforms. While everyone watched the speedster, Lucius positioned himself for aerial strike.
He came down with ground-pound—right fist leading, all his strength behind it.
His punch connected with the flying beetle, driving it downward with additional force.
The combined impact—William's kick plus Lucius's punch—sent the beetle crashing into the centipede Plague stood on. Force transferred through creature's body, causing upper section to whip violently.
BOOM.
The centipede's head and upper segments smashed into electromagnetic barrier wall. Impact shook entire arena.
Plague, caught mid-air by sudden movement, was thrown forward. His body tumbled through air like ragdoll, no grace, just an old man losing balance.
He hit barrier wall hard, then fell.
But another centipede was there, catching him on its back before he hit sand. He landed roughly, not on his feet—his back hit creature's segmented body with pained grunt.
William landed on one centipede nearby. Lucius landed on another.
For a moment, all three fighters were positioned on different giant arthropods scattered throughout arena.
Plague slowly got to his feet, one hand going to his abdomen. He lifted his gray robe slightly, revealing mass of insects crawling on his skin underneath—smaller beetles, wasps, other creatures forming living armor around his torso. The kick's force had been absorbed by the swarm, though several dead insects fell from his clothing.
He looked at William first, then at Lucius.
A dry laugh escaped his throat—harsh, wheezing, but genuine.
"Hahahaha... It's been a while since someone landed a hit on me." His voice was thin, reedy, carrying that distinctive quality of extreme age. "Really not holding back against an old man, are we?"
He straightened slowly, bones cracking audibly.
"But you're mistaken if you think that's enough to take me out."
His hands remained crossed behind back, but his expression shifted. Those milky eyes with predatory centers focused with renewed intensity.
The centipedes throughout arena began moving. All of them. Simultaneously.
Their bodies whipped and coiled, creating chaos. William had to leap to another segment as his platform suddenly shifted. Lucius maintained balance, but barely—his centipede was twisting, trying to throw him off.
Plague stood perfectly balanced despite his centipede's violent movements.
"Now," he said quietly, voice barely carrying over sound of massive arthropods in motion, "let's conduct a proper experiment."
But before his insects could execute whatever plan he'd formulated, William turned his attention to a new target.
Lucius.
The temporary truce was over.
William's speed activated, closing distance between centipedes in single bound. He appeared beside Lucius, already mid-kick.
Lucius barely got his guard up. The kick connected anyway, driving through defense with enough force to send him stumbling backward on narrow centipede segment.
"Hwy i tought we had a truce!" Lucius said, reestablishing stance.
"Temporary truce!" William replied, already moving again. "It ended when we broke out!"
He appeared at Lucius's blind spot, going low with sweep. Lucius jumped over it, but William was already adjusting—coming up with spinning backfist that Lucius had to duck.
The centipede they fought on twisted, forcing both to adjust footing mid-exchange. Combat on unstable platform added another complexity layer.
William's speed was even more dangerous here—Lucius couldn't retreat, couldn't create distance, couldn't use full arena space to maneuver. They were on thirty-foot-long segment constantly moving.
A straight punch came in. Lucius redirected it. William vanished and reappeared, another strike from different angle. Lucius flowed into defense, but William grabbed his wrist mid-redirect and pulled him in.
Headbutt.
CRACK.
William's forehead connected with Lucius's nose. Pain exploded. Blood followed immediately.
Lucius staggered back, vision blurring for a moment. William pressed the advantage, coming in with combination that Lucius barely deflected.
But Plague wasn't sitting idle.
His centipedes began attacking both of them now. The segments near where they fought opened slightly, revealing softer tissue underneath.
And from those gaps, smaller centipedes began emerging. Normal-sized ones, foot long, swarming out by dozens.
They crawled toward Lucius and William, covering the segment they fought on like writhing carpet.
William noticed first—his foot came down on three simultaneously. They bit into his boot, mandibles finding flesh through material.
"Shit!"
He had to divert attention from Lucius to kick them off. Lucius used the opening—grabbed William by the shoulders and threw him sideways, flinging him away from the area where centipedes were thickest.
William tumbled, caught himself on another segment, looked back confused. Lucius had just saved him from getting swarmed.
But now Lucius's own position was covered in smaller centipedes.
The fighting became chaotic. Avoid William's speed attacks while crushing centipedes. Maintain balance on moving platforms while defending from multiple angles. Don't fall into sand below where hundreds of smaller insects were now congregating.
The centipedes throughout arena began rising and falling in waves, their bodies arcing through air then crashing down. Some collided with others, creating impact points that sent Lucius and William scrambling for stable footing.
Plague remained on his platform at arena's edge, hands crossed behind back, orchestrating chaos with subtle attention shifts—each insect responding to his will, coordinated through whatever connection his ability provided.
The Jumbotron suddenly activated.
But instead of drop options appearing immediately, a large wheel materialized on screen. Two sections: YES and NO.
The wheel began spinning rapidly, colors blurring together.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Jamal's voice cut through chaos. "The Jumbotron has spoken! Will we get a DROP?"
The wheel slowed gradually. Ticking through sections. YES. NO. YES. NO.
Slower.
Slower.
It stopped on: YES.
"WE'RE GETTING A DROP!" Haurang announced.
The wheel disappeared, replaced by six spinning options:
MYSTERY OPTION
CAKE
MINIGUN
MOLOTOV COCKTAIL
FLAMETHROWER
KNIFE SET
"Executives!" Jamal called. "Your tablets should be receiving notification NOW! Sixty seconds to vote!"
Throughout the arena, executive tablets activated with notification chimes. The voting interface appeared, showing the six options.
The countdown timer appeared on the Jumbotron: :60... :59... :58...
Lucius and William maintained defensive positions, watching each other and Plague simultaneously. The centipedes slowed their movements slightly but remained coiled and ready.
:03... :02... :01...
"VOTING CLOSED!"
The percentages disappeared. The winning option flashed:
MYSTERY OPTION: 42%
"And the winner is... MYSTERY OPTION!" Haurang announced. "Let's see what we get!"
The compartment in arena ceiling opened, but no parachute descended.
Instead, something mechanical emerged from floor itself.
At arena's center, between all coiled centipedes, sand began shifting. Something rose from beneath—large circular metal structure, about twenty feet in diameter. Surface covered in evenly spaced holes, each one six inches across, arranged in concentric circles.
Lucius, William, and Plague all looked at it simultaneously.
"What the hell is that?" William said from his centipede perch.
The structure locked into position with mechanical clunk.
For one second, nothing happened.
Then it activated.
Water exploded from every hole simultaneously.
Not gentle flow—violent, pressurized jets shooting upward with tremendous force. Combined pressure from hundreds of openings created geyser of water erupting thirty feet into air before cascading down.
The effect was immediate and dramatic.
Water hit arena floor and began spreading rapidly. Volume was tremendous—gallons per second from each hole. Within five seconds, sand was saturated. Within ten seconds, standing water covered entire arena floor.
The centipedes caught in initial blast were thrown aside by force. Their bodies thrashed as water level rose rapidly around them.
William reacted immediately—leaping from his centipede to another higher up, using speed to stay above rising water.
Plague remained on his centipede near barrier wall, creature climbing higher as water filled pit below.
But Lucius...
Lucius stood on his centipede segment as water rushed past below, rising fast. Too fast.
His centipede tried to climb upward, but water caught its lower segments. Creature thrashed, losing stability. Its body whipped violently.
Lucius lost his footing.
He fell.
Hit water with splash.
And immediately began struggling to stay afloat.
His arms flailed—movements uncoordinated, ineffective, desperate. He managed to keep his head above water for a few seconds, gasping, but his body wasn't buoyant. He was sinking despite the thrashing.
The water continued rising. Eight feet. Fifteen feet. Twenty feet.
Lucius went under.
Came back up, coughing, arms still flailing in that distinctive pattern of someone who doesn't know how to swim.
The crowd noticed.
"Wait..." Someone in fighter section said. "Can he not swim?"
More people realized what they were seeing. The analytical fighter, the tribunal strategist, the mysterious King—was drowning.
In the commentary booth, Jamal leaned forward. "Is that... is he actually drowning?!"
"It appears King cannot swim," Haurang said, analytical voice carrying genuine surprise. "That's... unexpected."
The water level reached 22 feet. 30 feet.
The entire arena pit was now flooded, electromagnetic barriers containing water like massive pool. Centipede corpses floated on surface, bodies already dead from violent water pressure. Others had climbed up barrier walls, hanging there like grotesque decorations.
Plague remained on his centipede near top of barrier, perfectly dry.
William treaded water near center, using athletic conditioning to stay afloat easily.
And Lucius...
Lucius sank beneath surface one more time, his flailing arms disappearing below water line.
Bubbles rose where he'd gone under.
The crowd held its breath.
Five seconds passed.
Ten seconds.
Fifteen.
No sign of him.
"Did he just drown?" someone in executive section asked, voice carrying disbelief. "Did King just lose to WATER?"
Charlotte adjusted recording angles. "Young miss, he's been under for twenty seconds now."
Hannah's fingers had stopped their nervous tapping entirely, hands gripping armrest. Her expression was intent, focused, betraying more concern than professional interest should warrant.
The water's surface was calm now, just gentle ripples from William's treading movements and residual disturbance from flooding.
No bubbles from Lucius's position.
No movement.
His lung capacity was high—years of training and conditioning had pushed it well beyond normal human limits. A few minutes underwater wasn't impossible for him. Four, maybe, if he stayed calm.
But he'd been thrashing. Panicking. Using oxygen faster than necessary.
The irony wasn't lost on him, even as his survival instincts screamed.
He'd never bothered learning to swim. Why would he? He could walk on water like it was solid ground. Could propel himself through it like a torpedo. Could freeze it solid beneath his feet, Hell this match woild have been over the moment the water gushed out.
Water had never been a threat. It was his element. His domain.
Until now.
Until he had to maintain the crystallization lie. Had to pretend hydrokinesis didn't exist.
And if Sho ever found out about this—if he discovered that Lucius, who could control water , had nearly drowned because he'd never learned to actually swim—he'd never hear the end of it.
The thought would've been funny if he wasn't currently sinking.
More time went by
Nothing.
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TO BE CONTINUED