We remained in the Wait Zone, confined to the tiers reserved for those who would fight later. From here, the view stretched across the entire colosseum, and the magnitude of the spectacle became clearer.

  That was when I felt it. The weight of eyes.

  I tilted my head back, squinting against the brightness of the banners above.

  Far above the tiers of screaming fans, past the last row of stone seats, loomed several balconies carved into the very spine of the colosseum. It was no ordinary box for lords or nobles. It was elevated like an altar, shrouded in shadow, yet lit by its own eerie radiance.

  There, watching in silence, sat the Sovereigns.

  My stomach twisted. I recognized the horned silhouette reclined in poise: Crueltal, the Shuten Doji. She didn't shout, didn't clap, didn't need to. Her very presence was a proclamation.

  The crowd below roared and thrashed, but she and her ilk simply… watched.

  And beside her, framed in finery that looked like it belonged in some Victorian painting, was Szylla. Prim as ever, Gothic-style dress flowing, her face calm but calculating, as though this were less a spectacle and more a test. I almost doubted my own sight until her monocle caught a glint of the arena firelight.

  But they weren't alone. More Sovereigns and equivalent-rank monsters flanked the balcony, their outlines distinct in alien ways: There was a colossal with wings folded like fortress walls. Another deity with glimmering hair that shone like strands of starlight.

  One, even from this distance, radiated enough pressure that my throat tightened just meeting their gaze. I struggled to make them out, but this one was crimson, metallic, and…

  "Eyes front, KiAera," Roarka's voice cut in. She had appeared at my shoulder, arms crossed as she observed my stare. The Oni Sergeant bowed her head in a gesture of respect. "Don't gawk too long. They can feel it."

  I swallowed, forcing my gaze back toward the combat dome. But I couldn't help myself as my ribbons twitched restlessly, betraying the unease I felt.

  "They're all here. Why? This is just an opening match."

  Roarka gave a small, humorless chuckle. "Not 'just.' Sovereigns don't waste time on trivialities. They're talent-scouting. Every year, the tournament births killers, leaders, champions. Some rise. Some fall. The Sovereigns watch for those worth investing in."

  Her words hit harder than I expected. My crew felt it too.

  "They're… recruiting?"

  Roarka's tusked grin was faint but sharp. "Or hunting. Depends on the Sovereign. Depends on the fighter."

  I didn't like the way she said it. My chest tightened, part excitement, part dread. The idea of being noticed by them, of being judged not just by the crowd, but by monsters like Crueltal and Szylla sent sparks crawling up my spine.

  Good, because recognition meant power.

  Bad, because attention from Sovereigns was a game where pawns didn't survive long.

  I clenched my fists, steadying my breath. "Let them watch, then. If they're searching for entertainment, I'll give them more than that."

  "Just be careful. Some Sovereigns don't stop at watching."

  I said not another word. The crowd erupted as Mina and Loa squared off inside the dome. The drums thundered, banners whipped, and I forced myself to focus forward.

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  But I could still feel the Sovereigns above us. Their presence pressed down, invisible but suffocating. And though my heart hammered with anticipation for Mina and Loa's fight…

  …I couldn't shake the unease. Because I understood: this wasn't just a tournament. This was an audition for supreme monsters.

  The drums silenced all at once, leaving only the hiss of magic in the dome.

  Then she appeared.

  She wasn't one of the Oni guards or Sovereigns. She was something entirely different.

  A fairy.

  When she struck a pose midair—hands framing her face, wink thrown straight at the crowd—the colosseum lost its mind.

  "Ladies, lords, monsters, and mayhem alike! Welcome to the grand opening of Gladia's 255th tournament!" her voice boomed unnaturally loud, amplified by sorcery. She rolled her words like a performer who knew how to squeeze a reaction from every syllable. She spun, trails of magical fireworks bursting behind her. "I am your host, the incomparable Bellatrixa the Blazing Bloom!"

  Beside me, Nex groaned. "You've got to be kidding me."

  Skadi, though, was eating it up, hands clasped like she was watching some divine pageant. "She's gorgeous…"

  The crowd's response though was volcanic. Fans stomped, clapped, screamed her name like she was a rock star.

  And that was exactly what she was.

  I blinked hard, momentarily jarred. She reminded me of something so out of place it made me dizzy. An idol from my old world, Earth. Neon hair, impossible charisma, every gesture exaggerated for a sea of fans. Bellatrixa was that, but dialed to monster proportions. Magical stage lights and all. I half-expected her to break into a dance routine, microphone in hand.

  Instead, she twirled in midair, scattering trails of rainbow dust that shimmered before evaporating. "Your hearts will pound! Your blood will rush! You will WITNESS greatness! Let me hear it for our daring duelists!"

  The illusions of Mina, Loa, Biscuit, and Whirlkool flared to life again, each one striking a battle pose as the fairy monster's hands framed them like pop idols on display.

  "From the mighty Chimera Crew: Mina the Oni-Minotaur and Loa the deadly Tengu!

  Versus! From the savage claws of Jalkra's Clan: Biscuit the Nekomata and Whirlkool the Kappa!"

  The noise doubled, then tripled, as factions screamed in unison. Even the beasts circling overhead seemed to shriek in rhythm with the crowd.

  But then the fairy froze mid-spin, and all that dazzling bravado folded into reverent stillness. The spotlight of magic shifted, tilting upward to the balcony above.

  Crueltal rose from her seat.

  Even without her raising her voice, the stadium dimmed as though her words demanded silence.

  "Blood bleeds essence," she said simply. "Essence is the ink of history. Screams are the song of immortality. Do you know why we gather here, my Core-born children?"

  The crowd answered with a singular roar, fists slamming against armor, claws against stone.

  She smiled, sharp and indulgent. "Because there is no higher truth than struggle. No brighter flame than conflict. Every fighter here is not just a warrior… but an offering. Offer me your fury, your madness, your death-throes, and I will make sure your name never fades."

  Her lips curled into a grin, sharp and cruel. "But do not mistake this for sport. This is not play. This is survival. And survival… is always a spectacle."

  Her arm rose, casual yet imperial. "Begin the cycle. Begin the feast!"

  The crowd thundered again, louder than before, feeding on her words like fuel to a blaze.

  The fairy announcer clapped like a conductor, and the Combat Zone itself trembled.

  The dome's magic flared to life, magnifying Biscuit's twin tails as they lashed the air, glowing like whips of fire. Whirlkool cracked her knuckles, water bubbling under her feet before she even stepped. The Jalkra section of the stands erupted in chants, their banners painting the air with their clan's mark. I saw the man himself staring directly at me from the fore. It was a gaze of war.

  And then the arena floor changed.

  The golden sand of the Combat Zone rippled, darkened, and split apart. Water burst from beneath in violent jets, filling channels that carved themselves into rivers and pools. Jagged rocks erupted upward in clusters, slick with moss. In moments, the battlefield was no longer a clean stretch of sand—it was a flooded marshland, broken by islets and boulders, half water and half land.

  Biscuit and Whirlkool both smirked.

  Loa's wings twitched uneasily. Mina cursed under her breath.

  My stomach dropped. Of all possible fields, it had shifted to this?

  The fairy announcer spun again, glittering as though the transformation were just another dazzling effect for the audience. "Oh-ho-ho! Looks like the battlefield is in favor of Jalkra's heirs tonight! Will the Chimera challengers soar above disadvantage, or will the tides drag them under?"

  My gaze began to trail upward to the balconies. That wasn't chance. The dome could conjure any terrain—mountain, desert, plain. And yet this one had been chosen. Swamps and rivers. Kappa and Nekomata territory. Perfectly tailored.

  This had been rigged. I clenched my teeth as the realization burned through me. This wasn't a fair fight. Someone wanted Mina and Loa crushed.

  I had a sick hunch exactly who. There he stood, unwavering, like some dark court jester perched at Crueltal's side: the Grimgore Warlock.