NOVEL NEXT Chapter 45: At The Arena
11 Years Ago
The sun shone brightly over the playground. The seesaws were still, their metal frames covered in rust, gears stiff and squeaking from years of neglect. What once might have been a joyful place for children now looked like a forgotten ruin, swallowed by silence and time.
Except for one faint sound, the creaking of an old swing swaying slowly near the back gate. A little girl sat on it, her frail body moving only because of the wind that pushed her forward and back. Her face carried no smile, only a hollow look of hunger and despair. Anyone could tell she hadn't eaten in days. Her clothes were filthy, torn in several places, and smelled of the streets. No child should have been in such a state.
"Get down from there, you little bitch!" a voice shouted.
The girl barely had time to react before she was shoved off the swing, crashing face first onto the ground. Her thin body trembled as dust clung to her bruised cheek.
"My father built this place, so nobody comes in without my permission!" the same chubby voice shouted again, full of arrogance and pride.
Unlike most children who would cry in fear, this girl stayed quiet. She raised her heavy eyes to look at the boy. He was taller than her, with grease stains around his mouth and on the collar of his white shirt, signs of the meat he had just devoured. His clean, expensive clothes told the rest of the story. He was from a wealthy home.
"You heard him, you little dirt!" another boy added, stepping forward. He looked different from the first, both in appearance and in dress. He seemed like an ordinary child, nothing special about him except the way he followed others.
The girl did not move. She did not flinch or plead. It was not courage that kept her still but exhaustion. Fear demanded energy, and she had none left to give.
"Why are you looking at me like that!" the chubby boy growled, his voice dripping with disgust.
"Maybe she doesn't think you're scary," the second boy mocked.
The first boy's face twisted with anger. He stepped forward and kicked her in the stomach.
Phu
Her eyes twitched violently, pain erupting through her body like a volcano about to burst.
"That looks fun!"
Phu
The second boy joined in, his kick landing right after.
The girl's mouth opened, but no sound came out. The scream was trapped inside, strangled by pain and weakness.
They grinned at each other, realizing they had found something better than a toy, a silent punching bag. To them, she was nothing but practice, a living doll they could hit until someone caught them.
"Stop it!" a voice cried.
The bullies turned and saw a small figure standing at the edge of the playground. It was a boy, Jamie. His uniform was neat, his hair tidy, and his eyes burned with defiance. His tiny fists were clenched as he stepped forward, determined to save her.
The bullies exchanged glances.
"Who's he?" the chubby one sneered.
"It's that doctor's son from Eighth Street. He likes poking his nose in other people's business," the second muttered.
The chubby boy spat, coughing up the phlegm he had been holding in his mouth.
"I'll teach him not to mess with us," he said.
They moved toward Jamie, cracking their knuckles, shadows stretching long under the afternoon sun. It was two against one, a fight where every odd was against him.
The wind carried the sound of their footsteps, the creak of the rusty seesaw echoing faintly behind them.
---
11 Years Later
Now in Midgard.
The trio roamed the bustling streets of Midworld.
This morning, the city felt more alive than usual. The roads buzzed with motion, taxis weaving between lanes carrying passengers toward the same towering structure that loomed in the distance. It was a magnificent building, hidden behind skyscrapers, yet its golden glow made it stand out among them all.
"Yawn."
Jamie and Bray stretched, eyes heavy with sleep.
"I told you to get some rest," Greg scolded, rubbing his temple in annoyance.
"Not when our friend needs us," Jamie replied, stifling another yawn with the back of his hand.
"Your coffee isn't working," Bray complained, his voice dragging with fatigue.
"It takes time," Greg muttered.
Television screens flickered from every shop window, the sound of commentators filling the streets. Debates about the mysterious new participants of the third game echoed everywhere. It seemed the whole city was talking about it.
"I heard the clans are going all out this time," someone said behind them.
"Which one are you betting on?" another voice followed, filled with excitement.
"I stopped betting on the third game. It's impossible to predict who's stronger," a man replied, his tone that of a seasoned gambler.
"A good risker knows when to stop," his friend added wisely.
They passed through the chatter and noise until, after a few minutes of walking, the trio reached their destination.
The massive stadium-like structure towered above them, its design resembling the grand football arenas that once existed in the world of the living. Vendors crowded the entrance, selling snacks, drinks, and small souvenirs. The smell of roasted meat and sweet bread filled the air. It was a perfect day for both business and spectacle.
Greg stood before a metal kiosk, tapping the screen to purchase their tickets. Bray and Jamie lingered nearby, admiring the energy around them. Now that the coffee had started working, both looked more alive than before.
Crowds hurried past them into the narrow entrance, waving their glowing passes to skip the lines.
"Look at that," Bray said, pointing toward the parking lot.
A sleek black car gleamed under the morning sun. At its front shone a golden lion symbol, polished to perfection. Even from afar, anyone could recognize whose car it was.
Jamie's breath slowed. He had stayed up all night training, pushing his limits to prepare for this day. He clenched his fists, thoughts flashing through his mind. This world took the girls from me. I will not let it take you too.
Beep
Beep
Their system screens lit up with a notification.
[One ticket in the inventory, enjoy]
"Let's go," Greg called, gesturing for them to follow.
"I hope we get a good seat," Bray muttered as they stepped forward.
Jamie trailed behind, his steps slow, his mind drifting back to the past.
We are coming, Alexander. We are coming.
They walked through the narrow passage. At the end of it, light spilled out, and the thunder of cheers and excitement welcomed them into the heart of the arena