Resonance Unbound

Annakin stood tall in the center of the ring, blood dripping from his knuckles and streaking his bruised body. Yet, there was no pride in his stance, no celebration in his eyes. His victory felt hollow, as though it hadn't truly been a triumph.

Carlos lay crumpled on the floor, defeated and motionless. The arena erupted into wild cheers, the crowd's deafening roars shaking the very walls with their intensity.

"Annakin! Annakin! Annakin!" the chant echoed, a relentless wave of adoration from the spectators.

"Damn it!" a man cursed loudly from somewhere in the crowd. "I bet all my money on that lousy rascal just for him to lose!"

"Serves you right!" another retorted. "It was obvious Annakin would win! Look at him—he's built like a damn tank!"

The chaotic celebration engulfed the arena, but Ezra's attention was pulled elsewhere. A faint disturbance from the ring caught his ear, barely audible over the crowd's cheers. His eyes darted back to Carlos just in time to catch the sudden movement.

It happened in slow motion.

Carlos, somehow back on his feet, was sprinting toward Annakin, a glinting dagger clutched in his hand. His face was twisted in rage and desperation, every ounce of his fury aimed at his victorious opponent. The crowd, too lost in their revelry, didn't notice the treachery unfolding in front of them.

Annakin stood with his back turned, unaware of the danger barreling toward him. The dagger gleamed in the harsh light, poised to strike at his unprotected side.

Ezra's breath hitched. He could only watch as Carlos closed the gap in an instant, the blade about to pierce its target.

A gunshot rang out, sharp and sudden, cutting through the arena like a blade.

The entire crowd flinched as the sound echoed, the cheers fading into shocked silence. Ezra's gaze snapped back to the ring, where blood pooled on the floor. Carlos froze mid-step, his body trembling before collapsing in a heap. A bullet hole marked the center of his forehead, blood trailing down as his lifeless form slumped to the ground.

Ezra's eyes darted to the source of the gunshot. Standing near the edge of the ring, the commentator lowered a sleek revolver, the barrel still faintly smoking.

"No harming the prize," the man said, his voice calm, almost disinterested, as if this were routine.

No one commented, as though this were a regular occurrence.

Annakin didn't flinch. He didn't even glance at Carlos's lifeless body. Instead, he adjusted his mask, his demeanor cold and unreadable, as though the incident hadn't fazed him at all.

The commentator holstered the gun and grabbed the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, now that the excitement is out of the way… let the auction begin!" His voice boomed with theatrical flair. "Place your bids, starting at one million Crux!"

Ezra blinked, stunned. One million Crux? That can't be serious. Money doesn't just grow on trees. Who's even going to place a bid?

One Crux equaled 100 Shards. That was the monetary system people used nowadays. Shards were mined deep underground, and their scarcity made them incredibly valuable. One Core Crux was equivalent to 1,000 Crux. With Atleast 3 million Core Crux, someone could live a lifetimes in luxury.

"1.2 million!" a voice called out.

"1.5 million!"

"2 million!"

The bids came fast and fierce, voices shouting over one another as the crowd's energy reignited, now fueled by greed and ambition.

"1 million Core Crux!"

Ezra's stomach turned. These people are loaded.

A hush fell over the arena. Even the most eager bidders fell silent, the weight of the bid smothering their ambitions. Ezra's gaze shifted back to Annakin. For the first time, his stoic demeanor faltered. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching through the faces with a calculated intensity, as though he were looking for someone.

The commentator leaned into the microphone. "It seems we have a winner—one million Core Crux it is—"

"1.5 million Core Crux."

The voice was low, collected, and calm, cutting through the silence like a knife.

The commentator froze, his eyes widening as murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Oooh, 1.5 million! Ladies and gentlemen, this is getting very interesting!"

Ezra's attention snapped to the direction of the voice, his heart pounding. The room seemed to hold its breath, every eye now focused on the unfolding spectacle.

Even Annakin's mask couldn't fully hide the subtle shift in his expression. The cold, detached aura he had carried moments ago was gone, replaced by something sharper, more focused. His eyes swept across the crowd, searching desperately for someone

.

"1.5 million Core Crux… going once… going twice…" The commentator paused dramatically, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Before he could finish, more voices rose up. Ezra spotted the three gaudy women who had ogled Annakin earlier. Their fans fluttered as they shouted over each other.

"3 million Core Crux!" one of them called, her voice shrill and desperate.

Annakin's shoulders slumped slightly as he lowered his gaze to the floor, a fleeting moment of defeat flashing across his otherwise stoic demeanor.

Why does he look sad, defeated? Ezra wondered.

The crowd erupted into murmurs, and more bidders seemed emboldened, shouting increasingly absurd amounts.

But then, the same calm voice from earlier spoke again, silencing the chaos.

"6 million Core Crux."

A stunned silence blanketed the arena.

The commentator let out a low whistle, his voice filled with disbelief and excitement.

"Six million Core Crux! What a day this is turning out to be! Who is this mysterious bidder?"

Ezra's gaze shifted to Annakin, whose tense posture betrayed his calm exterior. His once-detached demeanor had completely faded, replaced by sharp, almost frantic searching.

He was looking for someone—someone important.

The commentator raised his hand dramatically. "Six million Core Crux… going once… going twice…"

"Sold!" The word echoed through the arena, final and unyielding. The crowd exploded with chatter and speculation, their whispers and murmurs rising like a tide.

The arena was electric, the air thick with tension and disbelief after the final bid had been called. Annakin stood motionless in the ring, blood streaking his body and his bruised knuckles trembling slightly at his sides. Despite the roaring cheers and scattered applause, his eyes—sharp and hidden behind the wolf mask—were scanning the crowd with almost frantic precision.

Ezra, still pressed against the railing near the edge of the pit, felt his stomach churn as he processed what had just happened. Six million Core Crux. That amount wasn't just wealth—it was power. Influence. Whoever had placed that bid wasn't just buying a fighter; they were buying a force of nature.

"Six million Core Crux…" Ezra muttered under his breath, his voice drowned out by the sea of excited murmurs and chatter spreading through the crowd.

The commentator, still holding the microphone, wore a grin so wide it threatened to split his face. He adjusted his flamboyant, mismatched suit with theatrical flair before speaking again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, history has been made tonight! Six million Core Crux—our largest bid in decades!" His voice carried a sharp edge of greed beneath its charm. "The Wolf is now the prized possession of our mysterious bidder!"

The commentator gestured toward a pair of heavily armed guards flanking the edge of the ring. "Escort our champion to the holding chambers. Ensure he is treated… adequately for transport."

As the guards moved forward, Ezra noticed Annakin's gaze fix on a spot behind him. His tense shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and for the first time, a faint smile ghosted across his lips.

Ezra turned instinctively but saw nothing. Who is this bidder? he wondered, the question burning in his mind.