SSS-Rank Corporate Predator System

The roar of the crowd was so loud that it washed over the entire arena.

Miles stood with Clara and Leo on the elevated platform, the blinding white lights of the stadium making him feel like a specimen under a microscope.

The final match.

This was it.

"Okay, so just to recap," Leo said, his voice a tight, nervous buzz in their private comms channel.

"Our opponents have formed an alliance, making it six against three."

"The entire arena is a cage designed specifically to capture our fearless leader."

"And the grand prize is a magical glowing rock that is very likely to explode if Miles so much as looks at it funny."

He took a shaky breath.

"Did I miss anything?"

"This feels like a comprehensive and deeply terrifying summary of our current situation."

"Just another Tuesday, Leo," Clara's voice replied, a calm, steady anchor in his ear.

"Stick to the plan."

Across the arena, their opponents stood on their own platforms.

The Arrogant Prodigy's team was a trio of smug-looking corporate-sponsored fighters in matching, flashy uniforms.

The Wildcard's team, led by the mysterious Masked Fighter, was a silent, enigmatic presence.

Julian Cross had orchestrated their alliance, a final, desperate move to ensure Team Revenant's destruction.

The booming voice of the announcer echoed through the stadium.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the final, spectacular match of the Northwood Unity Tournament!"

"The rules are simple!"

A new structure rose from the center of the arena floor with a loud, mechanical hum.

It was a large, crystalline pedestal.

Floating just above it, encased in a shimmering, blue energy field, was the prize.

The Ancient Soul Crystal.

It was a fist-sized, uncut gem that seemed to pulse with a soft, internal light, a captured star in a cage of force.

"The Soul Crystal's containment unit is locked by a complex, multi-layered energy matrix!" the announcer screamed.

"The first team to successfully bypass the security and claim the crystal wins!"

Miles stared at the containment unit, his system already analyzing its energy signature.

It wasn't just a lock.

It was a trap.

"It's a feedback loop," he whispered into his comms.

"It's designed to react to a system user's energy."

"The more power you push into it, the stronger the defenses get."

"It's not a test of strength," Clara's voice replied, a note of dawning understanding in her tone. "It's a test of control."

A cruel, perfect trap designed for a boy with an unstable, all-powerful system.

The starting siren blared.

The six fighters on the other side didn't hesitate.

They charged, a wave of coordinated, overwhelming force.

"Leo, now!" Clara commanded.

Leo, who had been crouched over a small, portable computer terminal he had insisted on bringing, slammed his hand down on the enter key.

"Showtime," he said with a manic grin.

Across the arena, the lights flickered.

The giant screens that were showing Silas Cross's smiling face suddenly glitched, dissolving into a storm of static.

Then, a new image appeared.

It was a shipping manifest.

The one Miles had stolen from the logistics hub.

A long, detailed list of illegal, military-grade weaponry, with the Cross Corp logo clearly visible at the top.

The crowd went silent.

High in his VIP box, Silas Cross, who had been savoring his moment of triumph, shot to his feet, his face a mask of pure, incandescent fury.

"What is the meaning of this?" he roared into his intercom.

"Shut it down! Shut it down now!"

But it was too late.

The damage was done.

The first crack in his perfect, public facade had appeared, for the entire city to see.

The six opposing fighters faltered, their charge broken by the sudden, shocking revelation.

It was the opening Team Revenant needed.

"Go!" Clara yelled.

Miles didn't need to be told twice.

He moved, a blur of motion, using [Phantom Drift] to shoot across the arena floor, weaving through the confused, chaotic battlefield.

He was heading for the crystal.

The Masked Fighter, the only one who seemed unfazed by the sudden data dump, moved to intercept him.

Their blade of pure, white light materialized in their hand.

Miles summoned his own [Phantom Edge].

Darkness and light clashed in the center of the arena, a silent, swirling storm of impossible energy.

They were perfectly matched.

Every move he made, the fighter countered.

Every skill he used, they mirrored.

It was like fighting his own reflection.

"Who are you?" Miles grunted, their blades locked, his face just inches from the fighter's blank, white mask.

The fighter didn't answer.

They just disengaged and created distance, a silent, enigmatic challenge.

While Miles was locked in his personal duel, the rest of the arena had devolved into chaos.

Clara and Leo were holding their own against the other five fighters, using a brilliant combination of Clara's strategic genius and Leo's high-tech, slightly-unethical gadgets.

They weren't winning.

They were surviving.

They were buying him time.

Miles knew he couldn't win this fight.

Not with brute force.

He had to play the game.

He broke away from the Masked Fighter and sprinted toward the pedestal.

He reached the containment unit, the Soul Crystal pulsing with a soft, hypnotic light.

He placed his hand on the shimmering blue energy field.

He felt a jolt, a wave of pure, raw power that made his teeth ache.

The system in his head screamed.

[WARNING: HIGH-ENERGY FOREIGN SYSTEM DETECTED.]

[CONTAINMENT UNIT IS REACTING TO ECHO PROTOCOL.]

[INTEGRITY FAILURE IMMINENT.]

The alarms started blaring, a high-pitched, frantic wail that echoed through the stunned stadium.

Red lights flashed across the arena.

The blue energy field around the crystal began to flicker, to spark, arcs of unstable energy lashing out like whips.

High in his box, Silas Cross smiled.

The final trap was sprung.

"Now," he commanded into his comms. "All units, converge."

"Capture the asset."

"Alive."

From every dark corner of the arena, from hidden doorways and concealed positions, dozens of figures in the dark, heavy combat gear of Cross Corp's elite masters began to emerge.

They were armed with high-tech energy rifles, the kind designed to subdue, not kill.

The crowd began to scream, a wave of panic washing over the stadium as they realized this was no longer a game.

The net was closing.

Miles was surrounded.

He was exposed.

He was trapped between an army of professional hunters and a bomb that was about to go off in his hand.

He looked at the destabilizing containment unit, at the raw, untamed power of the Soul Crystal that was about to be unleashed.

He had a choice.

He could let go.

He could try to run.

Or he could embrace the storm.

He took a deep breath.

He looked up, his gaze sweeping past the masked fighter, past the chaos, past the army of hunters.

His eyes locked onto the VIP box, onto the small, dark figure of Silas Cross watching from his throne.

A slow, cold, and deeply dangerous smile spread across his face.

He had walked into this trap for one reason.

To get the key to his own power.

And he was not leaving without it.

He focused all of his will, all of his control, all of the rage and grief and power that lived inside him.

And he pushed it all into the heart of the exploding star.

He didn't try to contain it.

He didn't try to control it.

He did something far, far more dangerous.

He absorbed it.