The arena was a sunken pit of sand and stone, encircled by iron bars that hummed faintly with energy. Jagged rocks jutted from the ground, casting long shadows under the flickering artificial lights. From the bleachers above, the children watched in tense silence, the weight of expectation pressing down on them like a physical force. The air carried a metallic tang, the faint scent of blood lingering as if it had seeped into the arena itself.
Typhon steps forward, a devil-may-care grin plastered across his face, his voice full of carless whimsy as he addresses the children.
“Ah, the thrill of battle! Nothing like a bit of... spirited competition to get the blood pumping, hmm? Now, here’s the deal, my darling little warriors: two of you per group in each round. One group faces another until only one stands victorious—simple, isn’t it? Oh, and don’t worry, we’ll patch you up if you break anything. Mostly.”
He gives an exaggerated wink, his tone cheerful but laced with something that makes the children shiver.
“Now, win and earn points for glory—or lose, and, well… better luck next time, if there is a next time. Let’s see who among you is worth keeping, shall we?”
Mare steps forward next to him, stance rigid, her eyes scanning the children with sharp precision, her voice cold and direct.
“This is no game. Each of you will step into the arena, and your performance will determine your worth. Each group must send two fighters per round—different people each time. Victory earns you points. Failure earns you nothing. And remember, weakness will not be tolerated.”
Her gaze lingers on each child for a beat too long, a silent warning in her steely glare.
“Fight with everything you have. You’ll need it.”
Atlas clenched his fists, his knuckles white. “We can do this, right? It’s just… them against us.” He glanced at Hannah, who was staring at the arena with a set jaw, her face unreadable. “It’s not ‘just’ them,” Ellie whispered, clutching her collar. “They’re stronger… faster. You saw them train. What if—”
“Stop,” Hannah cut in sharply, her voice low but firm. “We’ve survived worse. We just have to outsmart them. Stick to the plan.”
Dax and his group stood a few feet away, smirking. “Ready to lose, little mouse?” he taunted, locking eyes with Ellie. “Or are you just here to run around and squeak?” Ellie bristled, but Hannah put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Save it for the fight,” she murmured.
Zephyr adjusted his collar, rolling his shoulders like a seasoned fighter. “I’ll take the first round,” he said. “Let’s show them we’re not pushovers.” Nia hesitated. “Are you sure? Maybe someone less—” “Confident?” Zephyr interrupted with a grin. “Nah. This is my kind of game.”
Zephyr stepped into the arena, gripping his staff tightly in both hands. Across from him, Dax sauntered in, his twin batons spinning idly. The smirk on his face was a challenge all on its own.
“You ready for this, big guy?” Dax called, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “Or are you just here to look tough and swing that stick around?”
Zephyr didn’t respond, his jaw clenching as he settled into a fighting stance.
The crowd hushed as Mare stepped forward, her sharp gaze cutting through the tension. She raised one hand, a signal for silence, then let it fall.
“Begin.”
Zephyr wasted no time, charging forward. His staff arced downward in a powerful strike. Dax sidestepped with a grin, spinning one of his batons like a drumstick.
“Whoa there, big guy! Save some of that energy. You’re gonna need it.”
Zephyr growled under his breath and swung again, this time aiming for Dax’s side. The boy ducked and retaliated with a quick jab to Zephyr’s ribs.
“Too slow,” Dax taunted. “You know, I heard the others call you the ‘muscle.’” He leaned in just enough to smirk. “Guess that means you don’t have much up here, huh?” He tapped his temple with a baton.
From the sidelines, Typhon lounged against the railing, his ever-present grin stretched wide. He chuckled softly, “He’s got a mouth on him, doesn’t he?” he said to Mare, his tone amused. Mare didn’t respond, her eyes fixed on the fight. Her lips thinned slightly, but she said nothing.
With every dodge and strike the two fighters hit and struck back. With Dax taking every other second to gloat in Zephyr’s face. As much as Dax made himself appear superior, Hannah noted, he was beginning to falter. Legs began to move less fast as the battle wore on, puffs of air became more noticeable as they continued.
Zephyr swung again, his staff whistling through the air. Dax ducked low, his grin widening as he stepped just out of range.
“Nice try,” Dax said, lazily spinning one of his batons. “You’ve got the muscle for sure. Shame you don’t have the brains to go with it. Guess that’s why you’re not the leader, huh?”
Zephyr’s eyes flashed, but he said nothing, forcing himself to focus.
“Or maybe it’s something else.” Dax circled him slowly, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper. “Maybe they just don’t trust you. Too hot-headed. Too reckless. Probably scared you’ll get them killed.”
Zephyr’s grip faltered for a fraction of a second, his staff trembling slightly in his hands.
“Did I hit a nerve?” Dax pressed, stepping closer, his batons tapping together rhythmically. “Guess I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Must be tough, being the one everyone looks at and thinks, ‘better keep an eye on him—he’s a liability.’”
Zephyr’s face darkened, his breathing quickening as his anger bubbled over.
With a furious roar, Zephyr charged, swinging his staff with all his strength. The crowd gasped as Dax sidestepped the wild attack, moving with infuriating ease.
“You’re so predictable,” Dax laughed, landing a sharp baton strike to Zephyr’s shoulder. “All brawn, no brain. Just like I thought.”
Zephyr spun, swinging again, but his rage blinded him to his balance. Dax ducked under the swing and swept Zephyr’s legs out from under him with a clean kick. Zephyr crashed to the ground, his staff rolling out of reach.
“You see?” Dax said, standing over him. “All that anger and nothing to show for it.”
From the sidelines, Typhon tilted his head, his grin sharp as ever. “Ooh, that’s going to sting,” he murmured, watching Zephyr scramble to his feet.
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Mare’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s losing control,” she muttered.
“Good,” Typhon replied cheerfully. “Control is overrated. A little rage does wonders for growth.”
“Not if it gets him killed,” Mare snapped, her sharp tone cutting through Typhon’s cheerful veneer for a moment.
Dax darted around him, delivering sharp strikes to Zephyr’s legs and arms, each blow eroding his balance.
“Getting tired, musclehead?” Dax jeered. “Or is this just how you fight—like a bull in a glass shop?”
Zephyr roared and swung wide, leaving himself open. Dax ducked under the attack and used both batons to sweep Zephyr’s legs out from under him. The bigger boy hit the sand with a grunt, his staff clattering away.
For a moment, it seemed over, but Zephyr rolled to the side and grabbed his staff. He swung it low, catching Dax off guard and knocking the smaller boy to the ground.
Zephyr pinned him with the staff against his chest, breathing hard. His expression was a storm of anger and frustration, but victory was within reach.
Mare raised her hand. “Enough.” Her voice sliced through the air like a blade, freezing both boys in place.
Zephyr climbed to his feet, glaring down at Dax. “Still think I can’t fight?” he spat.
Dax coughed, brushing sand off his shirt. “Oh, you can fight,” he said with a smirk. “But man, you’re easy to piss off.”
On the sidelines, Ellie ran to Zephyr’s side. “Are you okay? That was reckless!” she hissed, glancing nervously at the watching crowd.
“Reckless?” Zephyr barked, his voice still hot. “I won, didn’t I?”
“Barely,” Atlas muttered, folding his arms. “And now you’re too worked up for the next fight.”
As the group bickered, Typhon leaned closer to Mare, his smile still firmly in place. “You see? Passion. Rage. A little fire in the veins. That boy’s going to be fun to mold.”
Mare gave him a sidelong glance. “If he doesn’t burn himself out first.”
The rest of the day went by quickly. Zephyr’s body was covered in bruises from his earlier fight, so he sat down in the shade for the rest of the day. Probably feeling too ashamed, Hannah mused, as whenever any of them had caught his eyes he’d shift away uncomfortably. This guy is surprisingly shy.
With Zephyr’s match over, he was free to relax, but the rest of the group had their own opponents to face throughout the day.
Hannah had been sitting around idly, until she heard Mare’s sharp voice rang out, calling her name alongside her opponent’s—a lanky boy with a chipped sword who smirked as he sized her up. She stepped confidently in the ring, focusing her breathing and gripping her staff.
Her gaze steady as Mare’s hand shot up, then dropped. “Begin!”
The boy lunged first, his sword arcing in a wild, showy swing. Hannah stayed calm, deflecting the blade with her staff and stepping aside.
“You’re fast,” he taunted, circling her. “But speed won’t save you forever.”
Hannah didn’t bite. She let him press the attack, her movements careful and deliberate. Each time he swung, she dodged or parried, letting him tire himself out.
Finally, the boy overextended on a particularly aggressive strike. Hannah seized her chance, locking his sword with her staff and wrenching it from his grip. Before he could react, she swept his legs out from under him.
He hit the ground hard, his sword clattering a few feet away. Mare raised her hand. “Winner: Hannah!”
Hannah exhaled deeply, brushing sand off her hands as she walked back to the sidelines. Ellie greeted her with a beaming smile.
“You were amazing, Han! He didn’t even touch you!” Ellie said, practically bouncing with excitement.
Hannah had been up against her fight at the same time as Ellie, and as such wasn’t able to see her match. A dejected Ellie looked down with a sad smile, “I wanted to show off to you!” she had mumbled. Causing Hannah to grin with affection, “go get ’em, El you go this!”.
At that, Ellie had been intrinsically motivated. In her next round, she practically bounced into the ring, her nimble footwork keeping her opponent at bay. She darted and dodged every strike, letting her opponent tire themselves out. By the time they faltered, Ellie struck decisively, landing a clean blow to secure the win.
Ellie returned to the group flushed with pride, throwing her arms around Hannah. “See? I told you I could do it!”
“You sure did,” Hannah replied with a grin, the team’s morale lifting as they prepared for the next round of matches.
Hannah grinned tiredly. “Thanks. Let’s see how Nia does.”
Nia took tentative steps into the ring as she grabbed her weapon of choice, the dagger. Her opponent, a burly girl with a shield and short sword, loomed ahead. Nia gripped her dagger tightly, forcing herself to breathe evenly.
Mare signaled the start, and the burly girl charged immediately. Nia barely sidestepped in time, her movements sharp but hesitant. The girl’s shield slammed down where she’d been standing, sending a spray of sand into the air.
Keep moving. Don’t freeze up, Nia told herself, darting back to create distance.
She tried to focus on what she’d practiced—quick, precise strikes. But each time she moved in, the girl’s aggressive swings forced her to retreat. The watching crowd’s murmurs weren’t helping; Nia could feel the weight of their eyes on her every move.
Then she remembered Zephyr’s earlier fight. His failure had been anger. Don’t get mad. Stay sharp.
Steadying her breathing, Nia began to wait. She let her opponent exhaust herself with shield bashes and wild swings, all while studying her movements. The moment came when the girl raised her shield too high, leaving her midsection open.
With a quick feint to the left, Nia darted right, driving the hilt of her dagger into the girl’s ribs. The burly girl staggered, winded. Nia pressed the advantage, sweeping her opponent’s legs out from under her and knocking the short sword from her hand.
It wasn’t effortless. It wasn’t flashy. But it worked.
“Winner: Nia!” Mare called, her tone impassive.
As Nia walked back to the group, she avoided meeting anyone’s eyes. Hannah grinned as she passed. “Not bad, Nia. You’re getting there.”
Nia blinked, unsure if the praise was sincere or teasing. “Thanks,” she muttered, her face heating.
“Don’t overthink it,” Atlas added. “You won. That’s what matters.”
Nia nodded, but the weight of the fight still lingered. Effortless? Not yet, she thought, gripping her dagger tighter.
Before Nia could sit down, Mare’s voice rang out again, this time calling Atlas’s name.
“Guess that’s me,” Atlas muttered, rolling his shoulders as he stepped forward. “Time to show everyone what I’ve got.”
His opponent was smaller, clearly younger, but determined. They gripped their training sword tightly, their stance rigid with nerves. Atlas eyed them for a moment, his usual easygoing demeanor softening just slightly. When Mare signaled the start of the match, though, his focus sharpened.
The kid darted forward, swinging wildly in an attempt to catch Atlas off guard. But their movements were clumsy and hesitant, their weeks of practice no match for his quick thinking and agility. Atlas sidestepped each strike with a fluidity that seemed almost effortless, keeping just out of reach while waiting for the perfect moment.
It didn’t take long. As his opponent lunged with another awkward swing, Atlas pivoted smoothly, catching their wrist with one hand and twisting the sword from their grip with the other. The blade clattered to the ground, and before they could recover, Atlas delivered a light but decisive tap with his own weapon.
“Winner: Atlas,” Mare announced, her tone flat.
Atlas gave his opponent a respectful nod as they trudged off, shoulders slumped in defeat. Returning to the group, he grinned and dropped onto the ground beside Nia.
“Easy,” he said, though his tone was more amused than arrogant.
“Show-off,” Nia replied dryly, but there was a hint of admiration in her voice.
Ellie giggled. “Don’t let it go to your head, Atlas. You’ve still got more to prove.”
Atlas smirked, leaning back on his elbows. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”
The group’s banter was cut short as Mare prepared to call the next names, the tension rising once more as the matches continued.
Most groups after that appeared pretty average. With each group usually having half their team compete continuously to improve their chances of winning.
As the matches continued, Hannah’s eyes caught something unusual. A boy she hadn’t noticed before—quiet, with dark hair and an unreadable expression—stood off to the side, his arms crossed. He was just a shadow among the others, but there was something about him that stood out now.
He’d won all his matches, easily, with minimal effort. Each opponent had been defeated swiftly, yet he showed no sign of arrogance, no smugness in his posture. Just quiet focus.
Hannah couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye, but with the chaos of the competition around her, she didn’t have time to dwell on it.
The next trial was about to begin.
Hi, readers! Little authors note here, this story is very much in progress and I am quite literally writing before I publish. I don't have a lot of time and do this mainly when I can get free time so I can't promise super consistent updates but I'd be honoured if you'd join the journey through The Complex with me!
Also, fyi because this novel is currently being workshopped and I am thoroughly indecisive I'll probably be getting rid of, changing, or adding in chapters throughout The Complex's creation :D
Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you