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762 - The First Fight
🕑 Added 2024-10-16 09:03:09 +0000 UTCAs time marched forward, the long-awaited day finally arrived. For many viewers across the Conclave, the anticipation was mixed with confusion and curiosity. The empire had not altered its decision—Emperor Aron Michael remained their sole representative. Despite the risks, they had not added additional contenders as a contingency, even in the event of his defeat or incapacitation during the many matches he will have to participate.
This bold choice stirred countless reactions. Some saw it as arrogance, others as unwavering confidence, while a few viewed it as sheer madness. The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the emperor's lone participation left no room for error. All eyes were now focused on the Colosseum, waiting to see if this risky strategy would result in triumph—or disaster.
Outside the shimmering shields of the Colosseum, massive ships from each contending civilization hovered in position, their hulls gleaming under the light of distant stars. Each vessel carried within it a champion, a chosen warrior representing their civilization, waiting for their moment to descend into the arena. Only these challengers and essential personnel were granted proximity to the Colosseum to prevent any chance of a problem from occurring.
The rules were clear—only those actively participating in a match were allowed to enter the arena at any given time. This restriction was not just a formality but a precaution to avoid unnecessary casualties in what promised to be a brutal contest.
{The first contenders, please enter the Colosseum,} the referee AI announced, her voice echoing through the arena and the ships. Entrusted with full authority over every aspect of the Colosseum, she ensured impartiality, as neither side was willing to cede control to the other.
Two ships passed smoothly through the Colosseum's shields, gliding to their designated landing zones, spaced several kilometers apart. The moment both sides disembarked, the ships were immediately ordered to exit the arena, a strict protocol agreed upon to ensure there were no outside influences during the fight. Without hesitation, the vessels departed, leaving behind only the combatants and the anticipation of the battle to come.
The first match was a showdown between the Emperor of Terra and the fifteenth-ranked fighter from the Conclave: a representative of the Venora.
The Venora were a race renowned—and despised—for their uncanny ability to adapt through rapid analysis. Their strength lies in their capacity to quickly assess a situation and evolve their strategies in real time, making them one of the most challenging and frustrating opponents to confront. With every second that passed, their effectiveness only grew, turning even small encounters into complex battles. This adaptability earned them a reputation as a civilization that no one wanted to engage lightly.
The Venora contender stood as he watched his ship leave, his entire frame encased in sleek military gear. A massive gun rested heavily in his hands, while knives were embedded at various points across his armor, each placed strategically to ensure quick access. His plan was clear: buy as much time as possible to analyze his opponent, relying on the hallmark Venoran adaptability. However, he was walking into the unknown—Aron, the Emperor of Terra, was a complete enigma to the Conclave, making him the worst kind of adversary for a Venoran, whose strength relied on data and familiarity.
The Venora's unfortunate position as the first challenger wasn’t by choice. Their rank as the lowest of the remaining civilizations meant they were left with no option but to go first, an unenviable position against an opponent they knew nothing about.
On the other side of the Colosseum, Aron seemed unbothered by the looming fight. Dressed in armor, a sword strapped to his hip, and a gun slung across his back, the emperor looked more like someone preparing for a casual workout than a life-or-death duel. He performed a few stretches and light jumps, as if he were a substitute player warming up on the sidelines, showing no signs of tension or nervousness.
While the two fighters engaged in their own forms of preparation, a massive hologram materialized between them, her sheer size making her visible to both sides.
{I’m sure you’ve already reviewed the rules, so there’s no need for me to repeat them. The moment any of you break them, the fight will stop, and the other side will be declared the winner without deliberation.}
Her voice echoed throughout the arena, firm and unwavering.
{Do not test me. The sensors blanketing the Colosseum allow me to see everything—and when I say everything, I mean it.}
She paused briefly to let the warning sink in before continuing.
{You have five minutes to complete your preparations. Use this time wisely.}
And with that, the hologram vanished, leaving both combatants in their final moments of readiness.
The broadcast shifted to showcase the final moments of each contender's preparation.
The Venora fighter was hard at work, knowing full well that every second mattered. He powered up his energy weapon, a massive magic-engineered firearm, as regulations only permitted him to activate it during the preparation phase.
At the same time, he deployed several reconnaissance drones, positioning them as an early warning system and first line of defense. These drones would give him critical moments to react when Aron inevitably advanced or did something unexpected.
The Venora’s weapon was no ordinary firearm. Created by the Feryn, masters of magical engineering, it was a coveted tool used by races that lacked inherent magic but desired its power. Its destructive capability was equivalent to that of a small nuclear grenade, a type of weapon banned from the event.
However, the weapon's primary drawback was the long charging time required between shots as it gathered mana—time the Venora fighter knew he had to buy at any cost.
On the other side of the Colosseum, Aron’s preparation was almost nonexistent. He calmly removed the gun from his back and held it in his hands, making no further moves—no deployment of drones, no warming up of equipment. He simply stood there, relaxed, as if waiting for a signal.
As the five-minute preparation period ended, the referee AI's voice echoed through the arena.
{You may begin.}
The Venora fighter wasted no time. With survival instincts kicking in, he dashed in the opposite direction of Aron, attempting to put as much distance between them as possible. Distance was his only hope—time to analyze his enemy and charge his weapon for a decisive attack. Within seconds, he had covered over a kilometer, relying on his speed and drones to maintain a safe gap.
Meanwhile, the broadcast feed switched to Aron. The viewers saw him raise his gun, casually aiming it toward the retreating Venora fighter. Without any sign of urgency or double-checking his aim, Aron calmly pulled the trigger. A single shot rang out, sending a small, unassuming bullet hurtling through the air.
The moment the bullet was fired, the feed from Aron's camera was abruptly disrupted. A flash of brilliant light overloaded the sensors, cutting off the visual feed, followed immediately by a deafening shockwave that rippled through the arena.
The broadcast frantically shifted to another angle, trying to capture what had just happened. When the cameras refocused, they revealed a towering mushroom cloud billowing in the distance—the unmistakable aftermath of immense destruction.
Everyone watching it was stunned to silence, and the only sound that followed was the calm voice of the referee AI.
{Match over. Winner: Terran Empire, Aron Michael.}
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