Apocalypse Baby

Alex leaned in, eyes narrowing, ready to absorb the details.

[SELECTION RULES – TOURNAMENT OF EIGHT]

• 64 Players remain. Each of the Eight Races has selected their top 8 Champions, chosen through brutal Trials unique to their kind.

• Players have now been divided into 8 Tables. Each Table features one representative from each Race—eight contenders in total.

• Match Format: Single-Elimination Gauntlet. All battles are 1v1 duels. The winner of each match advances within their Table. Only the Final Victor from each Table moves on to the Third Selection.

• Audience: The High Pantheon watches. Deities. Legacy Holders. System Architects. All observing. Judging. Measuring worth. They cannot interfere with the matches—but their eyes are everywhere.

• Note: Victory isn't the only path to ascension. Exceptional skill, creativity, or defiance may catch a deity's attention.

Alex let out a low whistle, his eyes glued to the screen as he processed the rules.

"So… this wasn't just a bloodbath...This was a goddamn audition."

Win, and you get to climb the ladder.

Lose, and maybe—just maybe—a god points at you and says, 'That one's mine.'

A chill ran down his spine.

The idea of deities watching made Alex's stomach tighten.

He'd pissed off a few of them—maybe more than a few—but was that really going to be a problem now?

No.

There was a rule, and that rule was clear: the gods couldn't interfere with the matches.

They could watch, judge, whatever—but they couldn't harm him.

So there was nothing to fear.

The thought settled in his chest like a heavy stone, grounding him.

He pushed aside the unease gnawing at the back of his mind and focused on the next thing.

He wasn't about to let some divine eyes intimidate him.

Then, like clockwork, another notification popped up in front of him, flickering to life with a smooth buzz.

[You have been assigned to: Table IV]

[Participants at Table IV:]

The text dissolved into an image, hovering like a glowing tournament bracket. Alex leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the matchups.

Side A

— Alex (Human) vs Tharnok (Vorakan)

— Sylen (Elf) vs Brakka (Kruckle)

Side B

— Vess (Tranagian) vs Kira (Anima)

— Grugrim (Dwarf) vs Malik (Demon)

The names and races appeared in clean, sharp lettering, and Alex felt the weight of his first match settle over him.

His heart skipped, but a rush of adrenaline followed right after.

Alex grinned.

Quite the cast, he thought, his eyes flicking over the list again.

The names. The matchups.

Each one sent a chill down his spine, but not the kind that made him want to back down. No, it was the kind that made his blood heat with excitement.

This is going to be good.

As his gaze lingered on the names, a dark sense of bloodlust seemed to seep off the holographic list.

It was almost like he could feel the murder in the air—each name oozing danger.

Tharnok, the Vorakan, was his first opponent.

That wasn't just any opponent.

From the description of the Vorakan, they were practically walking demigods. A Vorakan could crush a person with a flick of their wrist.

But that was only the first challenge.

If he won—and he would—he'd face more.

Three, to be exact.

If he defeated Tharnok, he'd have to fight whoever came out on top between Sylen, the Elf, and Brakka, the Kruckle.

He could already picture it: the elf's speed, the Kruckle's raw, berserk strength. Two extremes in one match.

And then... whoever survived that chaos would go up against the victor from Side B.

Vess (Tranagian) vs Kira (Anima)

Grugrim (Dwarf) vs Malik (Demon)

Each of those battles would be brutal. And he'd have to go through it all if he wanted to stand at the top.

And that was the exact same gauntlet every other player in the first round had to face.

Cool. Real cool.

What this meant was that no two players from the same race would face off until the third round.

Alex's grin stretched wider.

He could already feel the energy bubbling inside him—the energy he'd awakened during his trials was still fresh, making his entire body crackle with raw power, and he was itching to test it out.

His eyes locked onto the name of his first opponent once again.

A Vorakan named Tharnok.

Alex's mind flickered back to what he knew about Vorakans from the description.

Aggressive. Bloodthirsty.

A race of warriors forged by combat, with no love for mercy.

The thought of facing one of them, right out of the gate, sent a thrill down his spine.

His opponent was perfect.

He was brimming with newfound energy, Emi still surging through him like fire in his veins.

He wanted to see just how far his strength could stretch—how much damage he could really dish out.

And what better way to test it than against a foe who could take hits?

The floor beneath his feet then started to pulse with light, a hum of ancient energy filling the air, as though the very ground beneath him was charged with power.

A distant rumble followed, like the grinding of forgotten machinery awakening after centuries of silence.

The ground trembled beneath him.

So much that Alex felt it in his bones.

The ceiling above him then split open with a deafening roar, and a beam of light shot down from above as if the gods were casting judgment.

Pillars of searing energy slammed into the arena, each one crackling with raw power and scorching the air.

It was like the arena itself had come to life.

Alex's heartbeat quickened.

But it wasn't fear he felt.

It was exhilaration.

His fists clenched by his sides.

"It's time."

[Prepare for Battle: Round 1]

[Opponent: Tharnok of the Vorakan Warborn]

[Transporting to Stage…]

The platform beneath him began to rise—slow, steady—lifting Alex toward the heart of the arena.

Up above, the roar of the crowd slammed into him.

Chants echoed from every direction, wild and thunderous.

Alex inhaled deeply, letting the chaos fill his lungs.

This was it.