End of Battle Royale [part 1]
**The Commentator: The Voice of the Massacre**
From his vantage point, the commentator watched the arena with fixed eyes, almost hypnotized by the brutality unfolding below him.
His task was to bring that massacre to life with his words, to turn every sword strike, every scream of agony, into a spectacular event for the bloodthirsty crowd.
He had started the evening with the usual energy, explaining to the audience what the Battle Royale was all about: a no-holds-barred fight where the strongest, the cleverest, and the most ruthless would battle to the last breath.
Only one would be left standing, crowned as the champion of the Ryushin Colosseum, while the rest would end up decorating the blood-soaked sand of the arena.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" he had begun, his voice filled with enthusiasm and a well-concealed note of cruelty.
"Welcome to the greatest spectacle of this night, the Battle Royale! Warriors from all over, chosen for their strength, cunning, and thirst for victory, will face off on this battlefield where there is no mercy, no escape. Only death will decide the winner!"
With those words, he had prepared the audience for a show of violence.
But nothing had prepared him for what was about to happen.
At first, he had commented with the fervour of a narrator accustomed to the cruelty of the arenas, describing the participants' first moves, the quick clashes, the first fallen.
But as the darkness of night descended and the brutality of one of the participants—the predator who moved in the shadows like a demon—emerged with all its ferocity, the commentator's voice began to change.
"There he is, ladies and gentlemen, our champion in action!" he had exclaimed as the predator approached his first victim, the young boy armed only with a short sword and a battered shield.
"There's no hope for him... look! Look at how he pounces, like a wolf scenting the weakest prey!"
The young boy had tried to flee, but the predator had reached him effortlessly, grabbing him by the collar and whispering words of pure terror before plunging the blade into his stomach.
The commentator had paused for a moment, his voice trembling as he described the scene.
"And... and there you have it, folks, our champion doesn't just kill... no, he inflicts suffering. The boy... do you see him? He's agonizing in the sand, while his tormentor watches him die slowly... This is not just a battle; it's a massacre, an execution."
With every fall, with every scream of pain that echoed through the arena, the commentator's voice grew graver, darker.
The initial enthusiasm gave way to a narrative that seemed to come from the depths of a man who was seeing more than he wanted to.
"And now... now they're banding together!" he had shouted when the remaining participants realized that there was no hope in fleeing and tried to join forces.
"The ebony-skinned colossus, the woman with the twin swords... even 'Serpent,' who moves in the shadows... all against him! But... but what do I see? It's not enough... it's never enough!"
The commentator described the blows, the dodges, the clashing weapons. The battle was fierce but brief.
The predator had repelled every assault, dodging the colossus's mace, disarming the woman, and breaking 'Serpent's' breath with ruthless power.
"Look at how he reduces them! One after another... there's no escape, no hope! The colossus is on his knees, the woman is falling... and 'Serpent'... oh, 'Serpent'... thought he could strike from behind, but he's been discovered, unmasked, and now he's kneeling before his death!"
The commentator watched as the predator approached his fallen adversaries, one by one, to deliver the final blow.
There was no more tension in his voice, only a grim recognition of what he was witnessing: the pure and unstoppable domination of one man over all others.
"And now... and now it's over. Look at him... the colossus collapses, the woman doesn't move anymore, and 'Serpent'... oh, 'Serpent' finally finds peace in death. This... this is our champion, ladies and gentlemen, a being who has turned the arena into a graveyard!"
In the end, the commentator leaned on the railing of his post, his face pale and sweaty, unable to believe what he had just seen.
The crowd roared and cheered, thirsty for more blood, but he knew that this night, he had seen something different, something that would not be easily forgotten.
And as the predator stood triumphant among the corpses, the commentator uttered his last words, an epitaph for that night of blood.
"Ladies and gentlemen... you have witnessed something never seen before... this was not just a clash... it was a demonstration of pure and unstoppable power. And now, only one remains... our champion, the embodiment of death itself."
His voice broke, and with one last look at the arena, the commentator withdrew from his post, leaving the clanging of swords and the roars of the crowd as the only sounds filling the air.
**BACK TO MC**
The acrid smell of blood filled the air, an aroma that permeated every breath, every thought.
Around me, the arena was silent, if only for a moment, as if even the wind had held its breath in the face of the massacre I had just carried out.
Every lifeless body, every face twisted in an expression of pure terror, was a reflection of my power.
I had cut them all down. One by one, they had tried to oppose me, to resist, but none of them had been up to the task.
I had shattered their lives with the same ease as breaking a dry branch, and now, among the corpses that adorned the field, I was the last one standing.
The crowd screamed my name, hailing their champion, but to me, those voices were distant, irrelevant.
My focus was on what I had created: a masterpiece of flesh and blood, a tribute to my insatiable thirst for dominance and destruction.
I leaned over one of the corpses, "Serpent," the last to fall under my blade. His body was still warm, and in his now lifeless eyes, I could see the echo of the fear that had consumed him in his final moments.
I smiled, satisfied, savouring that moment of victory, that absolute triumph.
There was nothing that could match this feeling.
The death, the pain, and the suffering I had inflicted were my true sustenance, the very essence of my being.
Every stifled scream, every life shattered, was another step toward my total affirmation as the supreme predator.
The only thing that left me slightly dissatisfied was the lack of "enlightenment," as I had received no new insights.
However, it was understandable since it is rare for a person to enter a state of trance and gain enlightenment, which is why I wasn't too disappointed.
So I looked up at the night sky, my chest rising and falling with slow, deep breaths.
The night sky was a blanket of darkness, broken only by the faint lights of distant stars, indifferent to what was happening below them.
I, on the other hand, was here, immersed in the raw reality of the moment, surrounded by the lifeless bodies that lay like tributes to my thirst for power.
Every breath, every beat of my heart, seemed amplified in that unnatural silence.
It was a silence that carried with it a deep awareness: the world, in that precise moment, had been reduced to this, to me, to them, to the blood that stained the sand and permeated the air with its metallic scent.
I licked my lips, savouring that moment of pure, untainted victory.
There was nothing that could match the sensation of being the last one standing, of being the absolute ruler, the supreme predator in an arena turned into a graveyard.
As I rose, I felt a thrill of dark joy course through me, a spark of something primordial and visceral.
It wasn't just the pleasure of victory, but something deeper, something that spoke to my true nature.
Every corpse at my feet was a trophy, a testament to my ferocity, to my determination.
The crowd continued to shout, to cheer, but to me, they were just shadows, blurred figures on the edges of my perception.
I didn't care about their adoration or their fear.
What mattered was the knowledge that I had dominated, that I had destroyed everything that stood between me and my goal.
With a slow, almost ceremonial gesture, I let my sword fall into the blood-soaked sand.
The sound of metal against the ground was like a signal, a sign that the massacre was over, that the battlefield now belonged to me alone.
I turned slowly, looking at the scattered bodies, the faces twisted in expressions of eternal terror and pain.
This was my work, my creation.
Every strike, every scream, every shattered life had contributed to building this moment of pure perfection.
I walked slowly among the corpses, letting my gaze slide over them, one by one.
Each step sank slightly into the sand, mixed with blood and sweat, and the sound of my boots against the ground was the only noise that accompanied me.
There was nothing more to do, nothing to fear.
I had reached the end of the path, and that path had been traced with the blood of my enemies.
And yet, in that moment of triumph, I knew that my thirst would never be fully quenched.
I needed more, always more.
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///A/N - Chapter 3/3! We have finally reached 100 chapters, thank you so much for your support! I hope you enjoyed these 3 chapters//.