Royal Rumble

Amara was staring at the luminescent paint glowing on her ceiling, trying to doze off. The faint outlines of constellations traced across her vision like afterimages. Sleep came in slow, uneven waves.

Just as she drifted, the whispers stirred at the edges of her mind. Still formless and empty. Her consciousness faded away slowly.

Then—her holo-screen beeped.

She blinked, groggy, reaching for the device on her nightstand. A notification pulsed on the screen:

[Incoming Message — Wayne House Admin. We're having a special exhibit. Every House is sending representatives. You are one of the selected. Be at the training hall in thirty minutes.]

Amara stared at the message, then rubbed a hand down her face. An exhibit? The Houses were always finding new ways to posture, to prove who had the strongest recruits.

They never picked her for these things. They usually excluded her.

Wayne House didn't need an "outlier" messing with their perfect image. Plus, she was usually off training with Vahari or following her around on her deployments.

But apparently, that had changed. So why now?

Her exhaustion faded as mild irritation took its place.

'Fine. Let's see what this is about.'

She swung her legs off the bed and stood, already reaching for her training gear.

After freshening up and dressing up in her gear, Amara stood in front of a mirror in the corner of her room.

She was admiring her new physique.

But not to get it twisted, she always liked her previous chubbiness. What stood before her now, though, served as proof of her hard work:

Lean, yet powerful. Every muscle honed, every motion effortless. Her arms, once softer, now displayed defined contours—strong without bulk. Her shoulders carried a sculpted sharpness, built for endurance rather than show. A faint line traced her abdomen, marking the core strength earned through relentless drills.

Her legs formed the foundation—long, agile, coiled with explosive energy. The kind that could launch her into a sprint at a moment's notice or twist mid-air with practiced precision. Her body had become a perfect balance of strength and mobility, refined for adaptability.

In an attempt to quiet her rising anxiety, Amara rolled her wrists and struck a power pose, chin up and shoulders back. Her eyes drifted to her exposed midriff where her tattoo swirled—dull and unresponsive, as always.

"Ugh," she muttered, dropping the pose.

"Whatever happens, happens."

She grabbed her water bottle, clicked her tongue against her teeth, and headed out.

The compound buzzed with midday activity as she stepped outside. The summer heat pressed down, making the air shimmer above the training grounds. Scattered groups of rookie Revenants moved between buildings, some heading toward the same training halls as her.

Her lightweight shoes padded almost silently along the gravel paths. The training facility sprawled impressively before her, a monument to the Companies' pooled resources. Multiple specialized arenas stretched across the campus—some for ranged combat, others for close-quarters fighting, environmental adaptation courses, and even psychological endurance chambers.

By the time she pushed through the doors of the main training hall, the space already hummed with focused energy.

Sunlight poured through the top windows, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air. The floor gleamed with newly installed kinetic absorption plates—technology designed to prevent serious injuries from hard falls.

Representatives from each House had gathered near the centre—their training gear color-coded to match their affiliations.

Titan House members in deep crimson. Helios representatives in sleek silver. Angel House trainees, in muted blue, maintained a serene composure. And naturally, Wayne House members stood apart in their sharp black and gold, projecting confidence bordering on arrogance.

Jae was among them, moving through a fluid series of warm-up forms that blended several martial arts styles. He spotted Amara, and his focused expression broke into a playful grin.

"Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," he called, bouncing lightly on his feet.

"Not like I had a choice," Amara replied, dropping her water bottle on a nearby bench, "I wasn't exactly volunteering for this circus."

A commanding voice cut through their exchange.

"Gather up. Now."

Amara turned to see one instructor step forward. A tall, broad-shouldered woman with striking silver hair and an air of battlefield authority, despite the casual setting. Instructor Reyes. Her tattoo bloomed like a flame from her forehead to down below her eyes.

She was one of the FGA's top combat trainers and a veteran Revenant from the Western Continent.

The scattered conversations died as Instructor Reyes strode to the centre of the floor.

"This afternoon's exhibition is straightforward," Reyes announced, her gaze methodically scanning each participant.

"Each House has selected their representatives for a series of demonstration matches. However…"

She paused, letting the tension build. "…we're implementing a critical restriction."

She waited until she had everyone's complete attention.

"No Aspects will be permitted in these matches."

The reaction was immediate—groans, raised eyebrows, and muttered complaints rippled through the gathering.

Amara immediately understood.

'This is for me.'

"That's not realistic combat," someone from the Titan group protested.

Reyes fixed them with an icy stare:

"If your combat effectiveness collapses without your Aspect, you're not a fighter, you're a liability. A future statistic."

The complaint withered under her gaze.

"A true Revenant masters fundamentals first," she continued, her voice hard-edged with conviction.

"Your Aspect is a tool, not a crutch. And today we assess your foundation."

The other rookies must have come to the same conclusion as Amara, because she suddenly felt multiple gazes fall on her.

Rumours said Amara had been fast-tracked into the program because of her father's connections at Wayne Company, a bureaucrat who'd pulled strings to get his daughter the prestige of being a Revenant without the risk.

Their thoughts probably went something like this:

"We barely survived our trials and busted our asses on this compound! And this random Indie gets to be trained by one of the strongest Revenants and gets special treatment from Adam Wayne himself. What the hell!"

All that was untrue, of course. The truth was far more complicated, involving a childhood incident on Lorina's shores that the Company had deemed "of interest," but Amara kept those details to herself. Better to be resented for privilege than studied like a specimen.

 As the others reluctantly began their preparations, Amara felt something unexpected bloom in her chest, not quite hope, but something close to it. A level playing field. For once, her dormant tattoo wouldn't mark her as deficient.

Amara shifted her stance, rolling her shoulders. This was a rare chance, one where she wasn't at a complete disadvantage.

For once, she wasn't the odd one out.

Reyes let the murmurs subside before stepping forward once more, her voice cutting through the remaining whispers.

"First match: Wayne House versus Titan House. Representatives, take your positions."

Jae unfolded from his stretching posture, a slow grin spreading across his face as he rolled his shoulders. "Looks like I'm up first," he said, voice light but eyes focused.

He strode to the centre of the training floor with the confidence of someone who'd been there countless times before, his dark eyes already calculating angles and distances.

From the crimson-clad group, Nathanael pushed forward with a dismissive scoff. The same rookie who had complained about the restriction of abilities.

He had the build of a predator—broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, short blond hair, and features that seemed permanently set in a challenge. Every movement broadcast raw power barely contained.

The two fighters met at the centre of the ring, standing just beyond arm's reach. The atmosphere crystallized around them—air charged with potential energy, the audience falling into expectant silence.

Reyes positioned herself between them, her weathered face impassive. "Standard rules. No abilities. No lethal strikes. Victory by incapacitation, submission, or my judgment. Clear?"

Both men nodded, gazes never breaking from each other.

"Begin."

The moment Reyes stepped back, Nathanael exploded forward.

His opening strike cut through the air with brutal efficiency—a straight punch aimed directly at Jae's face. The attack carried his full weight behind it, designed to end the fight in a single devastating blow.

Jae's response was water to Nathanael's fire.

He shifted—a minimal motion that left Nathanael's fist passing through empty space—before stepping in and delivering a precise strike to the side of Nathanael's knee. The impact echoed through the training hall, forcing the Titan House fighter to buckle.

Recovering instantly, Nathanael pivoted his weight and unleashed a spinning kick that would have shattered ribs if it connected.

But Jae had already read the movement.

Instead of retreating, he stepped inside the arc of the kick, robbing it of power. In one fluid sequence, he trapped Nathanael's leg against his body, disrupted his remaining support, and sent him crashing to the mat with calculated precision.

Nathanael barely registered the impact before Jae was above him, knee pressing into his sternum, arm cocked back. The strike descended—then stopped a hair's breadth from Nathanael's jaw.

A demonstration, not a finishing blow.

Fury flashed across Nathanael's face. With a guttural sound, he twisted his body, raw strength allowing him to throw Jae off. He rolled away and regained his footing in a single movement, chest heaving but stance solid.

"Fast," Nathanael acknowledged, swiping at a bead of sweat on his temple. His eyes narrowed. "But speed isn't everything."

He recalibrated his approach, lowering his centre of gravity, hands raised in a more measured defence. This wasn't the explosive fighter from seconds ago—this was a tactician finally taking his opponent seriously.

Jae's lips curved upward. "Okay, Baki."

They circled each other once more.

Nathanael struck first again, closing distance to lock Jae in a tight clinch. His grip around Jae's neck was vice-like, immediately followed by a series of punishing knee strikes aimed at the ribs.

Jae twisted his torso to deflect the worst of the impact, then used Nathanael's own momentum against him. In a display of extraordinary body control, he leveraged himself upward, executing a spinning kick that nearly connected with Nathanael's temple.

The Titan fighter jerked backward, barely avoiding the strike. Jae landed with perfect balance and immediately pressed forward, unleashing a combination of strikes too fluid to track individually—elbow striking forward, transitioning seamlessly into a devastating palm thrust to the sternum.

Nathanael staggered backward, eyes widening as he struggled to process Jae's movements. The Wayne House fighter didn't adhere to any single fighting style. He flowed between techniques with natural grace, borrowing movements from dozens of disciplines and combining them into something uniquely lethal.

His footwork was immaculate, allowing him to appear almost to float around Nathanael's increasingly desperate counters. In close quarters, his strikes carried surprising power for his frame. And whenever the fight threatened to go to the ground, Jae demonstrated perfect control, always maintaining the dominant position.

With each exchange, Nathanael's frustration mounted. Without his Aspect to enhance his natural strength, he couldn't simply overpower his opponent. And Jae was exploiting every opening.

The end came suddenly.

Jae feinted high with his right hand. Nathanael instinctively raised his guard—exactly as intended. The moment his defence shifted upward, Jae dropped low and swept Nathanael's legs from under him with a single, graceful movement.

The impact of Nathanael's body hitting the mat reverberated through the training hall.

Before he could recover, Jae had secured position behind him, arm locked around his throat in a textbook choke hold. Nathanael thrashed against the hold, face reddening with effort and lack of oxygen. His struggles grew increasingly desperate, then gradually weakened.

Finally, he tapped Jae's arm twice.

Submission.

Jae immediately released the pressure, rising smoothly to his feet while Nathanael rolled onto his side, gasping for breath.

Reyes stepped forward with an approving nod. "Winner: Jae of Wayne House."

Applause erupted from the watching Revenants. Jae flexed his fingers before extending his hand down to his opponent. "Good fight," he said, voice casual as if they'd just finished a light sparring session.

Nathanael stared at the offered hand, pride clearly wounded. After a moment's hesitation, he released a frustrated laugh and accepted it, allowing Jae to pull him upright.

"Like fighting a damn shadow," he muttered. "Next time will be different."

Jae's eyes sparkled with the promise of future challenges. "Looking forward to it."

As they separated, Amara uncrossed her arms, studying Jae with newfound appreciation. She'd always known he was skilled—all Revenants were. But this was different. This wasn't just technical proficiency or raw talent.

This was artistry.

While still processing what she'd witnessed, Amara heard Reyes's commanding voice cut through her thoughts.

"Next match: Wayne House versus Helios House."

The training hall fell quiet again, anticipation building as the Helios representative, clad in their signature silver, stepped forward.

Now Amara's turn had arrived.