Chapter 16 – The Bloodstained Stage

The abandoned mine stood before them, a scar on the land, its gaping entrance swallowing what little light remained of the evening. A cold wind whistled through the cracked wooden beams that once reinforced the tunnels, carrying whispers of battles long fought in the depths below.

Ethan stood at the edge, his heart steady, his breath controlled. This was it.

Ronan, on the other hand, grinned. "We finally made it."

A crude sign carved into the rock confirmed what they had been searching for: The Bloodstained Stage.

No grand banners, no formal guards—just a single, heavy-set man sitting on a crate beside the entrance, his arms crossed, watching every movement with sharp, predatory eyes.

Ronan approached first, confidence radiating off him. "We're here to fight."

The man scoffed. "You don't 'declare' yourself here, boy. You either survive or you don't. If you want in, go down the tunnel. But don't expect mercy."

Ronan didn't hesitate, striding past without a glance back.

Ethan followed, but with a different mindset. He wasn't here to fight—not yet. He was here to learn.

Inside the Arena

The underground chamber was massive, carved into the earth like an ancient coliseum. Rows of makeshift seating circled a pit of hardened dirt and stone, where fighters clashed in brutal contests. Blood stained the ground in places, dried and darkened from countless battles.

Ethan scanned the area, memorizing every detail.

The way some men leaned against the walls, measuring newcomers like predators. The hushed exchanges of money and favors. The unspoken rules that dictated survival here.

Ronan, however, had other plans.

"I'm signing up."

Ethan turned sharply. "Already?"

Ronan smirked. "No point in waiting. This place isn't gonna hand us strength. We take it."

Ethan didn't argue, but he knew their approaches were different. He needed to understand the fighters here, the styles, the techniques. He needed to know how strength was measured.

"I'll watch for now," he said simply.

Ronan shrugged. "Suit yourself."

The moment Ronan stepped into the pit, murmurs rippled through the crowd. A new face always drew interest—but no one expected what happened next.

His opponent was a seasoned brawler, a towering brute with arms as thick as tree trunks. The match should have been one-sided.

But then—Ronan split.

In an instant, a perfect clone of himself materialized beside him, moving with the same speed and intent. The crowd erupted.

"A twin-strike ability?" someone whispered.

"No. Look at the speed. It's more than that."

Ronan's clones weren't just reflections—they were fast. The moment the brute swung, one Ronan dodged, the other countered. And the next second, there were three.

Ethan's eyes narrowed.

A rare condition. Dual traits.

Ronan wasn't just a fighter. He was a phenomenon.

His first trait allowed him to create clones. His second? Pure speed.

The match ended in less than a minute. The brute never even landed a hit.

As the crowd roared, Ethan sat in silence, fists clenched.

He had come here to understand strength.

Now he realized—he was already far behind.

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