Chapter 17– The Law of the Arena

The noise of the arena felt deafening as I stood at the entrance, peering into the vast coliseum where the fights took place. The arena wasn't just a place for entertainment—it was a battleground where the strongest fought to prove their worth. I had watched the entire day as different warriors, each with their unique traits, faced off in a brutal display of power and skill. And now, standing in the shadows of the entrance, I could feel the weight of what was about to happen.

Ronan had already fought, and his words echoed in my mind: "It's not like what you think. It's not just strength—it's how you use your mind. The right strategy can win the fight before it even starts."

The fight he had earlier was a reminder of how raw power wasn't everything. Ronan's quirk, the ability to create clones, had made him a fearsome opponent. But he had barely scraped by, relying not just on his power but on his instincts, his speed, and his ability to think on his feet. He wasn't invincible—far from it—but his ability to create multiple versions of himself had given him an edge.

As I watched the fighters up close, I saw the levels of strength on display—some fighters moved with incredible speed, while others relied on brute force. The most impressive, however, were the few who seemed to know exactly when to strike, when to pull back, when to wait. Strategy—timing—resonated with me more than anything.

Ronan's Fight Recap

Ronan had been in the ring earlier today, a fight I had watched with an intensity I hadn't expected. His clones had been crucial, giving him multiple points of attack, but what had stood out the most was how he had handled an opponent far stronger than himself. While the clone ability was powerful, it wasn't invincible. The moment his opponent targeted the clones, it became clear that Ronan's true power wasn't just the ability to duplicate himself—it was his ability to outsmart his opponents, to predict their moves and counteract them.

He'd managed to win—but just barely.

As we sat on the edge of the arena watching the final fights of the night, Ronan turned to me with a half-smile.

"It's not as easy as it looks. That guy I fought today? He was strong. Too strong for a lot of people. But his weakness was his predictability. You need to find weaknesses, Ethan. That's how you win."

I nodded, absorbing his words, knowing that I couldn't rely on anything I had learned about fighting so far. My resonance, the power I had inside me, was still foreign. It wasn't like everyone else's. I couldn't control it, couldn't predict it. What if it didn't manifest when I needed it most? What if my power faded away in the middle of a fight? I had to be ready, in case everything went wrong.

The League and the Fight Registration

"What are you going to do, then?" Ronan asked. "You've watched enough. You gonna sign up?"

My gaze swept over the arena, the massive space where fighters were now cheering or nursing wounds. The League was a real thing—a ranking system that separated the elite from the rest. Each fighter started at the bottom, with the chance to rise up based on their wins, skill, and reputation. And every victory brought something more than just pride—it brought rewards.

"A win in the Arena doesn't just get you respect," Ronan continued, "it gets you food, resources, money... It's a lot more than just fighting for fun."

The thought of it weighed heavily on me. I wasn't here for money or resources, not really. I just needed to prove that I could stand on my own. That I wasn't weak.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for it," I said, my voice low.

Ronan grinned, a sharp glint of challenge in his eyes. "No one's ever ready. That's why you fight. You get in, and you learn how to survive. Just sign up. You'll figure it out."

I hesitated for a moment before standing up. My heart was racing. "Alright. I'll do it."

We made our way to the registration table. The process was quick. No fanfare, no ceremonies—just a straightforward signing of my name, a mark of commitment to whatever happened next. They handed me a number, and I was told I would fight the next day. My stomach churned. What had I gotten myself into?

The arena had become my proving ground. Not just for the world, but for me. And tomorrow, I would fight.

The Rest of the Night

Later, that night, as I lay on the hard bed in a nearby inn, I couldn't sleep. My thoughts kept racing back to the fight, to the arena, to what Ronan had said. "You don't need to be perfect. You just need to survive."

He was right. I wasn't ready. I wasn't strong. I didn't know what my trait could do. But if I waited for the perfect moment, I'd never take the first step. Tomorrow, I'd have to trust in my instincts and my power.

I rolled over in bed, eyes wide open, as I thought about everything that lay ahead.

I couldn't turn back now.