Mick_Lin_4482

Win the battle. Ascend to godhood. Die, and be erased from existence.

Every hundred years, 16 warriors from different worlds are summoned to fight in the Crucible—a divine deathmatch where the last survivor is said to ascend to godhood. Eren Vale is one of them. With no memory of how he got here, he only knows one thing: survive at any cost.

But as the battles unfold, Eren starts to remember pieces of a past he never lived. Whispers of lost cycles. A rivalry he doesn’t remember. And a truth too horrifying to accept: The winner doesn’t become a god—they become a vessel. A shell for the dying deities who orchestrated the game.

Now, Eren must do the impossible—not just survive, but break the cycle before it claims him once again.

Ascension Wars: Death’s Arena

Eren barely had time to breathe. The armored warrior before him—his warhammer still crackling with dark energy—was relentless. Every swing sent tremors through the arena, shattering the already unstable ground.

Eren ducked low, rolling away as the warhammer came crashing down. The impact sent a shockwave through the battlefield, forcing him to stumble. His grip on his sword tightened. He had landed a strike earlier, but it wasn't enough. The figure barely seemed slowed.

The warrior's voice boomed through the misty wasteland. "You're fighting on borrowed time, Eren Vale. The Crucible always takes what it is owed."

Eren wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles burning from the constant movement. He couldn't win this by brute force alone. He needed to outthink his opponent.

The terrain shifted again. The cracked stone beneath his feet began to tremble, then suddenly—it gave way.

Eren reacted on instinct, leaping backward as an enormous fissure split the battlefield in half. Molten lava churned below, sending waves of blistering heat into the air. His opponent, unfazed, simply stepped forward, his heavy boots finding solid ground.

Eren's mind raced. Think. There has to be a way to turn this around.

The previous strike—the one where his sword met armor—had left a faint crack in the warrior's side. Small, almost insignificant, but it was there.

A plan formed. Risky, but it was his best shot.

He dashed forward, sword poised for a feint. As expected, the warrior swung the warhammer in a devastating arc—except this time, Eren didn't dodge.

Instead, he ran straight toward it.

At the last second, he dropped to his knees, sliding beneath the weapon's deadly path. The warhammer sailed past his head, missing him by mere inches. He felt the wind from the strike, but he had no time to hesitate.

With all the strength he had left, he drove his sword straight into the crack in the armor.

A sickening crunch.

The warrior staggered, eyes flickering. For the first time, his stance wavered. Eren twisted the blade deeper, feeling resistance, and then—a burst of energy erupted from the wound.

The warrior let out a roar of agony as black, ethereal mist poured from the wound. The Crucible itself seemed to scream. The very air vibrated with a terrible, otherworldly force.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the mist collapsed inward. The warrior's body crumbled, his armor falling apart like shattered glass.

Eren stumbled back, panting. His heart thundered in his chest. He had won.

But there was no time to celebrate.

The arena trembled violently, as if in rage. The speakers above crackled, and the cold, detached voice returned.

"Contestant #7… Trial One—Complete."

The mist swirled, and before Eren could react, the battlefield changed again.

And this time, Eren felt something familiar.

A name flashed in his mind, unbidden.

His stomach twisted. He knew that name.

And he knew this fight would be different.

The Breaking Point