Ty pondered for a mont. "Just one, now that I think of it. But that's a tale for another ti," he replied, his thoughts briefly wandering to past encounters. "When does my match start, anyway?"
In response, the man pulled a remote from his pocket and switched on the TV positioned across the room. "Your turn cos after the current bout. They'll need so ti to clear the arena, so you'll have about 10 minutes to prepare and report to your designated area. From there on, it's all in your hands, Demon Boy."
Ty's gaze shifted to the TV screen, where the ongoing match unfolded with brutal intensity. Two combatants, both heavily bloodied, faced off against each other. One wore a white gi adorned with a red band, while his opponent donned a purple gi with a black stripe around the waist. They charged with ferocious roars, colliding mid-air in a display of raw power and skill, each absorbing punishing blows.
The scene was a stark reminder of the unforgiving nature of the combat that awaited Ty, heightening the sense of urgency and resolve within him.
The two fighters, their bare feet scraping against the arena floor, engaged in a fierce struggle. Their heads clashed, hands locked in a deadlock, as sparks of energy crackled around them, illuminating their strained expressions. The man in the purple gi, seizing an opportunity, released his left hand montarily, aiming a punch at his opponent.
But fate intervened as his foot slipped on a slick patch of blood, throwing off his balance.
In that critical instant, the man in the white gi acted. White sparks gathered around his hand, manifesting into a brilliant blade of light. With a swift and decisive motion, he thrust it into the chest of the man in purple. Blood erupted from the wound, the blade piercing through him, casting a grueso shadow as it faded away.
The man in purple wavered, his strength leaving him, and he began to slump to the ground, defeated.
"Damn, so that's it, huh?" Ty murmured, his eyes fixed on the brutal conclusion of the battle.
The silver-haired man, watching intently, responded, "Don't be so certain." His voice hinted at the unpredictability of these matches, a sobering reminder of the deadly stakes involved.
The tension in the room escalated, mirroring the drama unfolding on the screen. Ty's thoughts turned inward, ntally preparing for his own impending fight, the reality of the arena's ruthlessness now starkly clear.
In the heat of victory, the man in the white Gi turned, his arms thrown skyward in a triumphant roar. The arena, echoing with his victorious cry, seed to montarily pause in celebration. But the fight was far from over. The ground behind him shifted subtly as the seemingly defeated man in the purple Gi struggled to one knee. He extended an open palm towards his opponent in a feigned attack.
The man in white, reacting instinctively, dropped to the ground to evade, only to realize too late that it was a diversion. The man in purple, with a cunning twist, had readied his other hand close to the ground, releasing a piercing beam of purple energy. The beam shot forth, narrowly passing between the eyes of the man in white, leaving a fatal, small hole.
A look of strained disbelief crossed the face of the man in white as he plumted to the ground, lifeless. The sound of a loud bell resonated through the arena, signaling the end of the match.
For the first ti, Ty noticed the sheer scale of the audience from the bar TV. Thousands of spectators encircled the fighting area, their presence a massive, enveloping force. The realization of the enormity of the event he was about to partake in dawned on him, the roar of the crowd a distant yet overwhelming backdrop to his thoughts.
Ty's astonishnt was palpable. "How is he still standing? That attack should have severed his spine!"
The silver-haired man nodded in agreent. "Indeed, he won't be walking the sa ever again. But those well-versed in magic can perform extraordinary feats, like temporarily nding damaged ligants with magic strands. It's a rare skill, even here."
He eyed Ty with a hint of amusent. "Perhaps you truly aren't from this world," he chuckled, just as the door swung open abruptly.
A man in a sleek black suit, adorned with dark glasses, stepped into the room. His voice carried an air of urgency. "1st Lieutenant Daemon! Is the Demon ready for his match? The King, along with other high-profile guests, will be in attendance tonight." His gaze then fell on Ty, pausing montarily at the sight of his bare feet.
Ty felt a rush of adrenaline at the ntion of the King's presence, the reality of the high stakes and the prestigious audience for his upcoming battle becoming increasingly tangible. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the gravity of the mont setting in as Ty prepared to step into the arena.
The man in the suit, now identified as Greg, was insistent. "Make sure he's properly attired and prepared, understood?"
The silver-haired man responded with a casual nod. "Sure thing, Greg. Appreciate the heads-up."
He then turned to Ty with a hint of challenge in his eyes. "So, Demon Boy, ready to put on a show?" With a flick of his finger, he directed a stream of energy towards Ty's clasped hands, effortlessly snapping the stone bindings. The release was imdiate, and Ty felt a surge of relief.
"Ah, thanks," Ty exclaid, flexing his hands. "I can feel a much stronger connection to my Resencia now. That's much better."
The silver-haired man looked puzzled. "Your what?"
Ty, realizing his slip, laughed nervously. "Oh, just my way of referring to magic. Don't mind the fancy term. 'Resencia' just sounded cooler to ."
As they spoke, Lieutenant Daemon stood and walked over to a closet, retrieving a pair of silver-laced shoes with tal plates. He held them out towards Ty. "Size 9, right? These should fit you, Demon Boy."
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