Noah stood still. Unhurried.
While others rushed, fought, and clawed their way forward—he sat.
With a flick of his fingers, an ice chair formed beneath him.
He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other.
Calm. Unbothered.
A porcelain cup materialized in his grasp, steam curling from the surface.
The scent of jasmine and frost filled the air.
A special blend. His mother's favorite.
As he brought the cup to his lips—
Rustle.
A figure emerged from the foliage.
Petite. Green-haired. Wide-eyed.
She blinked.
Confusion flickered across her delicate features. Tea? Here? In the middle of a death match?
Noah met her gaze. His expression unreadable.
"Do you like tea?" he asked, voice smooth. "This is my mother's personal blend. Consider yourself honored."
The girl: O|O
…
Elsewhere, none of the true geniuses moved toward the center.
It was an unspoken agreement.
They waited. Measured. Assessed.
Each occupied themselves in their own way—
Aphasia hovered mid-air, seemingly weightless. But those with keen senses could see it—an air spirit cradling her form.
Elijah roasted the carcass of a slain beast. Flames licked hungrily at the meat, controlled by his skill.
Eric? Snoring. Sprawled atop a tree branch, utterly indifferent to the chaos below.
Sophie strolled calmly without care of the world.
CRACKLE.
Red lightning pulsed through her veins.
She did not slow. She did not hesitate.
Every time she saw another participant—
They died. No mercy.
Elizabeth did what she did best—building an army.
She sought out stragglers, weaving her web. A growing force, all to aid Elijah.
Rouge? The twin beastmen?
They hunted. Actively. They were truly bloodthirsty.
…
Half a day passed.
By now only the strong, the talented, and the resourceful remained.
And then—
They moved.
One by one, each of them rose.
Their gazes locked toward the center, as if able to see that far.
A pulse rippled through the air—tension, anticipation, a silent declaration.
⸻
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