He had only showed them a glimpse of his ability but that alone was terrifying, Akhil balled his hands into a fist, doubt creeping in.

The compulsion he'd warned about wasn't just psychological. It was literal. Absolute. Inescapable.

Aria's hand found Akhil's arm, gripping it tightly. Not for support, but in shared understanding. They'd known this would be bad. Had prepared as best they could.

But this? This was worse than they'd imagined.

"We can't run," she whispered.

"No," Akhil agreed quietly, his eyes never leaving the screen where Jeren continued explaining his rules with that same dark smile. "We can't."

Which meant there was only one option left.

Win. Somehow, against all odds, against divine backing and legendary warriors and a Titan who could teleport people at will—

They had to win.

Or they'd all die trying.

On the screen, Jeren's smile widened even further, as if he could hear Akhil's thoughts. As if he welcomed the challenge.

"Now then," the Titan said cheerfully, "let's begin the show, shall we?"

And in that moment, watching those one hundred fighters realize they were trapped, Akhil understood something fundamental about Jeren.

This wasn't just about entertainment for the gods.

This was about power. Control. Breaking the spirit of warriors who dared to hope they could resist.

'But he's wrong,' Akhil thought, his grip tightening on the Blood Fang until his knuckles went white. 'We won't break. Won't give up.'

Even if they couldn't escape.

Even if the odds were impossible.

They would fight.

And somehow, they would find a way.

The tournament had begun.

And there was no turning back.

Jeren's smile remained fixed as he addressed the countless screens broadcasting across the entire settlement. Behind him, the first one hundred participants stood in the arena, confusion and fear written across their faces.

"Now then, let me explain how this magnificent tournament works," he began, his voice smooth and unhurried. "After all, even the best performance needs structure, doesn't it?"

He snapped his fan open with a flourish, the ornate designs catching the light.

"Each arena will hold at least one hundred participants at any given time. The number may vary depending on... circumstances." His eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "And for those of you watching from afar, wondering if you'll miss the excitement—don't worry! You can watch everything unfold on these convenient screens throughout the settlement."

He gestured broadly at the cameras surrounding him.

"Or, if you prefer a more... intimate viewing experience, you're welcome to come to the arenas in person! Watch from the stands, feel the energy, witness the bloodshed up close." He shrugged casually, as if discussing theater seating rather than life-and-death combat. "However you wish to experience it is entirely up to you. I'm nothing if not accommodating."

The casual tone, the relaxed posture—it all made the horror of what he was describing somehow worse.

"Now, the tournament structure," Jeren continued, beginning to pace along the platform. "To earn a moment of rest—and I do mean just a moment—you must survive three battles. Three victories, three demonstrations of your worth to our divine audience."

He paused, letting that sink in. Three battles before you could even catch your breath.

"But don't despair!" His voice took on that mock sympathy that made Akhil's skin crawl. "You won't be fighting without support. The gods themselves are watching, and they're quite invested in seeing a good show. So after each battle, they can—and often will—send you gifts."

With a wave of his hand, a series of glowing boxes materialized in the arena, hovering in the air. The first one hundred participants stared at them warily.

"However," Jeren's smile widened, "these items won't reach you directly. That would be too easy, wouldn't it? Instead, they'll be cloaked in these boxes. You'll have to choose one—just one—and accept whatever the gods have decided to send you."

He gestured to the boxes with his fan.

"The gifts vary wildly in usefulness. Let me give you a preview of what you might receive."

An image appeared on the screens—a simple cola can.

"Boosters," Jeren explained. "Restore stamina, give you a temporary burst of energy. Nothing spectacular, but useful for maintaining your edge. The gods package these as cola drinks—how modern of them."

The image changed to a pizza slice.

"One-use skills. Activate them once for a powerful ability you normally wouldn't possess. The gods seem to enjoy wrapping these as pizza. I don't pretend to understand divine humor."

Next came a glowing capsule.

"Mental Defense enhancement. Protects your mind from manipulation, fear effects, psychological attacks. Called an 'Inspiration Capsule,' apparently. Increases your mental fortitude by one grade."

A massage chair materialized on screen.

"Full recovery. Complete restoration of health, stamina, and removed status effects. Presented as a luxury massage chair—you'll have thirty seconds to use it before it vanishes. Choose your timing wisely."

The image shifted to a gleaming sports car.

"Super Boosters—now these are interesting. Increases the strength of your very first attack after use by eighty percent, and all your strikes deal ten percent more damage to opponents for the duration of one battle. The gods package this as a luxury car. Quite the prize, if you're lucky enough to draw it."

Jeren's eyes gleamed as the next image appeared—a majestic dragon.

"Manifestation. This allows you to use one specific ability from whichever god sent it. You'll channel a fraction of their divine power for a single attack or defense. Represented as a dragon. Extremely rare, extremely powerful."

The final image made several participants in the arena visibly recoil—a grand castle.

"And finally, the Avatar gift." Jeren's voice dropped slightly, becoming more serious. "Represented as a castle. If you receive this, the god who sent it can directly possess your body for a limited time. You become their vessel, their champion. They fight through you with all their divine skill and power."

He paused, letting the implications sink in.

"Of course, that means you're no longer in control during that time. The god decides your actions, your strategies, whether you live or die. But what glorious combat it creates! The gods rarely send these, but when they do..." He smiled darkly. "The results are spectacular."

Jeren closed his fan with a decisive snap.

"So you see, you won't die immediately. You'll have support, gifts, divine intervention. The gods want you to survive—at least long enough to entertain them properly." His tone dripped with mock sympathy. "They've invested so much in making this tournament fair, haven't they? Giving you chances, opportunities, hope."

The way he said 'hope' made it sound like a cruel joke.

"Just remember," he added, his bright eyes scanning the crowds both in the arena and watching from screens throughout the settlement, "the gods giveth, and the gods taketh away. Choose your boxes wisely. Fight well. Put on a show worthy of their attention."

He spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture.

"And most importantly—survive long enough to make things interesting. After all, what's entertainment without a little... suspense?"

His smile behind the mask was visible in his eyes—predatory, eager, anticipating the chaos about to unfold.

"Now then," Jeren announced, turning to face the one hundred trapped participants directly. "Shall we begin?"

On screens throughout the settlement, Akhil and thousands of others watched in grim silence as Jeren's tournament of horrors prepared to claim its first victims.

The rules were clear.

The gifts were tempting.

The trap was absolute.

And somewhere in the divine realm beyond mortal sight, the gods leaned forward in their seats, eager for the show to begin.

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A/N:

Guy's isn't this awesome! We've written over 200k+ words of this series, it's really been an awesome ride. I could only make it this far thanks to you guys! Thanks for all the wonderful support! I love y'all (No diddy)

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