Beast Evolution Forge

Sara stood before the massive arena doors, her new blade heavy at her side. Three weeks had passed since her investigation began, and she could not find anything no matter how much she looked, it was strange.

The tournament transformed into something darker, more violent, as Vell carved his way through the ranks.

She touched the scar on her neck—a reminder of her own brush with death in the upper brackets. The rules change once you reached the top ten. No more friendly matches, no more simple surrenders. Up here, you fight until you couldn't fight anymore, one way or another.

"Quite the crowd today," a familiar voice purred.

Sara didn't turn. "Come to gloat again?"

The beast girl leaned against the wall beside her, tail swishing lazily. "Just enjoying the show. Your friend's match is about to start."

Inside the arena, the crowd roared as Vell faced off against Kross the Butcher, ranked sixth. The nickname wasn't for show—Kross had left three fighters dead in the past week alone.
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"Don't annoy me please, I am not in the best of moods." she said through gritted teeth.

The beast girl's smile widened. "Oh? Very well then, enjoy the show."

---

Sara stood at the edge of the stands, her hand resting on the hilt of her newly forged blade. She hated it. Not because it lacked quality—it was a masterpiece, forged by the Lightning Guild's best smiths. No, she hated it because it was a reminder of her failure.

The crowd's energy surged, a mix of bloodlust and anticipation as the announcer's voice boomed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come for the match you've all been waiting for! In the red corner, the scourge of the top ten, the unstoppable Kross the Butcher!"

The hulking figure of Kross emerged from the shadows, his bloodied axe resting casually on his shoulder. The man was a monster, both in stature and reputation. His armor was a patchwork of trophies—pieces scavenged from the fighters he'd slain.

"And in the blue corner," the announcer continued, his voice trembling slightly, "the dark horse of this tournament, the man whose name is on everyone's lips—Vell!"

Sara's breath caught as he stepped into the arena. There was no more clumsiness, no nervous energy in his gait. He moved with the calm confidence of a predator, each step deliberate.

Gone was the awkward rookie act; this was the real Vell.

The crowd roared, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of cheers and jeers. But Sara could only hear the pounding of her heart as the announcer's words echoed in her mind: "The dark horse of this tournament...". How had it come to this?

"Begin!"

The bell rang, and Kross wasted no time, charging forward with a roar that shook the stands. His axe came down with enough force to split the earth, but Vell didn't move.

At the last possible moment, he sidestepped, his movement so precise it looked effortless. Kross's axe slammed into the ground, sending a shockwave through the arena. Before the dust even settled, Vell struck.

His blade flashed, a streak of silver that caught the light as it carved through Kross's armor. Blood sprayed, and the crowd gasped as the Butcher staggered back, clutching his side.

"Fast," he grunted, his eyes narrowing. "But I've fought faster."

Vell said nothing, his expression unreadable. He raised his sword, the edge gleaming unnaturally, as if it thirsted for blood.

Kross lunged again, swinging his axe in a brutal arc. This time, Vell met him head-on. The clash of steel on steel rang out like a thunderclap, the force of the impact causing the air to ripple.

But Sara saw it—Vell wasn't just matching Kross. He was toying with him. Each strike, each parry, was perfectly calculated, forcing Kross into unfavorable positions.

"What is he doing?" she muttered under her breath.

"Showing the world who he really is," came the beast girl's voice. She had returned to her seat, her golden eyes fixed on the fight.

Kross roared in frustration, unleashing a flurry of strikes that would have overwhelmed any normal fighter. But Vell danced through them, his movements fluid and precise. It was like watching a master craftsman at work, every motion serving a purpose.

Then, in an instant, it was over.

Vell stepped inside Kross's guard, his blade slicing upward in a clean arc. Kross froze, his axe slipping from his fingers. A thin line of blood appeared across his chest, just above his heart.

For a moment, the arena was silent. Then Kross collapsed to his knees, his massive body hitting the ground with a resounding thud.

The crowd erupted, their cheers deafening.

"Winner, Vell!" the announcer declared, his voice barely audible over the noise.

He turned to leave, his expression as calm as it had been at the start of the match. Up in the VIP section, the guild masters continued to watch with unease on their face.

"Are we sure this is a good idea?"

"If he wins the tournament, he will have the right to challenge us all... somehow that doesn't sit well with me."

"The rules are the rules," another guild master responded, though his voice carried little conviction. "We established this tournament system centuries ago. To change it now would—"

"Would what?" The first speaker cut in, his wrinkled hands gripping the balcony railing. "Save us from our own shortsightedness? This tournament was meant to test worthy challengers, not..." He gestured at the arena below, where servants were still cleaning Kross's blood from the stones. "Not whatever this is."

"He doesn't look stronger than us but something about him is very off."

"Hmm," the master cover in a shadowy cloak finally spoke, "maybe we should just end him while we have the chance, we can send our best players. That way-"

"No, we are not cowards, if he is strong, he deserves a chance to face us fair and square." One said, wearing golden armor, his expression was joy instead of fear like the others, "we have become lazy, maybe this will finally wake us up. How can we hope to match those in the higher sections when we can't even work hard enough."

"Tch, I guess you are not wrong but I just have a bad feeling about this. He is clearly a stranger, or maybe a spy from higher sections. Whatever the case is, we need to be very careful with him."

"3 more matches, if he wins those, we are up next."

They all went silent after realizing just how close Vell was at challenging them. No one knows why he is going this but the reason does not matter, surviving is their main goal.