Arson began to laugh. Not because anything was truly funny, but because of the sensation of overwhelming excitement that he felt.

  He and his opponent kicked and punched at a speed that Arson hadn’t had to reach in quite a long time.

  Now this is what I am talking about!

  He backflipped, kicking out toward the sandy-haired scion, landing in a crouch. The young man was able to block his flashy kick easily, but Arson couldn’t help but smirk to himself, watching the scion’s eyes widened slightly. The young man was forced to shake out the limbs he used to block in a desperate cross arm maneuver, still pushed back by Arson’s blow.

  “Who are you? There is no way that I don’t know you, or have not at the least heard of your prowess,” said the young man, Arson shrugging in response.

  “I’m just here for a good time, don’t worry about who I am, let’s just enjoy the fight why don’t we, nothing better to do right?”

  “You may be here for a fight, but me and mine are here to win,” said the masked scion, and Arson shook his head.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, too bad,” responded Arson, glancing over the young man’s shoulder to see another of his opponents approaching to aid the sandy-haired scion.

  “We just about ready,” asked Arson, speaking aloud, even though he was communicating to Rob and the rest of his team.

  Rob: Just about, give me just a few more moments…

  “Good,” said Arson in a near whisper, smiling underneath his mask. His mind kicked into overdrive, his body wishing to push itself and use every tool at his fingertips. Yet Arson could only sigh as he pushed the thoughts of his scythe and his growing list of abilities and skills aside.

  He’d been forced to hide his abilities for this caper, as most of what he was capable of doing was easily recognizable. If it wasn’t for Xani’s ability to runically inscribe the masks he and his team now wore, they wouldn’t have been able to perform this heist, as Arson had originally worried over the truly unique characteristics of his eyes, and even his hair, which now seemed to be a simple black, rather than its unmatched crimson that was nearly indistinguishable from a pure night sky raven.

  Troy’s own heterochromia had been shifted to a beautiful blue in both eyes, while the rest of his party’s irises had been changed to match that of the eye colors of the people they’d kidnapped and replaced.

  Even Arson’s watch had to be changed from its normally regal frame, to a far more simple time piece. Arson’s normally casual style of clothing had been exchanged for a business casual that he had to admit made him feel presentable in a way he’d never experienced, but the dress shoes he’d replaced his hi-tops with left him wanting in the realm of comfort, no matter how incredible they looked.

  Arson closed the distance, using his momentum to slide into a straight kick that pushed his first opponent back, knocking the Cultivator into their teammate. Without pause, Arson jumped, spinning another kick out through the air, aiming his heel toward the heads of both the fighters before him.

  The new arrival, ducked, pulling his unbalanced team member down with him to avoid the strike. Arson felt his blood begin to pump further at the skill being displayed, wanting a true challenge with every move he attempted.

  The pair he fought was quick to rebalance themselves, jumping away from each other in an attempt to gain space to move and fight without colliding with one another. Both circled him, and where a tactic like this would normally bother a hand-to-hand fighter, a martial artist of Arson’s caliber was unfazed.

  His every blink came with a three hundred sixty degree picture of what was happening around him, and with his practice, each of those brief instances when his eyes were fully shut gave him more and more information. His biggest focus being how his opponents’ muscles moved. The body spoke a language of its own, and the more he listened with his closed eye dominion, the more he was able to discern.

  He eventually wanted to be able to break down how magic, runes and mana was being used in the body of any he fought against, but still felt the ability to be far outside his current capabilities.

  Though as he had the thought, his mind drifted and he began to strike, directing attacks to where he felt mana converging in their bodies.

  Left pectoral, palm strike. Left knee, low kick. Right arm, jab. Left foot, cleaving leg sweep.

  With every strike he changed between the pair he fought, switching between both, blocking and attacking with every breath.

  Both the Cultivators knew what was happening, as they both felt drained with every interaction. Each strike that landed, or any block they managed, coming with more debilitation and fatigue. Arson smirked as they shared a look, their trembling eyes filling him with a disgust that Arson knew originated from his mother’s own distaste for weakness.

  Just enjoy the fight for as long as it lasts, thought Arson, doing his best to stay calm as a growing tide of rage bubbled in the background of his mind.

  Arson hadn’t understood his own need for a challenge, until he returned from the Endless skyscraper. Going from danger in every moment, to simple slices of life.

  Arson began to growl as the feeling of power pumped through his veins. His body heating drastically; steam rolling off his shoulders and head as he sped up.

  Arson had limited himself to exchange blow for blow. With every attack he was forced to block, he returned one in kind. Only, Arson grew tired of holding back.

  …

  Travis, and his brother had fought many scions. His brother Trevor had fought as many powerful foes, if not more than him in single combat. Yet as they looked at each other as their current opponent clenched his fist and straightened, they knew, that neither one of them could handle this alone, and maybe not even combined.

  A low growl made Travis’s bones vibrate. He couldn’t help but glance at his brother Trevor as his elder sibling took a step back. He could sense the fear that rolled off his brother, as he could when they were forced to face their father in combat.

  Who the sparks is this guy…

  Steam began to emanate off the fighter before them, and Travis knew something had changed even before the brawl continued. The white masked fighter started to move, and his limbs were literal blurs as he moved in.

  Travis tried to block, and was surprised that the first blow was caught in his open hand, only for him to realize that multiple bones in his hand had been fractured in an instant. The next three blows were so swift that he didn’t know he’d been struck, nor was he able to track the movements with his eyes.

  Travis thought matters were bad enough for him as he pushed through the pain, but the tornado that was the man in the white mask, blurred, moving between him and his brother in a series of maneuvers that left both siblings battered, bruised and broken.

  “Come on…”

  The words came from the man, softly, and as if he was pleading.

  “Come on…”

  Travis glanced toward Trevor while gasping for air, trying to breathe through the pain of his broken ribs, unaware of when he’d even gained the injury. The sounds of footsteps made all three fighters pause, the sound coming from both sides of the hallway they were in all at once.

  He looked down one direction to see a handful of blue masked individuals coming toward them from behind the white masked fighter, and then over his shoulder to see another handful of fighters in red masks rushing toward them from the opposing way.

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  “Finally, a bloody challenge,” said the young man in the white mask, and it was then that Travis knew what he’d been pleading for. Both groups began to roar as they charged toward each other, and Travis tried to yell for them to stop, only for his cry to be snuffed out by yet another unseen punch.

  No, he’s going to kill us all…

  Travis felt his vision begin to blur, only realizing that he’d fallen to his back as he watched the white masked fighter step over him, spreading his arms wide as he spun slowly to face both incoming crowds.

  “Come on!”

  …

  Micro walked through the building looking for a fight. Her job was simple. Take out as many people on any team that she could, and from what Xani was saying in the group chat, Arson was handling that just fine, all by himself.

  Hmm, honestly thought this would be way more fun…

  Then she turned down a hallway as a familiar individual entered the same path from the opposing side of the hall. The brown haired blue eyed young woman that wore a red mask, dragged a kicking and screaming young man by the ankle, only stopping when Micro did.

  Hundreds of yards separated them, and somehow Micro knew that she and the young woman had the same thought.

  Why not…

  The young woman let the struggling young man with a white mask go, yelling over her shoulder at him as he took off running around a nearby corner.

  “Doesn’t matter how far you run, I’m gonna find you, you bloody liar!”

  Micro smirked at the young woman, as she sneered at Micro, neither aware of the faces being made in each other’s direction under the masks they wore.

  “Shall we…?” asked the young woman with a small bow.

  “Why not,” answered Micro with a slight shrug, wishing that she had her blades. Neither hesitated, both charging toward each other without another moment of thought.

  There was only ten yards between them when everything began to shake, and Micro’s eyes went wide, freezing in her mad dash toward her opponent as the sight outside the windows shifted.

  “What in the bloody embers,” cursed Micro, watching as the building they were within separated into many parts. Each individual level of the building slid from underneath the floors above them, either rising or falling to reposition themselves. Some even rotated and spun as they moved through the air like flipped coins, rattling the occupants of those levels like the sands of a spun hourglass.

  Micro pointed at the absurd sight, gaping as her mouth fell open, only to be taken off her feet by a spear tackle, and the rotation of the floor she was on as it ascended upward.

  “What the sparks is wrong with you, you crazy—“

  A punch rocked Micro. The chin check powerful. Though she’d been struck harder before, she had to admit the young woman had quite a bit of strength behind her blows, wondering if anything was being held back as they hurtled through the air, smashing off walls, ceilings and floors alike.

  The young women punched and kicked each other violently as they were flung about, both their group chats filling their Overlays with their teams confusion at the wild happenings of the events sudden climactic changes.

  Xani: What in the Maiden’s Light is this bull, did any of you know this could happen?

  Khalif: Yeah, saw this a few season cycles ago on one of my favorite streamers broadcast, didn’t think we had a wild enough bunch for this to occur though!

  Rob: Think I’m gonna puke…

  Xani: thank the Maiden I can fly or this would be rough!

  Khalif: This actually works out in our favor, I can cover way more of the buildings nooks and cranny’s while all this is happening without being as easily noticed.

  Rob: when is this going to stop, I’m definitely going to need a new mask if…

  Xani: Rob, you okay?

  Khalif: hahahahaha… Xani please send me the feed on the floor he’s on when this is all done, pretty sure he just plastered a whole crowd of reds. Geez dude what did you eat, that looked fowl!

  Rob: it was burritos, and I’m just glad I managed to get it outside the room I was working in. Also, eat a bag of dirty socks, buddy…

  Xani: Hey, has anyone heard from Arson, Troy or Micro recently?

  More punches and kicks were sent between the two young women as the building continued to spin all around them. Micro’s back smashed into a wall and the two continued to brawl, pausing momentarily, as a series of diamond bricks smashed into the wall beside the pair. Only as the glass began to crack at Micro’s back, she realized she hadn’t smashed into a wall, but instead the surface at her back was actually one of the many exterior windows that lined the outside of the building.

  Regardless of the fracturing glass, both her and her opponent continued to punch wildly at one another, rolling with each powerful blow exchanged, pausing only when a silver haired young man in a red mask stepped free of a shadow not a yard away from them.

  The young man walked over, completely unaware of the two, ignoring them both as he stepped over the still straddled Micro to grab the scattered bricks beside them. The glass broke further as he filled a bag, only glancing at them, as the two shared an awkward look.

  “Don’t mind me, I’m just doing what the boss told me to, you two do whatever this is,” said Khalif, gesturing toward them both with his free hand.

  “What happens in RaidCorp Coliseum, stays in RaidCorp Coliseum, right?”

  The brown haired girl shrugged, and Micro took the opportunity to slug her right in the throat, restarting their battle as if they’d never been interrupted.

  “Be careful, by the way, this glass isn’t going to hold forever, and I can ignore this, but the boss will kill me if you two die doing something stupid and I could have stopped it,” said Khalif as he walked past for a second time, stepping into the darkness as he spoke, Micro knocking her opponent off her and jumping to her feet with a smooth kip up that barely broke more of the glass at her feet.

  “It’s been fun, Troy, but I have things to do, ciao…”

  “Yeah, whatever, street rat, I’m coming for you too,” spluttered Troy, trying to recover from Micro’s throat punch as she sauntered away gracefully.

  “Anytime, princess, anytime!”

  …

  A punch was blocked, by a fist. The hand of the red team member, crumpled like the canvas of an ancient painter dissatisfied with their work.

  A well-timed kick, resulted in a broken knee. The limb bent backward in the wrong direction entirely. A strike normally seen as deadly, easily stopped by a fearsome axe kick that stole away any chance of its wielder being able to walk properly for quite a long time.

  Magical blows were redirected into their allies by swiftly moving open palms. In a way that spoke of an absolute expertise, normally unseen in younger Cultivator generations. Yet none of these details stopped more people from entering the brawl. Nothing but broken bodies left behind as one Cultivator dismantled his foes.

  Arson was in a trance, forced to hone skills that he hadn’t strengthened to their maximums. He’d never actually not relied on runes, mana, and system given skills since becoming a Cultivator. Nor was he ever able to gain a true sense of what it was to be a Cultivator within his own generation.

  Kids fought children their own age. Teenagers learned from their peers and those edging into adulthood. While being a Cultivator meant that the spectrums of age varied drastically between economic classes.

  Arson, however, was a child trained by events meant for beings centuries old. Fighters with the abilities meant to change the fate of the weak and magic less were sent into Endless after becoming heroes or villains of epic proportions in their own right. While Arson, had only been a mere seven season cycle old child.

  The skillful fighter that was created by this series of tragic choices couldn’t be evaluated by those his age. Arson was built to fight Godlings, not those on the edge of understanding what it was to become a Cultivator.

  He finally stopped moving, looking between the two ends of the hallway he stood in to see groups clustered at both points of entry. A low growl rumbled through the area, and none dared approach.

  Arson’s heart raced, and it wasn’t until his adrenaline slowly settled that the memory of what had just occurred eased back into his mind.

  What the…

  He’d fought dozens of Cultivators, breaking his enemies down as the world around him was literally flipped on its head.

  Blood now drenched his clothing, as no one there had been able to even slow him down in the slightest; his fist now literally dripping with the blood of those laying beaten around him.

  Those that had thought they were fighting an unlucky opponent stuck between the clash of two rival teams, now lay flung into awkward positions. Their wrecked physiques made even more horrific to look at due to the movement of the building, the press of bodies, and the chaos that ensued while large numbers of Cultivators sent out strikes in seemingly any direction to try and hit Arson.

  All while Arson grew angrier at the ease in which he’d been able to break down those around him. This only made him want to find his siblings and test himself that much more, as dangerous thoughts lingered in the back of his mind, tempting him to return to the only place that had ever truly challenged him.

  Endless…

  Arson was unable to look away from the timer ticking down in the corner of his Overlay, indicating the time in which he’d be forced to return. A decision that he no longer felt to be entirely reluctant to pursue.

  The floors around him once more settled into place. The building returned to normal, and all that remained around him was a moment of uninterrupted silence, before the young adults to either side of him took one more look at their near dead teammates and scattered like rats being hunted by superior predators.

  Arson ignored the screams, wiping his hands on his shirt, pushing aside the flare of guilt he felt at what lay at his feet.

  Though he knew testing himself against these people was wrong, he couldn’t help but remember this was the same society that was built in a way that had left him crumpled and broken in an impoverished underground once upon a time. His opponents then on the verge of throwing him into a cavernous hole.

  How are we to know if we are weak, if not tested first.

  Arson: Rob, Khalif, how are things coming?

  Khalif: I’ve swept the building, it’s clean from what I can tell.

  Rob: I’m done too boss, just waiting on your signal.

  Arson smiled, rolling his neck and taking a deep breath for what was to come. Words, coming to his mind and lips, Arson speaking aloud as if provoked to speak by his very soul.

  “The time is now,” said Arson in a whisper, and an explosion was heard in the distance. The force of the blast so powerful that it could be felt throughout the entire structure as it shook from top to bottom. A searing heat rippled through the walls of the skyscraper and before Arson knew it, the temperature rose all around him, triggering a runic sprinkler system on every floor simultaneously.

  A runic sprinkler system that Rob had alchemically tampered with.

  “Just keep running, Arson,” muttered Arson to himself.

  “Just keep running…”

  …

  “What do you mean the building is going to be robbed,” asked Vivid confused.

  “How could you possibly know that, do you know those people, the competitors that are acting strangely I mean?”

  “No, or at least I don’t know if I do or not, it’s just—“

  Seven stopped talking, as every camera in the event instantly went dark. The only camera able to show viewers what was occurring inside, one of the many exterior drones angled and perched from an equally tall building to show the entire nearby structure . A structure that was now filled from top to bottom with smoke in an instant.

  The explosion that struck the tower was so powerful that the glass on the exterior of the building shattered from top to bottom, spraying shards in every direction. Some combatants were tossed free of the building by the extraordinary blast, only to be caught by patrolling drones positioned there for this exact reason. While other Cultivators merely flew free of the structure in attempts to escape the smoke that plumed outward, casting the entire area in a grey fog.

  “Wow, folks, now this was absolutely unexpected?”

  The announcer could be heard murmuring to his co-hosts, the team trying to find out if any of them were aware of what was happening on screen.

  “It seems that the building is on fire, and this strange smoke is suffocating the flames,” said the announcer and Seven shook his head, laughing.

  “Yeah right, or the people robbing you blind are escaping cleanly, you idiots!”

  Seven looked at the event timer, wondering how his bet would be affected by the potential caper he felt deep in his bones was being pulled off. He began to pace as the cameras cleared, and he cursed.

  None of the players he’d been interested in were still on screen. Not the brown haired young woman who seemed to be gathering information. Not the silver haired young man that seemed to be in far too many places at once.

  Why did he seem so familiar?

  Nor the young man who’d fought fifty or more Cultivators by himself. All were gone, and Seven could do nothing but shake his head as the timer struck zero. The cameras for each team vault being displayed to the viewership for the first time throughout the entire event.

  It was then that Seven truly began to laugh, as he glanced over to Vivid, whose mouth had dropped open. In the same moment that Seven realized that he’d won his bet by pure luck.

  “I told you.”

  “What in the sparks just happened,” asked Vivid, reading the message left by the thieves in each vault.

  In the red team vault, the words “thank you” were spelled in diamond bricks. While in the blue vault, the words “means a lot” were left behind. With a strange star pattern being left behind in the white vault.

  “Why does that pattern look so familiar,” asked Vivid, making Seven pause a moment before he looked over his shoulder toward a bottle of liquor that stood on his nightstand. A beautiful bottle of one star liquor sitting dazzlingly in the light of his hotel bedroom making his mouth drop open.

  “No bloody way…”