Chapter 14 – A True Battle for Life
(First Person POV – Lily)
I was nervous.
Not the shaking, uncontrollable kind of nervousness I had felt during the talent test, but something quieter and heavier that settled in my chest and refused to leave. The examination hall was large and brightly lit, yet it felt strangely suffocating, as if the air itself was pressing down on everyone waiting inside.
The massive screens suspended from the ceiling displayed ongoing matches in other arenas. I tried not to stare too long, but it was difficult to look away. Every few seconds, someone was knocked off a platform, their name flashing red as they were eliminated. The realization that this was not a practice match, but a real test with real consequences, made my stomach tighten.
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself.
Then an arm rested gently around my shoulders.
The tension I had been holding loosened almost immediately.
May.
She stood close beside me, her posture relaxed, her presence calm. It was strange how easily she made the chaos around us feel distant. Knowing that someone else from the slums was here—someone who did not look overwhelmed or desperate—made me feel less alone.
I hesitated before speaking, unsure how to phrase what had been bothering me.
"So… um… May?" I said quietly.
"Yes?" she replied.
"Do you… by any chance… know my sister?"
I kept my gaze lowered as I asked. I did not know why I felt embarrassed. I only knew that ever since the previous day, I could not stop thinking about the way my sister had frozen when she saw May.
May was silent for a brief moment.
"Oh, her," she said at last, her voice gentle but casual. "We met once, some time ago. It seems she remembers me."
I nodded slowly.
I was not completely convinced, but I did not want to press further. We had only just met, and I already felt more comfortable around her than around anyone else in the room. Everyone else seemed fake—laughing too loudly, boasting about their talents, pretending they were not afraid.
May did not pretend.
She turned her attention back to me.
"So, Lily," she asked, "how do you think you'll do in the exam?"
I lifted my head and looked at her.
She was watching me patiently, without judgment or expectation.
"I… I just want to pass," I admitted. "Without causing trouble, if possible."
My voice grew softer with each word. I knew it sounded childish, but it was the truth. I did not want glory or attention. I just wanted to make it through.
May smiled faintly.
"That sounds like a good plan."
I blinked, surprised.
"Most people here are talking about how easily they'll win," she continued calmly. "They brag about their talents and their futures. But you're just focused on getting through safely."
She tilted her head slightly.
"That's refreshing."
Something warm loosened in my chest.
"…Thank you," I said quietly.
Before I could say anything else, a voice echoed through the hall.
"May Blackheart. Arena Three."
May stood up smoothly.
Before leaving, she gently patted my head. The gesture was brief, but reassuring.
"I'll be back soon," she said lightly. "Don't miss me too much."
"O-okay," I replied, watching her walk away.
As she disappeared down the corridor leading to the arenas, I realized something unexpected.
I felt safer knowing she was fighting first.
(First Person POV – May Blackheart)
The corridor leading to the combat arenas was quieter than the waiting hall. Thick reinforced walls muted the noise, and the air carried a faint metallic scent mixed with ozone. Each step echoed softly beneath my boots.
A translucent interface appeared in my vision.
"Host exhibited elevated gentleness toward Subject Lily," Cellular Adaptation stated.
"I was establishing rapport," I replied internally.
"Host's heart rate stabilized in her presence."
"That is called being calm."
"Host rarely experiences calm."
I chose not to respond to that.
"She is useful," I continued. "Strong mental talent. High emotional attachment potential. An ally worth maintaining."
"Host views her as a strategic asset."
"Yes."
There was a pause.
"Host also lingered before leaving."
I ignored the comment as the arena doors slid open.
The space inside resembled a small stadium. Circular platforms hovered slightly above the ground, arranged across the floor. Tiered seating lined the walls above, where officials and observers watched intently.
Each platform had a screen overhead displaying the combatants' names.
I located mine quickly.
May Blackheart.
Opposite me stood my opponent.
Riven Ashford.
He rolled his shoulders, clearly irritated, and looked at me with open disdain.
"What makes you think you can win against me?" he began loudly. "I'm the son of—"
I stopped listening halfway through his sentence.
"Opponent analysis?" I asked internally.
"Opponent talent: Fluid Body," Cellular Adaptation replied. "Body structure temporarily converts to a semi-fluid state upon impact, dispersing blunt force."
"Annoying."
"Moderate combat training detected. Above-average physical conditioning."
"So not incompetent."
"Correct."
The bell rang.
The match began.
Riven moved first, closing the distance quickly. His punch came straight for my face. Instead of retreating, I stepped forward and met it head-on.
Our fists collided with a sharp crack, the force rippling across the platform. The impact sent a faint tremor through the ground beneath us.
His eyes widened slightly.
Good.
I reached for his wrist, attempting to seize control, but his arm twisted unnaturally, slipping free as if his bones had briefly lost rigidity.
A moment later, his fist slammed into my abdomen.
The pain was real, but controlled.
"Impact absorbed. Minimal internal damage," Cellular Adaptation reported.
"I noticed," I replied.
He pressed his advantage, throwing a rapid series of strikes. His movements flowed unnaturally, his body partially yielding with each hit, dispersing force like water absorbing a stone.
It was irritating.
"Is that all you've got?" he sneered.
I stepped back once, recalibrating.
"Recommend increasing physical output to forty percent," Cellular Adaptation advised.
"Approved."
I surged forward again, changing tactics. Instead of striking his torso, I aimed for joints—knees, elbows, the base of the neck. Areas where fluidity could not fully negate leverage.
He twisted away from one strike, but his balance faltered.
There.
I hooked his ankle mid-movement. His leg partially liquefied, but his core lagged behind. I drove my shoulder into his chest, sending him stumbling backward.
He recovered just before reaching the platform's edge.
His grin faded slightly.
"You're stronger than you look," he muttered.
"Accurate observation," I replied calmly.
He activated his talent more fully. His outline blurred, his movements becoming harder to track. A glancing blow caught my cheek, drawing blood. Another strike clipped my ribs, sending a sharper wave of pain through my side.
"Host may escalate to sixty percent output safely," Cellular Adaptation stated.
"Do it."
My muscles tightened, internal reinforcement activating without visible signs.
He charged again, committing fully.
At the last second, I stepped aside and guided his momentum past me. I placed my hand against his lower back and redirected his force.
His fluid body failed to regain balance fast enough.
He slid across the platform and fell off the edge.
The bell rang.
Match over.
I stood still, breathing evenly as murmurs spread through the arena. Blood dried on my cheek. My ribs ached, but nothing serious.
"Host condition stable," Cellular Adaptation confirmed.
I stepped down from the platform and exited the arena without looking back.
The real battles had only just begun.