At that moment, silence took over the arena as a cold shiver crawled up Troll's body like a snake.
— What are you holding there, Troll? — Fitty asked. At that moment, she didn't know what stance to take. It looked like she was shifting constantly, blending defense and offense in her posture.
— This? It's just a small glass vial, about 30 milliliters. When I found it, it was full of medicine, but I threw it all out and replaced it with snake venom. — Troll
— Why are you carrying venom? — Fitty
— Didn't I say before? Snake venom is like medicine to me. — Troll finished answering as he drank the venom from the vial.
The sensation of his body and soul breaking apart now came with a coldness he had grown so used to that it felt almost comforting. As the venom ran through his body, making his veins bulge and twitch, it seemed like something alive was moving beneath his skin. Inside, his soul fought against the venom even as it merged with it. Then the visible result began to appear—parts of Troll's skin started to grow snake scales that spread across his entire body. His nails lengthened into claws. His tongue split down the middle in what looked like a painful transformation. His once-green eyes turned an intense yellow with vertical pupils. Some of his teeth even grew into fangs.
— This is how I show how serious I am about this fight. — Troll
Fitty froze when she saw Troll in that form. She didn't know what to say. It was the first time she had ever witnessed something like that. Even her body didn't know how to react—it trembled at times.
— Come at me. I won't use my claws. — Troll
From the stands, the reaction and shock mirrored Fitty's.
— What is that?! — Julian shouted.
All the groups present in the stands seemed to argue among themselves, trying to hide the fear creeping down their spines as they struggled to understand what they were seeing. Even the members of Group Twelve had never seen Troll take this form before. Everyone was trying to explain something they didn't understand—at least on the newcomers' side.
— This is quite interesting. — Igor Xen Don Crates, the second-in-command of the House of Plato and the man closest to the leader of the Order, who also leads the House of Plato.
— If you've got something to say, then spit it out already, Igor. — Vastos S. Agiades, leader of the House of Leonidas. A mountain of muscle, always focused on reaching the peak of strength. He is also the commander of the second division of the House of Leonidas—a division with no ties to the Order, known as the Lions of Leonidas. Widely respected, he is a fearless leader admired for his strength.
— Vastos, Vastos, do try to be more careful and refined with your words. — Matteo F. Mouro, leader of the House of Othello, a man who hides his own footprints with every step he takes.
— Matteo, that much caution isn't necessary. Respect is enough for me. — Igor
— Of course, sir. You will always have our respect. — Matteo rose only to give a short bow. — But I see the fight has become interesting, since the little intruder has opened her eyes. Where is the leader of your House, hmm?
— I opened my eyes because these young ones seem to have something interesting to show, and I don't wish to miss a single second. — Kássia D. Apolodoro, a woman known and respected for her techniques and skills. She is also the second pillar of the House of Cleopatra. — And to answer your question, even if it's none of your concern, Matteo—the leader of the House of Cleopatra is currently heading on a mission with some of last year's newcomers in a city far north of Kirden, and left me as her representative. Is that a problem?
— None, Kássia. — Matteo
— Now that I've explained my House's situation, sir, could you please finish your reasoning and tell us what you found interesting? I'm very curious. — Kássia
— Preferably explain it in my language, Igor. I hate your refined crap. — Vastos
— Very well. I'll try to explain it as clearly as possible. — Igor assumed a serious thinking posture, interlacing his fingers beneath his chin. — Gillieu and I have been working for some time to prove a theory aimed at discovering what Just Wrath truly is—which, as you all know, is the name of the energy that comes from your own soul. We concluded that if we truly want to understand Just Wrath and the soul, we must return to the beginning.
— Stop rambling and tell us what we need to know already. — Vastos interrupted.
— Always short-tempered, even during explanations, aren't you, my friend? — Igor replied. — Fine, I'll get to the point. The body comes before the soul. When we're born, we are completely empty—mere vessels. Around five or six years old, we believe the soul emerges. Some call that moment gaining consciousness. From that point until around eight years old, the soul is trapped inside a kind of cocoon, developing until it can match the shape of the body. Then, between nine and twelve, it begins to leave that cocoon, since it no longer needs it as a filter to feed on the energy the body produces as nourishment. At that stage, it can maintain the body's shape without the cocoon.
— I see. — Matteo
— Interesting indeed. But what does that have to do with what we're witnessing? — Kássia
— That's exactly where I wanted to get. — Igor snapped his fingers as if he had solved the most important equation in history. — What if our theory applies only to humans? What if we're the only ones who receive a body before gaining a soul? Animals may very well have bodies shaped by their souls during gestation. Humans, however, might be the complete opposite. Now, back to the moment we gain consciousness. If, between five and eight years old, while the soul is still developing to match the body's shape, that forming soul were to encounter a fragment of a soul that was already complete before the body—
— Then that developing soul might mistake that small fragment as part of itself—or even as nourishment. — Kássia
— A good point. But even so, a small fragment meeting a developing soul would likely be too insignificant to cause visible changes, wouldn't it? — Matteo
— Probably. But if we follow this reasoning alongside the known case of the lion—and the idea that snakes mix fragments of their own souls into the venom they release—then how much venom did that boy's soul absorb while it was still forming for him to reach this state? And how did he survive with that much venom in his body? A single bite would normally kill someone within hours. — Igor
In the arena, the fight continued. Troll attacked relentlessly, leaving no openings for Fitty to counterattack while blocking her blows using only the palms of his hands.
"She seems to have reached her limit. She's not getting any faster. So this must be your maximum."
When Troll moved in to strike, Fitty's unexpected punch pierced his defense as fast as a bullet fired from an air rifle. The attack was about to land—but in the split second before impact, his left arm seemed to liquefy. He used it like a whip to strike her arm. Upon contact, it coiled around her limb like a snake constricting its prey. The cracking of bones echoed—it sounded as if every bone in his arm shattered, replaced by muscle. While she stood stunned, he unleashed a barrage of punches to different parts of her body. Before delivering the final blow, he uncoiled his arm and struck her with a solid punch that sent her flying, crashing into the ground and kicking up sand from the arena floor.
— That was more exhausting than I expected. — Troll commented while gripping his left arm as it returned to normal, making the same bone-cracking sounds—though now they seemed to be resetting into place.
— On that last punch, you increased your hip rotation radius while planting your foot to boost speed and power. You really are strong. — Troll
— Get up, Fitty. You know that if you lose to me here, you won't be able to bring your family to this city. Do you really want to go back to them saying you were too weak and let someone like me knock you out and win? Or do you only beat me when we're arguing? — Troll
— What… got cocky just because you landed a few hits? Forgot… I'm the one who beat you in every training session. — Fitty said, struggling to stand.
— I… remember. But we're not training. — Troll
"Damn, my eyes… I can't see clearly. I overused them trying to track her fast strikes. This snake form takes a heavy toll in long fights too—especially against strong opponents."
— So in the end, if that's all you've got—if that's your whole will—if this is how you want to protect your family… then I can beat you with my eyes closed. — Troll
"I really think we could become a strong team and defeat the others in that arena. I truly believe we have potential, Troll. Maybe time will turn us into good friends in here." — Neale
"Too bad that's not going to happen, Neale."
"I'm about to eliminate a friend I never expected to make in here."
— And if that's it? Nothing more? If that's all you have, then your family deserves to stay where they are. — Troll
Fitty's head felt like it was about to explode, flooded with thoughts and memories—countless memories all at once. It was as if she were losing her mind while her breathing spiraled out of control.
There were so many memories that it felt like she had been dragged back into her past.