Mahivacha stared down at the mangled remains of his opponent, irritation flickering across his face.
"That's it?" he muttered. "Didn't even try."
What he didn't realize was that the fight had already played out—just not where he could see it.
Miles away, hidden deep within the oversized terrain, Alex crouched in the shadow of a fractured structure, breathing steadily as the flood of information in his mind settled.
That was close.
He hadn't died.
Not even remotely.
What Mahivacha had crushed was nothing more than a projection—a fully simulated outcome generated by Alex's own ability.
He had never intended to fight head-on.
Why would he?
With his power, charging into a battle blind would've been suicide. Instead, he stayed hidden, running scenario after scenario in his mind. Every movement, every attack, every possible response—tested, refined, discarded.
Only when victory was certain would he step in.
That was how he had taken down his previous opponent.
And just now, he had tested Mahivacha the same way.
The result?
A dead end.
No matter what he tried, every path collapsed into failure within seconds. The man was too fast, too durable, too overwhelming.
So Alex did the only sensible thing.
He stayed hidden.
From his vantage point, he continued to observe, quietly gathering data. As long as his brain could handle the strain, his predictive loops could dissect every opponent in the arena.
It wasn't about winning quickly.
It was about being the last one alive.
Across the battlefield, similar strategies unfolded.
These weren't random criminals anymore. Each participant had been selected, enhanced, and backed by entire regions. Every fight carried the weight of countless unseen hands pushing from behind.
The scale of the conflict had changed.
This wasn't chaos.
It was calculated war.
And the intensity showed.
Even someone like Noah Vale—who had once taken control of the entire planet alone—wouldn't walk into this arena lightly. Against hundreds of enhanced opponents working in tandem, even he would have to take it seriously.
Online, the audience was loving every second of it.
Streams of energy blasts, shockwaves, and high-speed clashes lit up the sky. The drone feeds captured everything in crisp detail, turning the battlefield into a spectacle that kept millions glued to their screens.
Then—
A blinding flash.
The screen washed out in white.
A second later, the shockwave hit.
A massive explosion tore across the horizon, followed by a rising column of smoke that twisted into a familiar, horrifying shape.
A mushroom cloud.
The entire battlefield seemed to pause.
"What the hell was that?" someone shouted.
Heads turned.
Far in the distance, another arena—one of the parallel match zones—had become ground zero for something far beyond conventional combat.
"That's… a nuke, right?" another voice said, disbelief creeping in.
Before anyone could process it—
Another explosion.
And another.
Chain detonations rippled across the distant zone, each one sending towering clouds of fire and debris into the sky.
"Are they fighting a war over there?" someone muttered.
Then things got worse.
A missile streaked across the sky.
It crossed from one competition zone into another—straight into the superhuman battlefield.
And detonated.
The blast swallowed everything nearby, wiping out several fighters instantly. Among them was one of the tournament favorites.
Inside the White House, Tony Stark lowered his drink, staring at the screen.
"…Okay. That might be a little much," he said.
Around him, a small group—including Wilson Fisk and Rodriguez—watched the broadcast unfold.
"These guys are getting close to professional-level threats," Tony added. "We're pushing the line here."
Fisk didn't look concerned.
"They're not meant to last," he said calmly. "Only one walks away from this. When it's over, we bring that one in."
Tony exhaled, unconvinced but not arguing further. He raised his glass again—
And immediately flinched as another flash lit up the room.
"What was that? Someone throwing light-based attacks now?" he asked.
Rodriguez didn't even blink.
"No. Someone upgraded a rocket launcher with a thermonuclear payload."
Tony choked on his drink.
"I'm sorry—what?"
"I thought this was the weapons division," Rodriguez added with a shrug. "Who said rockets and nuclear warheads don't count?"
Tony wiped his mouth, staring at him. "You're serious?"
Fisk leaned back slightly. "At their current level, standard firearms won't cut it. Some of them could walk through machine gun fire. If you want results, you escalate."
Tony pressed his fingers to his temple. "You've turned this into a nuclear arms race."
"No," Fisk replied. "We just stopped pretending it wasn't one."
Back on the battlefield, panic spread.
Even for enhanced fighters, nuclear weapons weren't something you ignored.
Sure, some of them could survive—or at least escape the blast radius.
But doing that while fighting?
That was a different story.
"This is insane!" one competitor shouted, pointing at a hovering drone. "Does anyone in charge see this? That missile crossed zones! That's got to be against the rules!"
The complaint was forwarded.
Fisk answered.
"What's the problem?" he said casually over the comms. "It's exciting, isn't it?"
"Exciting? It's a violation! What if we get killed by something from another match?!"
Fisk didn't miss a beat.
"Then you can file a complaint after you're dead."
The line went silent.
On the battlefield, frustration boiled over—but there was nothing anyone could do.
They had signed up for this.
This wasn't a game.
It was survival.
And if the rules didn't protect them, then they'd have to adapt.
One way or another.
Far above it all, inside the floating stronghold, the mood couldn't have been more different.
The earlier tension in the room had long since dissolved.
Now, Gwen, Camila, Susan, and Rogue lay scattered across the space, too drained to even move properly.
Noah Vale stood at the center of it all, looking entirely satisfied.
When temptation sat right in front of you, rich and impossible to ignore, restraint tended to lose the argument.
Still, even in the middle of it all, something shifted.
His expression flickered.
His senses sharpened instinctively, expanding outward.
And then he felt it.
Something had entered.
Massive objects, tearing through space with raw, undeniable presence.
A fleet.
Dark, alien, and unmistakably hostile.
The Dark Elves had arrived.