The Vice Captain's voice was calm.
"Two names."
"Hive, granted by the emperor."
"Disaster, branded by the world."
He let the words settle.
"Scarecrow is not a normal being. Not even close."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"He is a unique existence, one that has never appeared before."
A pause.
"And when he moves…"
"He will surprise everyone."
------
In Varis Minor, in one of its largest cities-Varis prime-a weekly event ruled the continent's attention. Not a festival. Not a parade. An arena.
A massive arena.
Every week, millions-tens of millions-watched. Some in person, packed into the stands until the air turned hot and loud. Most through spell-projected broadcasts, woven across the cities like a second sky.
The fights were never the same twice.
Because the audience decided them.
The crowd voted, and the arena granted it.
One week it was a straight brawl. Another week it was weapons. Another week it was something unreasonable, cruel, or clever, whatever entertained the most. The arena didn't care about fairness. It cared about spectacle.
This strange institution had been built decades ago by an abandoned royal from the Varis Family, someone cast out, someone who chose to carve out a kingdom of noise and blood instead. Over time, it multiplied. Branches spread across Varis Minor like a disease, each arena feeding the next, each city wanting its own version of the show.
Magic made it possible.
In Varis Minor, higher magic was common enough that "impossible" was often just a matter of cost. The barriers, the illusions, the controlled environments, the arena could reshape the battlefield with a vote and a spell.
Tonight, the main arena was filled.
Around one hundred thousand people sat shoulder to shoulder, roaring and chanting before a single fighter even stepped into the sand. Prisoners fought here most often, bargaining blood for freedom. But citizens could register too. If you survived, you earned money. Fame. Promotion. A reputation you could sell.
Still, most people never dared.
Because the fights were not reasonable.
Because the crowd was never merciful.
Because the arena did not forgive weakness or boring people.
The lights dimmed.
The noise swelled.
Then, suddenly, the sound collapsed into one focused surge as the announcer stepped forward.
He wore a sharp coat with gilded edges and a grin that belonged to someone who had never been hit in his life.
He lifted both hands.
"Hello, everyone," he said, voice amplified by a spell, "Welcome back."
The crowd erupted.
Alpha smiled wider.
"Brand new week. Brand new vote. And this time…" he dragged the pause, letting the anticipation cook, "…we have a special one."
"Twenty-two million votes this week."
The crowd exploded again.
Alpha laughed softly, enjoying it.
"And you people are sick."
More cheers.
"So. Tonight, we're doing it your way."
He gestured toward the gates.
"Let's welcome our contestants. One by one."
The first gate opened.
A large, broad-shouldered man stepped onto the arena, posture hunched, arms heavy, head lowered like he'd been dragged out of a cave and thrown into the light.
Alpha leaned forward.
"Oh? Look at this. Primitive. Raw."
He tilted his head theatrically.
"We'll call you…" Alpha paused, listening to the crowd's noise. "…Red Caveman."
The crowd roared approval.
The second gate opened.
A woman stepped out, expression hard, and one eye covered with cloth.
Alpha squinted.
"Mm. One eye. Simple."
He pointed.
"One-Eye Woman."
More cheering.
The third gate opened.
An ordinary-looking man stepped out. Nothing striking. No scars that stood out, no visible signature, no presence that pulled attention.
Alpha stared for a second.
Then shrugged.
"Average."
He smiled as if it amused him.
"Average Dude."
The fourth gate opened.
A shorter man stepped out, stiff and tense, jaw clenched like he was already angry at the crowd for looking at him.
Alpha laughed once.
"Short."
He made a lazy gesture.
"Shorty."
The fifth gate opened.
Another ordinary-looking man.
Alpha blinked.
Then smiled again, like the arena itself was making jokes for him.
"Another one."
He dragged the word.
"Average Guy."
He waited a beat, then corrected himself, grinning.
"No. No. We already used that."
The crowd started laughing.
Alpha spread his arms.
"Alright. We'll call him Average Guy Two."
The crowd cheered.
The sixth gate opened.
And another man stepped out.
Also, ordinary.
Also, blank.
Alpha stared.
The crowd murmured.
Alpha walked closer to the edge of the arena, peering down as if the man was a bad item someone tried to sell him.
He clicked his tongue.
"This is getting embarrassing."
He turned to the crowd, raising his hands.
"Alright, alright. I'll give him a chance."
The crowd responded with excited noise, eager to see what will happen.
Alpha stepped down into the arena, slow and confident, and approached the last man.
He draped an arm around the man's shoulders like they were friends.
"Okay," Alpha said loudly, his voice carrying across the entire arena. "Tell us why you're here."
The man shook. Terrified. He could barely breathe under the weight of the crowd staring at him.
"I… I was in a gang," he said, voice cracking. "We robbed people."
Alpha nodded, pretending to take it seriously.
"And your hobbies?" he asked brightly.
The man swallowed.
"I… I like to rob people."
Alpha leaned closer.
"And what do people call you?"
The man's eyes flicked up, desperate to hold onto something that sounded powerful.
"I was the leader," he said quickly. "The gang was called the Scary Red Wolves."
His voice gained confidence for half a second.
"My supporters call me… the Alpha."
The crowd went silent for one heartbeat.
Then the entire arena erupted into laughter.
Alpha, the announcer tilted his head slowly.
Then he smiled, wide and amused.
"Oh."
"No," Alpha said gently, voice sweet and cruel at the same time. " Buddy, nobody's calling you that."
The man's face drained.
Alpha turned toward the stands and lifted both hands.
"Should we let the crowd name him?"
The arena roared approval.
The man started shouting in panic.
"No, wait, please..."
Alpha waved him off.
"Relax," he said. "This is the kind part."
A glowing sigil appeared above the arena floor. Voting lights flared in the stands, thousands of small spell-lamps turning on and off as people screamed suggestions.
Alpha listened, laughing softly, as names flashed in the air like insults given form.
Then the sigil locked.
A final name burned above the man's head.
Alpha read it aloud, delighted.
"No-Ear Guy."
The crowd screamed with laughter.
The man froze, humiliated, shaking, trying to understand why.
But that did not last long as both of his ears exploded on the spot.
Alpha leaned down to him, whispering loud enough for the front rows to hear.
"Because you didn't bring anything else."
He straightened and clapped his hands once.
"Alright."
He pointed toward the gates again.
"Next."