Chapter 407: Umbral Conduit

Just as the host announced the start of the event, the first artifact appeared on the display screen. It was a silver sword with rune-like symbols glowing along its black hilt.

[ARTIFACT 001 — VESPER BLADE

Classification: Uncommon

Estimated Market Value: 750,000 Credits]

"This is an excellent weapon for those who appreciate precision," the host announced. "Will those interested in this item signify?"

A burly man seated in the back raised his tag. Another man in expensive robe raised he’s.

More followed, raising their tags to make a claim to the dagger.

After a while, seven identification numbers illuminated above the arena.

"Okay. It seems we have seven interested parties!" the host said, before calling the numbers out.

"Participants 012, 026, 031, 044, 058, 063, and 071. Please present your fighters."

The crowd roared in excitement.

Several minutes later, seven competitors stepped into the arena.

One was a four-armed alien with thick grey hide and corded muscle. Another was lean human woman in simple clothing, her bare hands flickering with flames. A shorter human man followed, carrying a single long sword.

The remaining competitors were equally varied: An insectile alien with chitin plating and twin acid glands along its mandibles. A broad-shouldered man with a war axe. A thin man wielding two short knives. And finally, a scaled reptilian alien with curved talons.

They spread out across the arena. Above them, the transparent barrier strengthened with a low hum, and the arena doors slammed shut.

"Seven participants have entered the ring," the host announced. "But there can only be one victor. Fighters, prepare yourselves."

A countdown appeared overhead.

THREE.

TWO.

ONE.

"BEGIN!"

The four-armed alien moved first. It closed in on the axe-man in three steps, seized him by the torso with two of its hands, and tore him in half. Blood and guts sprayed across the floor. The upper body of the axe-man hit the barrier. The lower body kept standing for half a second before collapsing.

The insect alien spat a stream of green acid at the dual-knife fighter. The liquid hit his chest and face. His skin bubbled and peeled away instantly. He screamed and clawed at his throat as the acid ate through cartilage and muscle, opening a ragged hole that sprayed blood and half-dissolved tissue. He collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing while the acid continued to boil him from the inside out.

The fire woman raised both her hands and aimed at the insect alien. Flames roared out of her palms in a wide arc and engulfed the alien. It’s chitin cracked and blackened. It tried to spit acid again but the fire poured into its open mouth and down its throat. It burned from the core of its chest outward, thrashing until it collapsed into a smoking, twitching heap of charred plates and bubbling fluid.

The scaled alien lunged at the short sword-man, its sharp claws heading his throat. The sword-man stepped aside faster than the eye could track and drove his sword up the alien’s chin. The blade punched under the scaled chin, drove through the soft palate, and burst from the top of the skull in a fountain of dark blood, bone shards, and brain matter. The scaled alien jerked once, its talons scraping uselessly on the floor before dropping dead in a spreading pool of black blood.

Meanwhile, the four-armed alien had charged toward the fire woman. She hurled a ball of flames into its chest, but the alien walked straight through the fire, grabbed both her wrists with its upper pair of hands, and yanked, ripping her arms clean from her shoulders.

The woman screamed in agony. Blood sprayed across the arena in thick arcs, painting the alien’s chest and the floor.

Before the woman could even think of running, the alien seized her head with a third hand and crushed it like a ripe fruit. Brain matter and skull fragments splattered the floor. The woman’s lifeless body collapsed to the ground.

The four-armed alien turned. The short sword-man stood across from it, patiently waiting.

They were the only two fighters remaining.

The four-armed alien moved first, charging at the man with its arms swinging wildly.

The man sidestepped the charge, thrusting his sword forward. The blade punched through the alien’s chest, piercing its heart.

The alien froze on the spot, its eyes widening. It raised its arms in a desperate bid to strike back, but the man didn’t give it that chance. He pulled his sword free, leapt onto the alien’s shoulders, and drove the blade down through the top of its skull.

The alien’s eyes rolled back, and it crumpled to the ground instantly. Dead.

The man landed on his feet, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths. Blood dripped from his sword, but there wasn’t a single scratch on him. He was only one left in the arena, standing amidst a pile of dismembered corpses

He was the winner.

"Participant 063 is the victor!" The host announced.

For a moment, the hall fell quiet.

Then, the crowd erupted in cheers. They had just witnessed a once in a lifetime death-match between powerful contenders. It was an exciting experience.

Meanwhile, Jayden had watched the entire match from his seat. He was at a loss for words. The match was an absolute, unbridled slaughter. There were no rules, no referees, and no mercy.

He let out a dark chuckle.

So it’s kill or be killed, huh? he thought, a dangerous smirk spreading across his face.

I guess I can work with that.

Back on the podium, the host waited until the noise subsided before speaking.

"Does anyone else wish to bid for the item?" he asked, gesturing towards the crowd.

The hall fell silent.

No one moved. No one spoke. No one stepped forward to make a claim.

The host smiled. "Then it’s decided..." he turned to the man in the arena. "Participant 063 has won the bid. You may come forward to claim your prize."

The arena doors opened and the man stepped out, still holding his sword beside him.

Then, an attendant walked onto the podium carrying the artifact in a secured case.

The host presented it to the man.

"Congratulations. The Vesper Blade now belongs to you."

The man accepted the case and stepped off the podium.

As he returned to his seat, the arena doors sealed shut.

Then, a low mechanical hum filled the chamber. Thin blue lines of light spread across the arena floor, forming a grid beneath the dead participants. One after another, the corpses vanished in flashes of pale light, teleported away by the arena’s disposal system.

The bloodstains disappeared also. A wave of light swept across the floor, erasing every trace of gore from the battle. Cracks in the arena’s surface knitted themselves together as the damaged material reconstructed itself, restoring the floor to its original condition.

Within seconds, the transformation was complete.

The arena stood pristine once more, its polished surface gleaming beneath the overhead lights as though the battle had never happened.

The host glanced at the spotless arena before turning back to the audience.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, let us proceed to our next artifact!"

Right on cue, the display screen above changed and another artifact appeared.

It was a long, black metal staff with golden rings around both ends. A dark purple crystal floated within a transparent chamber at its centre, rotating slowly without any visible support.

[ARTIFACT 002 — THE UMBRAL CONDUIT

Classification: Rare

Estimated Market Value: 2,000,000 credits]

The host spread his arms. "This here is an item of very high value. Do we have any interested bidders?"

Immediately, a bell chimed from one of the elevated VIP booths labeled Box 12.

Everyone looked up in curiosity.

Then, a large holographic projection popped up, displaying the interior of the booth.

Sitting on a leather couch inside was a gaudily dressed alien crime lord with scaly green skin and a gilded cane.

"I wish to bid on this artifact," he declared arrogantly. "My gladiator will fight for me. Anyone stupid enough to challenge the Varga Syndicate can step into the ring!"

The crowd went quiet. The Varga Syndicate was a dominant intergalactic cartel renowned for their ruthlessness; no one dared to cross them.

They all discarded every thought of placing a bid on the artifact. It wasn’t worth making an enemy of the syndicate.

Meanwhile, in Box 4.

Sitting comfortably behind the glass of another booth was a man in his late thirties, elegantly dressed in a tailored burgundy suit, a thick cigar clamped between his teeth. Winding up his neck was the tattoo of a serpent. His piercing red eyes glinted with quiet defiance.

This was the leader of the Black Cobra Syndicate. He had been present since the beginning of the event. Beside him stood a neatly dressed assistant holding a thin electronic tablet.

He didn’t even say a word. He simply raised a hand, signaling his assistant to ring the bell.

She nodded once and did as instructed.

RING.

The bell chimed outward.

Everyone in the hall turned their heads in shock.

Box 4 declared a bid.