Blood Online: Evolving Endlessly-Chapter 162: New Participants [Bonus]

The lone fighter in critical condition was a man who’d somehow survived his encounter but was barely clinging to consciousness. His platform was soaked with blood, his breathing shallow and irregular.

He wouldn’t survive another round. Everyone watching knew it. He probably knew it too.

"Impressive!" Jeren announced cheerfully, as if commenting on a particularly entertaining play rather than mass slaughter. "Such tenacity! Such will to survive! The gods are most pleased!"

He clapped his hands together.

"You’ve earned a longer rest this time. Thirty minutes! Use it well—eat, recover, prepare yourselves. You’ve made it to the final round!"

The platforms’ barriers flickered and lowered slightly, no longer trapping the fighters in complete isolation. The oppressive divine presence that had permeated the arena seemed to lift somewhat—the gods withdrawing their attention momentarily.

For the first five minutes, divine lights descended again. But noticeably fewer this time.

Seth received one gift. Just one, from a god who’d been impressed by his use of the previous manifestation. Ryan received nothing at all, the gods apparently deciding he didn’t need their help.

’The gifts must cost them something,’ Akhil realized, watching the sparse distribution. ’They’re not unlimited. The gods can’t just throw items around constantly without some kind of price or limitation.’

It made sense. If divine gifts were free and unlimited, they’d be used far more liberally. But this sparse distribution meant the gods were being selective, choosing their investments carefully.

After the gifts came something unexpected, servants appeared in the arena. Young women in simple white robes, carrying trays of food and drink. They moved between platforms, offering sustenance to the exhausted fighters.

Real food. Not divine items or magical healing, just actual meals. Bread, meat, water, fruit. Simple fare but desperately needed.

The fighters fell upon it with varying degrees of desperation. Some ate mechanically, refueling without tasting. Others savored every bite, knowing it might be their last meal. A few couldn’t eat at all, stomachs too twisted with fear and adrenaline.

Seth ate methodically, his blue-glowing eyes studying the arena, cataloging everything he could about the layout, the barriers, the way the platforms functioned. Even while recovering, his mind was working, analyzing, preparing.

Ryan ate calmly, his regeneration having restored him completely. The extensive wounds he’d suffered were nothing but memories now, not even scars remaining. He looked fresher than fighters who’d barely been touched in their matches.

Then, without warning, space rippled.

More people appeared in the arena...not gradually, not walking in, but teleported instantly. One hundred new participants, standing on platforms that hadn’t been occupied moments before.

The hundred who’d just survived two brutal rounds looked up in shock, seeing fresh fighters materialize around them.

And on the screens throughout the settlement, Akhil’s eyes narrowed as he recognized faces among the newcomers.

’The second group,’ he realized. ’Jeren’s calling the next hundred.’

His gaze swept across the new arrivals, cataloging who he recognized, who looked prepared, who seemed already overwhelmed by sudden displacement.

Then his eyes stopped on one particular figure, and his jaw tightened.

Harry stood on one of the platforms, looking around with a mixture of confusion and anger. The same adventurer who’d argued with Akhil during the meeting, who’d insisted he wouldn’t follow anyone’s strategy, who’d proclaimed he’d take any opportunity to attack Jeren directly.

Now he was here. In the arena. About to face exactly what Akhil had warned him about.

Around Harry, other fighters from the settlement appeared. Some Akhil knew by name, others just by sight. All of them had been walking through the streets moments ago, heading toward their assigned arena locations. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Now they were here. Trapped. Forced into Jeren’s tournament whether they’d been ready or not.

’Random selection,’ Akhil thought bitterly. ’Just like he said. Numbers called at his whim, pulling fighters from wherever they happen to be.’

On screen, he could see Harry’s expression shift from confusion to understanding to barely controlled rage. The adventurer’s fists clenched, his eyes searching the arena...probably looking for Jeren, looking for any target to vent his fury on.

’Don’t do it,’ Akhil thought, though Harry couldn’t hear him. ’Don’t try anything stupid. Just survive. That’s all that matters right now.’

But he knew Harry. Knew the type. Proud, aggressive, convinced of his own strength. The kind of fighter who’d rather die attacking than live by retreating.

’He’s going to do something reckless,’ Akhil predicted with grim certainty. ’The moment he sees an opening, he’ll take it. Just like he said he would.’

Around Akhil, his group watched the screens with various expressions. Concern for those newly called. Relief that their own numbers hadn’t come up yet. And underlying it all, the cold knowledge that their turn was coming.

Eventually, inevitably, their numbers would be called.

And they’d stand in those platforms, facing opponents designed to kill them, while gods watched and wagered and demanded entertainment.

Aria’s hand found Akhil’s arm, gripping it tightly. Not seeking comfort so much as sharing the weight of understanding.

"Any of us," she said quietly. "At any time."

"Yes," Akhil agreed.

On screen, Jeren appeared once more, standing on his elevated platform overlooking the arena. His eyes swept across both groups...the twenty survivors of the first two rounds and the hundred fresh fighters just called.

His smile behind the mask was visible in the gleam of his eyes.

"Welcome, new contestants!" he announced cheerfully. "I hope you’re all well-rested and prepared, because we have such wonderful matches planned for you!"

He gestured broadly at the exhausted survivors.

"And congratulations to those who’ve made it this far! You’ve proven yourselves worthy of the gods’ continued attention. Just one more round, and you’ll have earned a true respite!"

One more round. For the survivors, it meant one more desperate fight. For the newcomers, it meant facing the same nightmare the others had just endured.

"But first," Jeren continued, his voice taking on that edge of dark amusement, "let’s give everyone time to... get acquainted. Thirty minutes remains on your rest period. Use it wisely."

The implications were clear. The survivors could see what was coming...could watch the fear and realization dawn on the faces of those newly arrived. And the newcomers could see what awaited them, could observe the blood-soaked platforms, the exhausted survivors, the very real evidence of what these matches entailed.

Psychological warfare. Breaking spirits before the fighting even began.

In the divine realm, gods leaned forward with renewed interest. Fresh fighters meant fresh entertainment. New variables in their wagers. More opportunities for spectacular deaths or unexpected victories.

And throughout the settlement, on every screen, thousands watched and waited and prayed their numbers wouldn’t be called next.