The next day…
From the early hours of the morning, the arena grounds buzzed with activity. Waves of players flooded through the giant gates, each one pushing eagerly toward their seats, clutching their tickets like treasure. The atmosphere was electric—tense with anticipation and brimming with energy. There was no other place in Paradise players wanted to be today.
The air shimmered with excitement. The enormous amphitheater was filled to its limits, and the sound of footsteps, laughter, and speculation echoed through its vaulted stone corridors.
Word had spread like wildfire the previous day: Ali would be fighting ten ranked players—back to back—in a single day. No player had ever attempted such a feat at this level before, let alone broadcast it across all of Paradise. It wasn't just madness—it was a statement.
And everyone wanted to witness it.
The entire arena had transformed into a patchwork of power. Every major guild was present, each occupying a massive section of the stands. Their colours, and armour reflected their identities with pride and menace.
Among the sea of chatter and rustling cloaks, Evelyn sat elegantly with Jasmine and Rose, nestled in a velvet-lined booth reserved for the Death Guild. Their eyes were all locked onto the colossal screen floating above the arena—where Ali's towering figure stood motionless at the centre of his battleground, waiting.
Ali stood alone.
From another sector, Zain sat with a stern expression beside Ashley, both dressed in full guild regalia. The golden threads of his coat shimmered in the sun. Behind them, a wave of elite guild members sat in rank and file, their eyes fixed forward.
'Can I beat him?' Zain wondered quietly, trying to gauge the Ali's strength.
Further behind them, seated like a dormant titan, was Atreus, the King of Sparta. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his golden spear rested across his lap like a serpent coiled in slumber. He said nothing—he just watched.
The murmurs were cut off by a sharp, energetic voice that boomed across the arena.
"Welcome players!" Administrator Toto's voice exploded across the field, filled with glee. "Who's excited to see some fighting!?"
The stadium erupted in cheers.
A sea of noise surged upward, shaking the very bones of the arena. Waves of applause and howls crashed together, echoing through the stands like a storm.
Ali tilted his head upward slightly, watching as thousands roared for blood.
'Feel like an animal,' he thought. There was no mistaking it. These people weren't cheering for a player. They were the collective bloodlust of Paradise, compressed into a coliseum.
Back in the Death Guild's booth, Rose leaned closer to Evelyn. "How strong is he, really?" she asked, voice tinged with awe and unease. "What rank would he get if he actually tried?"
Evelyn gently waved a luxurious black fan, the Death Guild's insignia etched in red silk. Her dark eyes didn't leave the screen. "I don't know," she admitted truthfully. "Nobody does… well—maybe someone does." Her gaze drifted across the arena, locking onto a man seated amidst a swarm of Air Guild members.
Jacob.
The pale-haired apostle sat with a smug smile, relaxed and confident. Beside him sat Philip, the Dice Devil, unusually composed with his slave seated quietly by his side. Just behind them, half-hidden in the shadow of his seat, the Air Guild Leader watched them all. His fingers flipped a golden coin with mechanical precision, but his sharp eyes were locked on Philip.
Back in the arena, Toto's voice returned. "First duel!"
A large gate on the other side of the arena rumbled open. Out stepped a tall, back man with rippling muscles and a chiseled physique. He wore the uniform of the Martial Arts Guild, fists wrapped in black cloth. A shimmering blue necklace hung from his neck—the protective talisman every smart fighter wore now against Ali's Telekinesis.
The moment his boots touched the sand, the roar faded. Thousands of eyes turned to him.
His throat tightened.
The pressure of all that attention hit like a wave. For a moment, he could barely breathe. 'I'm read', he told himself. 'I've trained for this. I'm not just a warm-up.'
He took a deep breath and stepped forward—each stride more confident than the last. His shadow stretched behind him, and suddenly, something strange happened.
SHHHHHHHH
Thick black liquid began to rise from his shadow, bubbling up like oil from the underworld. The ooze slithered up his limbs and wrapped around his arms and legs, forming armour-like tendrils that pulsed and hardened into glossy plating.
It looked like Venom. Living. Shifting. Hungry.
Ali raised an eyebrow with mild interest.
"Both players ready…" Toto's voice echoed.
"Three…"
The entire arena went quiet.
"Two…"
The Martial Artist rolled his shoulders and slammed his fists together, his eyes burning with determination.
"One…"
Ali didn't move.
"FIGHT!"
BOOOOOOOM!
Before his opponent could blink, a shockwave of air blasted outward from Ali's body. Force Push.
The fighter's feet left the ground—flung like a rag-doll across the arena. He smashed into the stone wall with a deep, bone-rattling CRACK.
"UGH!" he coughed. His back screamed in agony.
BOOOOOOM
Once again, the helpless martial artist was slammed brutally into the thick arena wall. His bones screamed under the pressure, his ribs caved in like paper under a hammer.
He hadn't even made it a quarter of the way across the arena floor.
He hadn't landed a single strike.
He hadn't even seen the attacks.
To the stunned audience, it was like an invisible fist was striking him from every direction.
'IT HURTS!' his internal voice howled in agony, white-hot pain burning from the base of his spine and blooming like a wildfire through every nerve in his body.
BOOOOOOM
BOOOOOOM
BOOOOOOM
Three more concussive blasts of Force rained down on him, and each one twisted his body further into unnatural shapes. On the fourth and final impact, he collapsed onto the blood-stained sand like a marionette with its strings cut.
He didn't move.
His arms and legs were bent at grotesque angles, like broken sticks tossed onto a campfire. His jaw had completely shattered, hanging unnaturally open—jagged bone and blood pooling beneath him. One eye dangled halfway from its socket, barely holding on, staring lifelessly at the sand.
It was a massacre.
Not a fight.
A public execution.
The arena, once bursting with energy and noise, was completely silent. Even the gamblers and cheerers held their breath. The brutality of it had caught everyone off-guard.
And then, amidst the silence…
Ali moved.
Just one step forward—but it was like thunder rolling through the stadium. With his hands still in his pockets, he walked slowly toward his destroyed opponent, his shadow stretching across the bloody sand like a cold hand reaching for the corpse.
'Killing someone without having to move…' Ali mused, his black eyes calm, empty of remorse.
'I'm starting to see the fun in it.'
He stopped just a few paces from the martial artist's shattered form. Slowly, he took his hands from his pockets and raised them, fingers spread wide.
CRACK. VOOOOOOOOOOOM.
The ground trembled.
A vortex of sand lifted around him, spiraling upward in enormous, churning waves like desert waves whipped up by a storm. Dust and grit soared into the air as tons of sand rose around him—lifted not by hand, but by pure Force, concentrated and honed into perfect control.
Ali stood at the centre like a god commanding the earth itself.
He was burning through three full points of Spirit, just to lift this absurd volume of matter—but he didn't blink. He didn't flinch. It was easy.
The crowd watched, stunned, as all that sand hovered directly over the crushed martial artist.
Then—Ali's hands fell to his sides.
BOOOOOOOM.
The mountain of sand collapsed onto the fighter's corpse in an instant. A monstrous crash echoed as it buried him under a suffocating tomb. The weight alone would have snapped the spine of a dragon, let alone a man.
The final nail.
"Ali wins," came Toto's voice…
There was a pause—then the arena exploded in noise.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
Cheers erupted like wildfire. Thousands of players roared to their feet, some throwing their hands in the air, others already counting their winnings. Ali's name became a chant echoing off every stone surface.
The betting booths rang with transactions. Screens flashed with updated odds. Some had bet against Ali in the first duel. If they'd won, they'd have become millionaires overnight—but now they were probably crying somewhere in the stands.
Of course, Toto had made it clear—fixing a duel was punishable by death. And he was the only one who decided what was "fixed."
Back in the arena, Ali turned calmly and walked back to the centre of the battlefield. The blood, the silence, the spectacle—it didn't touch him. His hands slipped back into his pockets.
A loud clang echoed as another heavy door opened on the opposite wall.
This time, a veteran stepped out.
A burly man in his fifties, wearing a full set of enchanted bronze armour. The plates shimmered with layered enchantments—each rune glowing with faint red light. In his hands, he carried a massive spear, etched with runes and gleaming enchantments meant to pierce through even the strongest defences.
He looked like a tank on legs.
'A real fighter this time…' Ali thought as the man took his stance across from him.
His Spirit instantly replenished, his internal pond shimmering full.
Meanwhile, in the crowd…
"That Force ability is terrifying…" Jasmine whispered, stunned.
"If I had to fight him, I'd die before even drawing my weapon."
"It's not just the Force," Evelyn replied calmly, flicking open her fan to cool herself as her black eyes glinted. "Ali is overpowering. I've fought other Force users. They have weaknesses. Get close, drain their Spirit—they fold like cards."
Rose nodded, arms crossed. "They're like mages, right? High Spirit, low body strength?"
Evelyn leaned slightly toward them. "Exactly. But mages at least have defensive spells. Most Force users don't. That's why most fall apart once you rush them."
"But," a young voice interrupted, "it depends on what type of Force it is…"
The girls turned and saw a younger boy sitting beside them—his hood half-drawn.
"Chase?" Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "Didn't I tell you to stop looking like a ghost all the time? Pull it back."
With a sigh, the kid pushed down his hood, revealing his youthful face and black hair. His expression softened a bit under Evelyn's 'big sister' glare.
Jasmine blinked. "Wait—you're that kid, right? The cloning one?"
Chase ignored the question. "I was a Star Wars fan before I came here," he said, sitting up straighter. "The Force isn't just one power. It's a collection of abilities—telekinesis, precognition, mind tricks, lightning, enhanced reflexes… Players don't get the entire system. They get rewarded with specific parts of it."
Evelyn glanced at Ali on the screen. "And he has Telekinesis."
"Yeah. He has telekinesis for sure—Probably Sense too, based on the way he moves in combat."
"So he's what, a boss battle in human form?" Jasmine said.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
All eyes turned back to the arena.
The second duel was about to begin.
——————-
Guys enjoy the next couple of chapters because this will be the last time u read about paradise in a very long time.
Please donate some of your power stones, it would help my ff massively.
Five chapters ahead of webnovel on patreon.com/Rondo312