Chapter 1: The Baptism of Scales
The air in the canyon was a thick mixture of ancient dampness and the metallic smell of burning incense. Enclosed between granite walls that seemed to watch intruders with stone eyes, the Dragon Sanctum monastery stood like a scar of brutalist architecture over ruins that time should have devoured. The sound was not of birds or wind, but the rhythmic echo of taiko drums that made the sternum vibrate, dictating an artificial heartbeat for the ten waiting there.
Dorian Tully adjusted his fingerless leather gloves, feeling the weight of his waxed canvas coat on his shoulders. The rigidity of his posture was a barrier against the chaos. At his side, the tension was palpable, but of different natures: Xaolazior's technological and arrogant brilliance contrasted with the massive and lazy figure of Rualyxi, who seemed more interested in the contents of his canteen than in imminent glory.
Torches of greenish flame flanked the hall, casting long, distorted shadows that danced over the Dragon Totems hanging from each participant's chest. They were opaque stones, waiting for the first sign of life - or failure. The atmosphere was not that of a television studio, but that of a ritualistic slaughterhouse where civilization was just a distant memory.
In the center of the Inner Sanctum, beneath the cold light of hidden monitors and the heat of embers, Olivia appeared. She didn't walk; she moved with the precision of a scalpel. His slate gray uniform was impeccable, an affront to the dust and sweat that was already beginning to mark the competitors.
- Welcome to the Claw Cycle - Olivia's voice was sharp, devoid of any human warmth. - You believe you came for a test of strength. They are wrong. They came for a utility test. The Dragon does not tolerate the superfluous.
She pointed to the center of the black stone arena, where ten iron pedestals supported sealed boxes.
- The first challenge is not against man, but against the weight of existence itself. Each box contains a burden proportional to your arrogance. You must transport them to the top of the Staircase of the Ancestors while suffering the deprivation of one of their senses. Those who do not arrive before the last bell rings will lose their first Light.
Dorian squinted his eyes, watching the others. Jarrett Hindergrass was already snorting, his face reddened under his orange bandana, while Elías - the young Kylyx - was shaking slightly, his hands clenching his leather briefcase as if it were a shield.
The conflict began even before the signal. Xaolazior activated its augmented reality sensors, a copper light shining in its hexagonal lenses. He looked for the most efficient route, the perfect angle. Dorian, on the other hand, ignored technology. He caught the eye of Loru, the warrior with the crimson visor. There was a silent understanding between the two: Jarrett's brute strength or Aerviar's agility would be useless if the mind broke first.
"Start," Olivia ordered.
Chaos ensued. When the boxes were touched, an electromagnetic pulse tuned to the Totems deprived each one of something essential. Dorian felt the world sink into absolute silence. Total deafness.
He saw Jarrett scream - a scream he couldn't hear - as the giant man stumbled, deprived of his vision. Rayararan, the scholar, staggered with the loss of his kinesthetic balance.
Dorian grabbed the handles of his box. The weight was absurd, a density that seemed to suck in the light around it. He didn't look back. His mind focused on the top of the stairs, where fog shrouded the end of the path. He felt the vibration of the others' footsteps through his combat boots. With each step, the social and physical pressure increased.
Wadalidadt walked past him, eyes focused, crimson bandana like a bloodstain in the mist. She was fast, but Dorian realized her mistake: she was using too much energy to maintain the lead.
The Dramatic Turn
Halfway up, the ruins mechanism roared. The canyon walls closed in a few inches, and jets of scalding steam were released from the side.
Geswield, in his burgundy leather suit, attempted an evasive maneuver, but the weight of the box dragged him to the edge of the cliff. With no sound to guide him, Dorian saw only Geswield's figure gliding by. For a second, Dorian's gray morality wavered. Save a competitor or secure your position?
Dorian reached out, not to Geswield, but to lock the other's box against a stone ledge, using it as a step for himself and simultaneously stopping his rival from falling. It was a purely strategic move: he needed Geswield alive for the co-op challenges Olivia had mentioned.
At the top, the first cruel revelation: there were no ten seats. There were only nine spaces marked on the stone floor.
The bell echoed, a vibration that Dorian felt in his teeth. He threw his box into the ninth space just as Jarrett, blind and furious, collapsed just meters from the finish line.
Olivia walked over to the fallen giant. The Totem on Jarrett's chest made a sharp sound and the first of its three lights went out, turning a dead gray.
"Failure has a cost, Mr. Hindergrass," Olivia said, looking at the timer on her wrist. - And the cost is its relevance.
Dorian wiped the sweat from his forehead, his hearing gradually returning with a painful buzzing sound. He looked at the other eight survivors from the first stage. The silent alliance with Loru and Geswield's technical debt were pieces on the board. But Olivia's gaze promised no rest.
She approached Dorian, the smell of antiseptic emanating from her impeccable uniform.
- A tactical sacrifice to save a pawn, Tully? - she whispered, loud enough for the others to hear. - We'll see if this "goodness" lasts when the blood starts to stain the arena.
Below them, the shadows of the ancestors' holographic projections began to ascend the stairs, surrounding the group with silent, icy judgment.
The first Cycle was just beginning, and the Sanctuary required more than sweat.
Would you like me to narrate the first martial duel in the Inner Sanctum, or would you prefer to explore a behind-the-scenes conspiracy between the participants during the rest?