The arena lights washed across the fractured stone where Nikko and the monkey man had clashed monts earlier.
Their duel had drawn every wandering eye back to the center of the stage. Even the ongoing fights seed to dim in presence beside the pressure those two released.
Pandora was a world where every race held sothing singular.
Dragons carried their ancient tongue and their fearso transformations.
Elves lived with senses so sharp they bordered on precognition.
Humans, despite their fragile bodies, were the wellspring from which every art had been born.
And beast n carried primal energy, the raw instinctive force that let them strike harder, move faster, and heal through sheer ferocity.
Which was why the monkey man’s stare cut through the arena.
He rested casually on his staff, tail flicking behind him as if he had all the ti in the world.
"So," he said, voice steady, "how did you do it? How did you gain primal energy?"
Nikko’s claws retracted as she straightened, her breathing stable again.
The wound on her side had already knitted closed under a faint glow of primal light.
But she didn’t answer yet.
Around the arena, spectators murmured among themselves.
"She isn’t a beast man, right?"
"I saw her use claws earlier, but she’s clearly human."
"No, seriously, how did she use primal energy? Only beast n can do that."
The monkey man wasn’t the only one wanting answers now.
Every pair of eyes in the stands followed Nikko. The screens magnified her expression as she pulled her braid over her shoulder, gaze fixed on the fighter across from her.
High above the crowd, Elizabeth leaned toward Leon. Her voice was low, almost thoughtful. "Looks like everyone reached the sa conclusion."
Leon shook his head slightly, amusent flickering in his eyes.
A spectator behind them leaned forward.
"What do you an by that?"
Elizabeth didn’t turn around.
"Just watch. You’ll see."
The man frowned, but he obeyed, shifting his attention back to the arena.
Nikko inhaled once, centering herself. She t the monkey man’s gaze head-on.
"It’s my talent."
Silence spread across the stands like a ripple.
Monkey man: "..."
Spectators: "..."
Their shock ca from a simple misunderstanding. Pandora’s people didn’t know what a trial taker was. They didn’t know trial takers could awaken talents. So when Nikko ntioned her talent, they assud she ant natural talent. Innate skill. A knack for primal energy. Not a supre talent born of a system far beyond this world.
She wasn’t talking about affinity.
She was talking about [Primal Hunter].
But no one here knew what that ant.
The monkey man tilted his head as if weighing her words. Then he let out a breath, low and steady.
"Fine. Keep your secrets if you want." He shifted his grip on his staff.
"But never claim talent in front of ."
The atmosphere thickened.
Primal energy burst from his body in a wave that cracked the air. It coiled around him like a living storm, raw and violent, the kind of power that could tear apart mountains if unleashed without restraint.
"My path was carved, not given," he said. "Therefore, talking about talent is an insult to my dedication."
Nikko’s eyes narrowed.
She felt the weight of his primal energy pressing down on her shoulders, trying to force her to kneel.
Her heartbeat spiked.
Inwardly, she cursed.
’This is bad.’
The monkey man pushed off his staff, legs tensing, energy coiling like a spring ready to fire.
And Nikko braced herself for the storm that was coming.
****
Malachi was the na of the monkey man, moved through the Crucible stands like a quiet ripple, a mix of awe and disbelief trailing behind it.
The irony clung to him like a second skin. He despised talent, yet he was the clearest example of it standing on two feet.
His story was old, older than the corruption that now stained Pandora.
Sixty years earlier, Malachi had been nothing more than a slave child purchased by the imperial guards of the human empire.
His life had been simple and bleak. He worked. That was all he knew how to do. Cleaning armor, carrying crates, scrubbing blood off training floors.
It was the kind of life that was ant to break a person, but instead the long days forged sothing inside him.
During those years, he had watched the guards train. While sweeping the yard or hauling equipnt, he would steal glances at their footwork, their breathing, the paths of their strikes.
Bit by bit, sothing sparked. Even during chores, his body began to respond. His muscles morized the details his eyes absorbed.
At night, in the cramped servant quarters, he would mimic what he’d seen. His movents were almost perfect, so precise they would have made a seasoned instructor pause.
But no matter how well he copied them, he couldn’t advance as a professional. He didn’t have the thod, the foundation, or the guidance.
Yet the effort awakened sothing buried in his beastman blood.
The primal energy inside him stirred for the first ti.
Every race had their gift. Dragons had their tongue and their transformation. Elves had their senses that brushed against the world like fingertips over silk. Humans held the source of all arts.
Beast n... they had primal energy. But only a rare few could actually use it.
Malachi beca one of those few. And he did it alone.
Primal energy wouldn’t carry him to the peak by itself, but it opened a door. And Malachi stepped through without hesitation.
One night, long before dawn, he slipped into the imperial guards’ common library and copied down a basic art.
To the guards, that art was nearly worthless.
To Malachi, it turned into the very thing his body had been waiting for. It soothed him. It fit him.
And like all true matches between beast and art, it lifted him higher than anyone expected.
Sixty years later, he stood in the arena as a rank 8 warrior, his presence loud enough to make veterans hesitate and whisper his na.
And now, primal energy surged around him like a storm breaking free.
He pushed off the arena floor, the stone cracking beneath his feet, and charged at Nikko in a blur of motion.
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