The world dissolved in a flash of white, disorienting light.
~ROOOAAAR!~
The sound hit him first, a wave of millions of voices, a mix of roars, shrieks, and guttural chants, all echoing in a massive, enclosed space.
Adrian found himself in a large, grimy, tallic room, its walls covered in flickering, high-definition screens. Each screen showed a brutal, ongoing brawl.
Other beings were here, each of them looking like sothing Adrian had never seen.
Grok, by contrast, looked completely at ho. A wide, savage grin split his reptilian face.
"Hah! This is my world, Adrian!" he roared, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. He slamd his maul onto the tal floor, a sound of pure, joyous anticipation.
As if on cue, Adrian’s PAD lit up, distracting him from the surrounding chaos.
Adrian found no reason to reject the teleportation. Though he wanted to check his new perks as a "Leader," this was far more interesting.
The mont he made his choice, more strings of text appeared on his PAD.
"Welco to the CLASH!" Grok bood again. "Follow , let’s go get our match registered!"
"Wait a minute," Adrian said, holding up a hand.
[Assimilate ?]
[Yes/No]
’Yes, assimilate.’
Imdiately after, his mind was flooded. He finally understood everything about how the Galactic Clash worked.
It was the absolute, central hub of the entertainnt in the Galaxy. He learned that the fighters were divided into leagues: Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Diamond and many more.
There were exactly one thousand fighters in the Silver league, and every week, the top 10 were promoted to the Gold league, while the bottom 10 were demoted back to Bronze.
It was a continuous, brutal cycle of promotion and demotion. The only other way to promote was to be in the top 100 of your league and issue a formal, high-stakes "Promotion Challenge" to soone in the league above, a process that ca with a punishnt if you were to fail.
Adrian walked closer to a large, glowing holographic board that dominated one wall, his eyes scanning the "Silver League" rankings.
Grok followed him, his massive chest puffed out with pride. He slamd one of his massive, four-fingered hands onto the board, pointing to a na.
[Silver League Rank 32: GROKTHEECRUSHER - Grak - 282 Wins, 49 Losses]
"You see that? That’s !" Grok boasted, his voice a proud roar that turned a few heads. "I’m not to be ssed with in this place! You’ll have to start from the bottom, in Bronze. I can assure you it won’t be easy to reach my level!"
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. He knew how strong Grok was. He had felt his Transcendent power, seen him shatter Karl with a single blow. And this brute was only the 32nd strongest in the second-to-last league. He was truly, utterly, a frog in a well. The power levels in the Nexus were far beyond what he had ever imagined.
"Enough reading! Let’s fight!" Grok said, his patience gone. He grabbed Adrian’s arm and dragged him towards one of the many booths that lined the wall.
The line was short, and they were quickly at the front, facing a bored-looking attendant, whose four eyes were all focused on different screens.
"Public or Private?" the attendant asked in a monotone, not even looking up.
"Public!" Grok roared. He swiped his card over a scanner and 10 credits were deducted from his account.
Adrian understood imdiately. The Info Book had explained it. It cost 1,000 credits for a private, un-broadcasted arena, a place to settle personal grudges quietly.
It cost only 10 credits for a public one, which ant that anyone in the entire Nexus with a wall-screen could tune in to your challenge.
Grok wasn’t just fighting him; he was making a public spectacle of it.
"New challenger," the attendant said, finally looking at Adrian. "Userna?"
"Adrian."
The attendant tapped his console. "Userna ’Adrian’ is taken. ’Adrian1’ through ’Adrian999’ are also taken. Choose another."
Adrian frowned. He decided to go with sothing else, and there was one in his mind. A na from his past life, one that resonated with his new purpose, ca to mind.
"Protheus," he said. It fit him perfectly, and Adrian was sure it couldn’t possibly be taken.
The attendant tapped his console again, his four eyes blinking in sequence. "Userna ’Protheus’ is taken. Do you want to be ’Protheus-2’?"
Adrian sighed in annoyance. He thought for a mont, adapting his idea. "Fine. Make it ’Project_Protheus’."
The attendant tapped one last ti. "Userna ’Project_Protheus’ accepted. Please stand on the transport pad."
As Adrian stepped onto the glowing pad, his new fighter profile flashed on a small screen beside him.
[FIGHTER PROFILE: Project_Protheus]
[CIVILIZATION: Sparkborn (Tier-1)]
[LEAGUE: Bronze]
[RANK: 999,999 ]
[WINS: 0 | LOSSES: 0]
[KILLS: 0]
"Good luck, new at," the attendant said, not looking up. Grok stepped onto the platform next to him, his grin a mask of predatory hunger.
"Ti to show you a real fight, Adrian!"
The white light flashed, and the roar of the crowd beca a deafening, physical presence. Adrian’s feet touched a new surface. Sand. He looked around.
The arena was impossibly large, a circular desert island floating in a sea of black, star-dusted space. A shimring, hexagonal energy shield, the "Plasma-Wall" from the broadcast, was the only thing separating them from the void. The holographic crowd, millions strong, surrounded them on all sides, their roars and cheers echoing in the thin, recycled air.
A booming, disembodied voice filled the stadium, a voice Adrian recognized from the wall-screen in his house.
Grok raised all four arms, and the crowd went wild.
The crowd booed and hisses. They were here for their champion, not so unknown rookie.
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