Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 70: Chains of man.

Chapter 70: Chains of man.

(A few days later)

The city buzzed with energy, streets overflowing with excited chatter as waves of people made their way toward the grand Colosseum. The air was thick with anticipation—the Kraft Tournament was about to begin.

Groups of students gathered in designated areas, each standing proudly beneath their school’s banner. Some looked eager, others tense. The tournament was a moment of truth—an opportunity to prove themselves.

Among them stood Amari and the Ocean brothers, alongside two other students from their school—the only ones who had signed up. Compared to the other schools, whose ranks numbered in the hundreds, their group was embarrassingly small.

Maverick crossed his arms, surveying the field of competitors. His eyes darted between the rival schools, watching the way their students boasted, tested their abilities, and hyped each other up. They were drowning in numbers.

Maverick scoffed. "Turnout’s worse than I thought," he muttered. "We’re eight against hundreds. This school has no chance at winning the Kraft Kup."

Despite his words, Amari remained calm, scanning the faces around him. Some competitors exuded confidence, others radiated nervous energy. But one thing was obvious—a lot of them were looking down on his team.

Whispers passed between students.

"They don’t even have enough people."

"That school always fails. They should’ve just stayed home."

"Look at them—smallest group here. What a joke."

Amari exhaled slowly, ignoring the murmurs. He had been underestimated before. And every single time, he proved them wrong.

Maverick shook his head. "This’ll be an uphill battle."

Amari cracked his knuckles, smirking slightly. "Good. I like a challenge."

The organizer approached the group, a clipboard in hand, his sharp eyes scanning over them. "Names?" he asked briskly.

One by one, they responded, listing off their names with varying levels of enthusiasm. Amari, standing slightly behind, gave his name last, watching the organizer scribble each one down without much reaction.

Once that was done, the organizer looked up again. "Alright. What test are you signing up for?" He glanced between them. "The Conflictus test—fighting. Or the Potentialogium test—For those who use their abilities to advance knowledge."

Amari blinked, the unfamiliar terms throwing him off. He glanced at Maverick, silently asking for clarification.

Without missing a beat, Maverick stepped forward. "The six of us will be doing Conflictus," he said, nodding toward the Ocean brothers.

The other two students hesitated for a second before echoing the same choice. "Conflictus."

The organizer scribbled it down, nodding slightly. "Understood." He glanced up at the growing crowd, adjusting his stance. "Potentialogium tests start first, so you’ll be waiting for your turn."

Amari crossed his arms, watching the rest of the competitors excitedly discussing their strengths, some boasting loudly while others whispered anxiously.

Maverick scoffed slightly. "Guess we’re just spectators for now."

Amari smirked. "Fine by me."

The waiting room was quiet, the tension thick in the air as each competitor examined the weapons laid out before them. Some took their time, carefully weighing their options, while others knew exactly what they wanted the moment they stepped inside.

Shylo reached for dual daggers, testing their weight in his hands. Milo grabbed a long wooden staff, spinning it experimentally before nodding in approval. Kenneth smirked as he hoisted a hammer, its weight satisfying in his grip. Maverick, ever the strategist, picked up a massive shield, so large it covered him from head to toe. Johnny ran his fingers along the edges of dual swords, nodding slightly as he claimed them.

Amari, however, stood still.

His eyes locked onto something at the far end of the table—a tangled mess of chains. They weren’t neatly arranged like the other weapons. Instead, they were coiled together, twisted, almost waiting.

Slowly, Amari stepped forward.

His fingers brushed over the cold metal, the familiar texture sending a chill through him. He traced the links, feeling the weight of history behind them. This wasn’t just a weapon. This was something more.

Johnny noticed his hesitation. "You good?" he asked, watching Amari closely.

Amari didn’t answer right away. His throat felt tight. Was he really about to do this?

He glanced at Johnny. "Should I touch it?"

Johnny raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Why not? If it feels right, take it."

Amari hesitated for only a second more.

Then, finally, he gripped the chains.

Amari ran his fingers over the metal links, feeling the cold weight of the chain resting in his grip. The hooked daggers at both ends gleamed under the dim light, sharp and deadly. His voice was calm, almost distant as he spoke.

"This reminds me of when I used to be a slave," he admitted.

Johnny frowned slightly, watching him closely. "And you still want to use it?" he asked, a hint of concern in his tone.

Amari nodded. "Chains like these... they’ll bring me the power I need." He tightened his grip. "If I hold something like this, I won’t even need an Unco."

Johnny didn’t fully understand, but he could see the certainty in Amari’s eyes. He sighed and gave a slow nod. "Alright, man. If you say so."

With a sharp motion, Amari swung the chain over his shoulders, the weight settling against him like it had always belonged there. He turned to face the group. "I’m ready."

Milo snorted, arms crossed, barely suppressing a grin. "Yeah? You sure? ’Cause that weapon makes you look real stupid."

Amari smirked, adjusting the chain without missing a beat. "That’s fine," he said simply. "I’ll manage looking stupid—if it means I get to become what I want to be."

The room fell quiet for a moment, his words settling in.

Then, Maverick straightened, adjusting his massive shield. "Alright, then," he muttered. "Let’s see if you can prove it."

The waiting room buzzed with low conversations, restless energy creeping into the air as the Potentialogium tests dragged on. Amari sat back, arms crossed, watching as Kenneth shifted impatiently in his seat, bouncing his leg every few seconds.

Milo, ever the instigator, smirked. "You’re like a damn hassle in here, man. Sit still, or do you need a leash?"

Kenneth shot him a glare. "Piss off if you don’t want a fight."

Amari sighed, shaking his head. "Fighting each other here is pointless," he muttered. "Unless you wanna get kicked out of the tournament before it even starts."

Kenneth grumbled something under his breath but didn’t push it further.

After a moment, Amari turned to both Kenneth and Maverick, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Why haven’t you entered before?" he asked.

Maverick exhaled, leaning back against the wall. "We have," he admitted. "Just weren’t strong enough to compete in the latter stages."

Amari raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t something Maverick usually admitted so easily.

"But" Maverick continued, glancing at their small group, "this year’s different. Everyone’s in. We actually have a shot."

Amari smirked, gripping the chains draped over his shoulder. "Then let’s make sure we take that shot."