Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 74: A brother in you.

Chapter 74: A brother in you.

The battlefield was still a storm of chaos—fighters falling left and right, alliances crumbling, students turning on each other without hesitation. This wasn’t just competition—it was survival. Every blow landed was a step closer to victory, every failed defense an instant ticket to elimination.

Amari held his ground, weaving through the madness, his chains striking with ruthless precision. He wasn’t just fighting—he was commanding the battle like it was made for him, like the chaos itself bent to his rhythm.

Then came the insults.

A few fighters rushed him, reckless in their aggression.

"You don’t belong here," one spat, swinging his sword wildly. "You’re just dead weight in this tournament!"

Another sneered, voice dripping with contempt. "You actually think a loser school like yours has a shot? Pathetic."

Amari barely reacted. Instead, his smirk deepened.

If they were resorting to taunts, they were already losing.

Then—

A voice cut through the noise, smooth, familiar.

"I knew that hair looked familiar."

Amari paused, shifting his stance just enough to register the speaker.

Apollo.

Standing there, effortlessly confident, smiling like they weren’t in the middle of a battle. Like he was actually glad to see him.

For the first time since the fight started, Amari’s grin widened.

"Took you long enough," he said, greeting him with a nod.

Apollo laughed, shaking his head. "This really isn’t the best place for a reunion."

Amari adjusted his grip on his chains. "We’ll have a proper one when I win."

Apollo raised an eyebrow, amused. "That cockiness of yours hasn’t changed."

His eyes flickered toward the fighters still circling Amari. His expression shifted—something sharp, thoughtful. "You need backup?"

Amari waved him off. "Focus on yourself." Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted his chain, letting the metal catch the arena lights. "I’ve got this."

Apollo’s gaze landed on the weapon, his grin widening. "You’re using chains?" His tone held something bordering admiration. "Oh, that’s wild—alright, show me something."

Amari exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Watch and learn."

Then the fight snapped back into motion—three fighters closing in on him at once, their attacks fast, vicious, coordinated.

Three versus one.

Should’ve been overwhelming.

But for Amari?

It was perfect.

He spun his chains, the hooked daggers slicing through the air with practiced precision. The first attacker lunged, sword raised high, aiming for a powerful downward strike—Amari saw the weak point before the blade even descended.

A heartbeat.

Then—

He twisted his chain outward, catching the weapon mid-swing and redirecting it effortlessly, slamming it harmlessly against the ground.

The second fighter was already charging, attempting to close the gap.

Amari didn’t hesitate.

With a sharp motion, he jerked the chains upward, looping the metal around the fighter’s wrist and yanking hard—sending them stumbling forward, straight into his next move.

Without missing a beat, Amari vaulted himself into the air, using his momentum to launch a counterattack.

The third fighter was waiting, preparing a strike for when he landed—ready, expecting the movement.

He never landed where they thought he would.

Mid-air, Amari spun his other chain, the dagger cutting through the air in a precise feint, forcing his opponent to block.

That hesitation?

Was all he needed.

Amari landed, low, sweeping his leg in a brutal arc that knocked the fighter off balance. They hit the ground hard, struggling to recover—but Amari was already moving again, countering with surgical precision.

The crowd erupted—roars crashing over the battlefield in waves.

Apollo, watching from the sidelines, laughed under his breath. "Man, this guy’s ridiculous."

Amari barely registered the words.

His focus was locked, razor-sharp.

And right now?

He was unstoppable.

The last fighter collapsed outside the ring—knocked out cold.

Amari smirked, rolling his shoulders, watching them fall. Too easy.

His gaze flicked toward Apollo, who was still watching, eyes filled with amusement.

"Go focus on your own fight," Amari said, adjusting his grip.

Apollo chuckled, stepping away. "You really leveled up, huh?" His grin widened. "Alright, I’ll catch you after this. Try not to get yourself killed before then."

Amari spun his chains once before diving back into the chaos.

Apollo turned, walking away, still shaking his head at how much had changed.

But the battle was far from over.

And losing wasn’t an option.

The arena was still alive with movement—bodies colliding, voices shouting, strategies unfolding with ruthless efficiency.

The Ocean brothers were tearing through opponents, fighting as a perfectly synchronized unit—every movement calculated, every attack executed with terrifying precision. Maverick’s Voice of Command kept them locked in rhythm, weaving through the battlefield like an unstoppable force.

But their enemies weren’t stupid.

Some of them had started noticing the pattern.

They weren’t just fighting blindly anymore.

Something was shifting.

Meanwhile, Amari was still in his element, cutting through competitors, moving like he’d been designed for this. His chains carved through the air, striking clean, efficient, devastating.

Until—

Something caught his attention.

Among the chaos, one kid stood untouched—surrounded by a small protective circle of fighters.

No one attacked them.

No one challenged them.

They were shielded, carefully hidden. Like something important.

Amari slowed slightly, eyes narrowing as he assessed the scene.

Then—

The kid looked up, noticing Amari’s gaze.

They tilted their head, expression unreadable. "What are you looking at?"

Amari didn’t answer.

Instead, his smirk widened, slow, sharp—borderline villainous.

With deliberate ease, he lifted his dagger, pointing it directly at them.

The kid gave a slight nod to one of his guards, and the fighter stepped up to Amari.

"You scared to fight me yourself?" Amari challenged, laughter curling at the edges of his words.

The kid remained calm, unbothered. "I don’t fight meaningless battles. Unlike you people, I’m part of the royal family." Their voice was measured, even. "I fight when it’s my time to win."

Amari laughed openly. "That sounds like something a coward would say."

The kid merely smirked, their confidence unwavering. "I’m not offended, if that was your plan."

"It wasn’t to offend you." Amari tilted his head. "It was just the truth."

The kid sighed, waving a lazy hand.

"Kill him, please. Looking at him makes me sick."