Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 77: Waiting Room Confrontation

Chapter 77: Waiting Room Confrontation

The moment they stepped into their designated waiting room, Maverick’s voice cut through the tense silence.

"Amari!"

Amari barely had time to process before Maverick was in front of him, frustration burning in his eyes.

"What the hell was that?" Maverick demanded, his tone sharp, edged with something deeper—betrayal.

Amari frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I’m talking about," Maverick shot back. "You had a choice. You could’ve saved me, but you didn’t. You saved Apollo instead."

Amari exhaled, already feeling the weight of the argument pressing in. "Maverick, calm down—"

"I don’t want to hear it!" Maverick snapped. "I was right there, Amari! I was falling, and you—" He shook his head, disbelief flickering across his face. "You picked Apollo over me."

Amari’s jaw tightened. "I thought the others could handle saving you."

Maverick let out a bitter laugh. "The others? Everyone else was occupied! You were the only one who could’ve helped me!" His voice dropped slightly, frustration giving way to something raw. "You had a choice. And you didn’t choose me."

Amari’s expression hardened. "I made a call in the moment. I wasn’t thinking about favorites, Maverick. I was thinking about survival."

"Survival?" Maverick scoffed. "You think Apollo had a better chance than me?"

"It wasn’t like that!" Amari snapped, irritation creeping into his voice. "I didn’t have time to weigh every option! I acted!"

"Yeah," Maverick muttered. "You acted. And you chose him."

The tension in the room thickened, the air heavy with unspoken resentment.

Then—Milo stepped forward.

"Enough," Milo said, his voice cutting through the argument like a blade.

Both Amari and Maverick turned to him, still bristling, but Milo didn’t back down.

"I’m sick of this," Milo continued, his tone firm. "We just fought through hell out there, and now we’re fighting each other? What’s the point?"

Neither of them answered.

Milo sighed, shaking his head. "Maverick, I get it. You’re pissed. You feel like Amari should’ve saved you. But standing here, yelling about it, isn’t going to change what happened."

Maverick clenched his jaw, but Milo wasn’t done.

"And Amari," Milo turned to him, eyes sharp. "You made a choice. Maybe it wasn’t the right one, maybe it was—but you can’t just brush it off like it didn’t matter."

Amari’s expression flickered, but he stayed silent.

Milo exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "We’re supposed to be a team. If we keep tearing each other apart, we’re not gonna make it to the end of this tournament."

The room was quiet.

Maverick looked away, tension still thick in his stance, but he didn’t argue.

Amari rolled his shoulders, letting out a slow breath, the frustration still lingering but dulled.

Milo glanced between them, then nodded. "So let’s drop it. We’ve got bigger things to focus on."

Neither of them spoke, but the fight—at least for now—was over.

The tension still lingered in the air, thick and unspoken, but Milo wasn’t done.

He turned to Maverick, his expression serious, his voice steady.

"You know, Maverick," Milo started, "you don’t have to be in control all the time to help us be better."

Maverick frowned slightly, but Milo kept going.

"You’re always trying to lead, always trying to make sure everything goes exactly how it should. But that’s not what makes a good leader. And it’s definitely not what makes a good brother."

Maverick’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

"You don’t have to carry everything on your own," Milo continued. "You don’t have to be the one making every decision, calling every shot. You can just be here. Support us. Trust us."

Maverick inhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

And for the first time, he let himself think about it.

The weight of expectation.

The pressure of being the one everyone looked to.

The fear—deep, buried, but always there—that if he wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t good enough, he’d be a failure.

A disappointment.

Just another name in his family that didn’t live up to the legacy.

He clenched his fists, the thought settling in his chest like a stone.

Then—he exhaled.

And when he lifted his gaze, something had shifted.

"I’m sorry," Maverick said, voice quieter now, steadier. "To all of you."

The room was silent for a moment.

Then—Apollo stepped forward first.

"You don’t have to apologize," Apollo said, shaking his head. "We get it."

Shylo nodded. "Yeah, man. You’ve been carrying a lot. We should’ve seen that sooner."

Milo smiled faintly. "We’re in this together, Maverick. You don’t have to do it alone."

Amari crossed his arms, watching him for a moment before nodding. "We’ve got your back."

Maverick let out a breath, something lighter settling in his chest.

And then—without hesitation, without doubt—they all made the promise.

"We’re making it to the finals," Milo said, determination burning in his voice.

"One way or another," Apollo added.

"No matter what," Shylo agreed.

Maverick smirked slightly, shaking his head. "You guys are ridiculous."

Amari shrugged. "You love it."

And for the first time in a long time—Maverick let himself believe it.

Let himself trust them.

Let himself be part of the team.

And as they stood there, exhausted but united, the promise settled between them.

They were going to make it.

Together.

The stadium lights dimmed for a moment before the massive screens flickered to life, illuminating the entire arena. The crowd erupted into cheers as the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, filled with raw excitement.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" he roared, his energy electrifying. "THE MOMENT YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! THE ROUND OF 16 IS HERE!"

The fans screamed, the anticipation thick in the air, the tension rising with every passing second.

"These warriors have fought through chaos, through destruction, through the fiercest battles this tournament has ever seen!" the announcer continued. "And now—NOW—it’s time to see who will rise and who will fall!"

The screen flashed, the names appearing one by one, pairing off into matchups that sent shockwaves through the stadium.

MATCHUP ONE: 🔥 Amari vs. Elias Vex

MATCHUP TWO: ⚡ Apollo vs. Dante Roan

MATCHUP THREE: 🗡️ Shylo vs. Riven Kael

MATCHUP FOUR: 🔥 Milo vs. Freya Calloway

MATCHUP FIVE: ⚔️ Kenneth vs. Lucian Thorne

MATCHUP SIX: 💥 Johnny vs. Selene Ashford

MATCHUP SEVEN: ⚡ Astrid Vale vs. Nyx Veradine

MATCHUP EIGHT: 🌀 Harlow Vance vs. Ivy Marcellus

The crowd lost it.

Chants erupted, voices clashing in waves of excitement as fans cheered for their favorites, anticipation crackling through the arena like electricity.

"WHO WILL SURVIVE?" the announcer shouted, his voice carrying over the chaos. "WHO WILL FALL? WHO WILL CLAIM THEIR SPOT IN THE QUARTERFINALS?"

The screen flashed again, the matchups locked in, the countdown to battle officially beginning.

The fighters exchanged glances, some sizing up their opponents, others already preparing for war.

Because this wasn’t just another round.

This was the fight that would decide everything.

And none of them planned to lose.