Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 83: Keep it Alive

Chapter 83: Keep it Alive

Amari walked back into the room like he hadn’t just dismantled one of the most feared fighters in the tournament.

He was smiling.

Not a smug grin or anything wild. Just that calm, lowkey joy that came from doing exactly what he said he’d do.

Milo looked up, caught the look, and immediately raised a brow. "Yo, why do you look like someone just handed you a gold medal and a free meal?"

Amari chuckled, tossing his chains down onto the bench as he dropped into a seat. "I’m good. That’s all."

"Nah, you’re cheesing way too hard for just ’good.’ You win a secret round we don’t know about?"

Amari leaned back, arms stretched behind his head. "Nah. Just happy with how that last fight turned out. And the next one? Even better."

Johnny, still catching his breath from earlier, muttered under his breath, "This man’s out here smiling like it’s recess."

Before anyone could fire more questions at him, the arena speakers popped to life, buzzing through the tension in the air. The announcer’s voice came in hot, full of energy and pride like he’d been waiting to say this all day.

> "Alright, ladies and gentlemen, let’s recap that last round of matches!"

The screen outside the room flickered to life, replaying quick snapshots from each fight as the announcer shouted them out one by one.

> "MATCHUP ONE: Amari vs. Elias Vex — Amari claims the win in a brutal display of chain control and adaptability!"

The squad looked at Amari. He just blinked, still smiling.

> "MATCHUP TWO: Apollo vs. Dante Roan — Apollo with the narrow edge in one of the wildest showdowns yet!"

> "MATCHUP THREE: Shylo vs. Riven Kael — Precision collapsed under psychological warfare. Shylo takes it."

> "MATCHUP FOUR: Milo vs. Freya Calloway — The firestorm proved too much. Freya advances."

Milo rolled his eyes. "Can’t even be mad. That girl’s built different."

> "MATCHUP FIVE: Kenneth vs. Lucian Thorne — Lucian twisted the whole rhythm, and Kenneth couldn’t bring it back."

> "MATCHUP SIX: Johnny vs. Selene Ashford — Power met precision, and magic came out on top."

Johnny let out a slow exhale and muttered, "Next time, I bring mana grenades."

> "MATCHUP SEVEN: Astrid Vale vs. Nyx Veradine — Endurance proves its worth. Astrid moves forward."

> "MATCHUP EIGHT: Harlow Vance vs. Ivy Marcellus — The eliminator strikes again. Ivy advances with terrifying speed."

As the list settled, the announcer’s voice dipped for dramatic flair, then came roaring back:

> "AND NOW... THE QUARTERFINALS ARE LOCKED IN!"

> "Amari vs. Ivy Marcellus!"

> "Apollo vs. Freya Calloway!"

> "Shylo vs. Selene Ashford!"

> "Lucian Thorne vs. Astrid Vale!"

The screen lit up with faces and flames.

The room went quiet.

Then Milo let out a low whistle.

"You said you were happy with your next opponent," he said, turning slowly toward Amari. "You were talking about Ivy? As in eliminator Ivy? That’s your idea of good news?"

Johnny shook his head. "You’ve got issues, bro."

Amari didn’t blink.

He just grinned wider.

"I’ve been waiting for this one.

The announcer’s voice came back, cutting through the roar of the crowd with fresh energy.

> "AND TO KICK OFF OUR QUARTERFINALS... IT’S TIME FOR MATCH ONE!"

> "⚔️ Lucian Thorne vs. Astrid Vale – deception meets defiance, the strategist against the survivor!"

The moment their names dropped, the stadium exploded—fans on their feet, banners flying, half the arena chanting Lucian’s name, the other half stomping for Astrid.

The two fighters emerged from opposite ends of the platform.

Lucian walked slow, composed, trademark smirk already resting on his face. Cloak flicking behind him with every step, like even gravity obeyed his pace.

Astrid Vale stepped out with her usual no-nonsense presence—shoulders back, gloves tight, focus locked. She didn’t need flair. The crowd respected her the moment she showed up, standing tall and unbothered.

Both of them reached the center of the arena and stood face-to-face.

Lucian gave a light nod and an infuriatingly polite smile. "Don’t blink."

Astrid flexed her knuckles and cracked her neck once. "Don’t flinch."

They both turned, stepping back to their marks.

The magic barrier shimmered into place around the perimeter—locking the battle in and tuning the crowd out.

The cheers were still echoing as the announcer shouted:

> "LET THE FIRST QUARTERFINAL... BEGIN!"

Lucian moved first—quick, smooth, like a shadow slipping through thought. His blade flashed in a deceptive arc, aiming to bait out Astrid’s defense. But Astrid didn’t flinch. She blocked, tanked the hit like she’d eaten strikes like that before breakfast, and came back with a heavy punch that rattled the ground beneath them.

Back and forth.

Feint. Block. Counter. Slam.

Lucian was fast—his movements unpredictable, always shifting the rhythm mid-combo. One moment he was attacking from the left, the next he was behind her, sliding across the battlefield like smoke.

But Astrid? Astrid was an unbreakable wall. She absorbed the hits, adjusted, and kept moving forward. Every time Lucian got flashy, she reminded him she wasn’t going down without a war.

The arena was roaring.

Fans were on their feet, screaming at every clash, gasping at every close call.

The announcer was fully losing his mind:

> "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WHAT ARE WE WATCHING? THIS IS UNREAL!"

> "ASTRID VALE REFUSES TO FALL—BUT LUCIAN’S TOO SLIPPERY TO STAY CAUGHT!"

Blades scraped. Knuckles cracked. Sparks flew with every impact.

And neither fighter was giving an inch.

Not yet.

Not tonight. Not in this arena. Not while the crowd was holding its breath for the first real knockout.

And in the center of all that noise—Lucian and Astrid kept swinging. One cut. One strike. One moment away from tipping the war.

Lucian backed up a step, breathing just a little heavier than before—nothing major, just enough to show he was feeling it now. His smirk was still there, but it had shifted—less playful, more serious. Focused.

"You know," he said between breaths, eyes locked on Astrid, "this might be the best fight I’ve had all tournament."

Astrid rolled her shoulder, exhaled steady, and cracked her knuckles. "That a compliment or an excuse?"

Lucian chuckled, flicking his blade to the side to shake off the tension. "Compliment. But I still have to finish it."

Astrid’s stance didn’t change. But something in her gaze hardened.

"Then stop talking and try."