We're the Myth

CHAPTER 5: DEFEATED

The clash between Numbers 5023 and 5038 ended with a deafening roar from the crowd.

5023, a female fighter, had driven her heel into her opponent’s chest with such force that 5038 slammed against the cage wall and crumpled to the ground, unable to rise.

The buzzer rang.

“Number 5023 takes the victory!” the host declared, her voice playful, sharp as a whip. “Looks like repeater 5038 just earned themselves the possibility of another year here!”

The audience erupted with laughter, some clapping, others jeering. The host’s tone dripped with mockery, and every repeater in the arena felt the sting of it.

Nicolas flinched. The words dug into his ears like needles, and he curled deeper into his wheelchair chair, pulling his legs up and covering his ears with both hands. His voice was a muffled whisper, strained with irritation. “Stop her…”

But the host was far from finished. Her energy spiked again as she lifted the mic.

“And now,the next match! Number 5045 versus… Number 5049!”

From the benches, Gabriel rose with lazy confidence, hands in his pockets, as if this was no different from taking a stroll. He made his way down toward the weapon rack, his steps deliberate, his smirk faint but unshakable.

When he reached the collection of blades, he paused, scanning the rows with exaggerated patience. Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, he picked a longsword from its rack.

He swung it once, clean and powerful, the blade cutting the air with a sharp whoosh. The second swing was faster, angled, precise. On the third, he twisted his wrist, spinning the sword in a smooth flourish before snapping it back into guard position.

The crowd responded with whistles and shouts, the sound rolling across the arena.

The host laughed into the mic, clearly delighted.

“Ohh, look at that! Number 5049 already showing some flair! Is he fighting or performing? Either way, he’s confident!”

Up in the benches, Nicolas couldn’t help himself. “What a jerk. He thinks he’s hot stuff just because he can twirl a sword.” His words carried both annoyance and reluctant amusement, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The camera panned to his opponent.

Number 5045 stood from his seat, his expression calm. He didn’t bask in the attention, didn’t show off. Without hesitation, he walked straight to the weapon rack.

He didn’t even look at the options. His hand moved with casual certainty, closing around the nearest blade: a short tanto, sharp and unadorned. He held it low, his grip steady, then walked into the cage without once breaking his stare from Gabriel.

The air in the arena shifted, tense, expectant.

The buzzer blared.

In an instant, both fighters charged. Gabriel’s longsword swung wide and hard, the blade a silver arc under the floodlights. 5045 slipped inside the swing, his tanto slashing quick and tight, aimed for the gaps. Steel collided, sparks flying as their weapons clashed.

The fight was fast, almost too fast to follow. Gabriel pressed with raw power, his blade hammering down in heavy strikes, each one designed to overwhelm. 5045 countered with speed and precision, his knife darting like a viper, always looking for the smallest opening.

The crowd was on their feet, roaring with every exchange.

Gabriel finally caught him, his longsword pinning the tanto at an angle. With a twist of his wrist, he shoved, almost forcing 5045 to the ground. The moment of advantage was his.

But 5045 moved like lightning.

His knee shot upward with explosive force, slamming into Gabriel’s chest.

The impact cracked through the arena, sending Gabriel flying backward. His body hit the reinforced bars of the cage hard before dropping to one knee. The crowd gasped, some shouting in surprise, others in awe.

Gabriel coughed, smirk tugging at his lips. “Tch.”

He stood, rolling his shoulders. Slowly, he shrugged off his blazer and let it fall to the ground. His shirt, strained tight against his back, suddenly tore apart as his shoulder blades shifted unnaturally.

Rip

Two massive wings burst forth, feathers scattering in the light. White, powerful, and far larger than any human frame should hold.

The arena erupted, the sound deafening. Cheers, screams, disbelief all crashing together in a storm of noise.

Up in the benches, Nicolas dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “Sometimes I wonder what those wings are even good for… Turns out he can use them for more than just hopping rooftops around the school.”

Beside him, Ethan gave a firm nod, lips pressed tight, eyes locked on the fight below agreeing like a kid who couldn’t say it any louder.

The crowd roared as Gabriel’s wings unfurled to their full span, white feathers catching the arena lights like shards of glass.

“Ohhh, magnificent!” the host’s voice rang over the speakers. “Number 5049 what an entrance! Look at those wings, like an angel taking the field!”

Her words cut short, her eyes darting back down. Because Gabriel had already pressed the attack.

He surged forward, his blade a silver arc in the air. The clash rang sharp when steel met steel Gabriel’s longsword hammering down on 5045’s tanto. The smaller blade quivered under the pressure, its wielder forced back step after step. Gabriel pushed harder, his wings snapping open with a sudden flare of strength, and with a sharp twist of his wrist-

Clang!

The tanto was ripped free, spinning across the floor. Gasps rippled through the stands.

But 5045 only smirked. “When I was a kid, I loved clay pigeon shooting…” He tilted his head, eyes locked on Gabriel’s sword. “Maybe I should’ve picked a gun instead.”

Then he moved.

Fast.

He dropped low, sweeping his leg hard against Gabriel’s ankle. Off balance, Gabriel stumbled, and the sword slipped from his grip, crashing against the bars of the cage.

The moment Gabriel’s weapon hit the floor, 5045 struck.

A sharp knee rocketed into Gabriel’s abdomen. He bent forward from the blow, and in that instant, 5045 unleashed hell. His fists pummeled Gabriel’s ribs, then a kick landed flush in his gut, then another faster, harder.

Gabriel’s wings flared wide, trying to shield him, but they couldn’t block the relentless barrage.

Each impact drove him further into the corner. One last, brutal kick to the stomach sent Gabriel crashing against the bars, his knees buckling as he fell to the floor.

The crowd erupted in cheers, some chanting, others laughing.

On Gabriel’s wrist, the Vital Band pulsed yellow, a harsh warning glow.

From above, Nicolas’s chest tightened. His hands curled into fists as he muttered under his breath, “Damn it…”

5045, meanwhile, wasn’t finished. He retrieved his tanto from the ground, the blade catching the light. His steps were slow, deliberate, predatory as he closed the distance.

With his left hand, he grabbed one of Gabriel’s wings and yanked him up. The sudden pull forced Gabriel upright, his body jerking from the strain. Gabriel swung wildly, desperation fueling his strikes, but 5045 was faster.

The tanto plunged into his stomach.

A cry ripped from Gabriel’s throat, blood splattering across his shirt.

The audience roared in approval.

5045 wrenched the blade free with a wet sound, crimson dripping from its edge. Gabriel staggered, one hand clutching his side, the other clawing at the bars for balance.

But he wasn’t given time.

In a blur of movement, 5045 slid behind him, his steps silent, calculated.

The stands hushed for a heartbeat, the crowd sensing the kill.

Up in the benches, Nicolas’s eyes widened. His body shot upright from his seat, Ethan rising right beside him, his gaze hard and sharp.

They could see it the shift in 5045’s stance, the way his grip tightened on the tanto, and the other hand reached again for Gabriel’s wing.

Ethan’s jaw clenched, finishing the thought silently in his head.

5045 yanked Gabriel’s wing back hard. The tanto sliced clean, feathers scattering in the air as Gabriel screamed. The severed wing hit the ground with a wet thud before 5045 grabbed it and tossed it aside without a second glance.

He stood over Gabriel, watching him struggle, broken and bleeding. Then he lifted the bloodstained tanto, looked at the crimson smeared along its edge and licked it.