Slave of Fignters "Champion of the Black Star Part One

A month had indeed flown by before anyone noticed, just as Squoid had promised.

Edmond had settled into the group quite well. From time to time, he helped unload and sort merchandise, but most of his days were devoted to training. Occasionally, he also had to act as the store's bouncer, driving away unruly customers and rival troublemakers trying to damage the shop's reputation.

He even trained while eating. Instead of sitting in a chair, Edmond would lower himself into a deep horse stance and remain in that position throughout the entire meal without moving an inch.

It was both impressive and slightly unsettling. On one hand, such discipline commanded respect. On the other, it completely violated even the most basic rules of table manners.

Eventually, the day of the qualifying round for Third-Tier fighters arrived.

According to the notice Squoid had received, all participants were to report to the local junkyard-a vast wasteland where useless scrap was dumped, too worthless even for cheap recycling.

However, the junkyard served a purpose beyond being a dumping ground.

It was home to one of the largest Black Star arenas.

Unlike the others, it was not merely a battlefield made of endless mountains of scrap metal surrounded by towering steel walls. Its true distinction lay in its rules.

This was a battle royale arena.

Dozens of fighters were released into it at the same time, and the winner was the last one left standing.

The rules allowed participants to use any piece of scrap they could find as a weapon. The most horrifying part, however, was that some fighters ended up becoming part of the scenery forever, adding their bodies to the mountains of refuse.

It was here that the first qualifying round for Third-Tier fighters would take place.

A large crowd had gathered.

Some fighters stretched and prepared for combat. Others conserved their strength, standing perfectly still. A few had already locked eyes with potential opponents, exchanging silent threats.

When the team from Galaxy of Beauty entered the waiting area for fighters and their owners, they immediately attracted attention.

Squoid was accompanied by Tork, Emali, and, of course, their fighter-Edmond.

Those standing near the entrance turned toward them at once. Some stared with open hostility, while others noticeably paled at the sight of Edmond.

Squoid walked beside him, with Tork and Emali following close behind.

Tork carefully studied the crowd around them.

He had never seen so many unpleasant faces gathered in one place. Every fighter looked more dangerous than the last.

He poked Edmond in the back.

"So, nervous?" he asked. "There are a lot of fighters here. And you'll have to fight all of them at once. It's going to be complete chaos. Think you can handle it?"

Edmond simply smirked.

"Bro, I think a third of the people here have already lost to me in the arenas. If the rest are just as weak, you don't need to worry about me at all."

They found an empty spot and waited for the announcement that would begin the qualifying round.

But, as if fate wanted to annoy them, two massive fighters soon approached.

One was a Glukloid. The other was a Zharbanian.

Zharbanians were a humanoid species distinguished by their massive lower jaws, broad flattened noses, and round bald heads marked by prominent bony ridges. Their skin ranged from dark green to light green, though rare individuals possessed a pale yellow complexion.

The Zharbanian stepped up to Edmond and growled through clenched teeth.

"Hey, asshole. Remember us?"

Edmond turned toward them and looked both fighters over carefully. Judging by his expression, he genuinely had no idea who they were.

After scratching his ear with his pinky finger, he replied,

"Uhhh... no. Should I?"

Both men instantly turned red with rage.

"You bastard! We fought you in the arena! You humiliated us with a single cheap shot! We've been training nonstop ever since, and now we'll see every pathetic move you make!"

They were already preparing to lunge at Edmond when a voice boomed across the hall through the loudspeakers.

"That's enough! Fighting before the qualifying round begins is prohibited. Start a brawl in here and all three of you will be disqualified."

Standing on a small raised platform was a man from the Kolmat race.

Kolmats were humanoids who closely resembled humans. Their most notable features were their four-fingered hands and feet, elongated ears, and tentacle-like appendages growing from their heads instead of hair. These appendages varied greatly in number, length, and shape. Their skin colors were equally diverse.

The Kolmat wore a formal suit and dark sunglasses. His slender head-tendrils were tied into a long ponytail. A microphone rested in one hand while he stood in a bizarre pose-his torso leaning backward, his left arm stretched forward, and two fingers pointing directly at Edmond and the others.

The Zharbanian turned toward him and barked,

"What the hell did you just say? Shut your mouth before you stink up the room!"

The Kolmat clearly didn't appreciate that.

"Last warning. Speak to me like that again, and you're out."

The Zharbanian snorted and marched toward the stage. Upon reaching it, he crouched and leaped onto the platform, landing only a few steps away from the organizer.

"Listen here, clown," he growled, looming over the Kolmat, nearly two heads taller than him. "Why don't you try throwing me out? I'd love to see how you're gonna sh-"

He never finished.

The Kolmat moved with lightning speed and struck him across the face with the back of his hand.

CRACK.

The Zharbanian flew off the stage as though he'd been hit by a battering ram. He slammed into the floor and immediately lost consciousness.

Silence filled the hall.

"What a pathetic bunch," the Kolmat said with visible disgust. "I honestly don't understand why they even allow you people into the main tournament. Holding qualifiers for the likes of you is a complete waste of time."

"If everyone's so weak, why aren't you competing?"

The voice came from directly below the stage.

It was Edmond.

Squoid nearly jumped.

He hadn't even noticed when Edmond had moved over there.

A cold feeling spread through his stomach.

Edmond was talking to one of the tournament organizers. If he said the wrong thing, they could be kicked out before the competition even began.

The Kolmat looked down at him and raised an eyebrow.

"You trying to get yourself thrown out too?"

"Hey, man, I didn't say anything bad," Edmond replied calmly. "I'm just asking. You launched that big guy with one slap. Why aren't you competing? You're dressed up in a fancy suit, waving around a microphone... seems like a waste of talent."

A few nearby spectators nervously chuckled.

Surprisingly, the Kolmat didn't get angry.

Instead, he seemed intrigued.

He studied Edmond for a moment and smiled slightly.

"Hmmm... you know, that's actually a good question."

Adjusting his sunglasses, he nodded.

"Fine. I'll answer."

Then he struck another one of his strange, almost model-like poses, raising his right index finger dramatically into the air.

At that very moment, several spotlights illuminated him from every direction.

In a grand theatrical voice, he announced:

"Ladies-if there are any present-and gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself!"

He spun elegantly in place and placed the fingertips of his right hand against his chest.

"Alavan Scritch, First-Tier Black Star Fighter!"

A wave of shocked murmurs swept through the hall.

"He's bluffing!"

"No way, that actually looks like him!"

"Holy crap, it really is Scritch!"

"That's impossible..."

Edmond smirked.

"That makes even less sense. You're a First-Tier fighter. What are you doing down here in this rotten Third Tier? Shouldn't you be preparing for the tournament?"

Alavan casually brushed a hand through his tendrils.

"I don't see the point. It's boring."

"Boring? Why?"

"Because we've got a champion now. He's won the tournament three years in a row and he'll probably win it another hundred times. Before he showed up, champions came and went. Now every season ends exactly the same way."

His voice carried an almost theatrical sadness.

"Then get stronger," Edmond replied bluntly.

"Oh, please." Alavan waved the suggestion away. "Why work that hard? At least not me. I'm nowhere near that monster's level anyway."

Suddenly he stopped himself.

"Well, well, well... I think I've said enough. Wouldn't want to spoil anything for you. Besides, it's time."

He turned away from Edmond.

"The first qualifying round is about to begin."

Before walking off, however, he slightly turned his head and spoke quietly enough that only Edmond could hear.

"You're pretty strong, you know. I don't usually waste my time talking to trash."

A faint smile crossed his face.

"I'll be waiting for you at the second qualifying round."

After that, Alavan strode confidently to the center of the stage.

Raising his microphone, he addressed everyone present.

"My dear friends! Today, we will decide which of you are worthy of moving on and which of you will be heading home to lick your wounds."

With a dramatic spin, he pointed toward a gate beside which stood a small transport vehicle.

"In a moment, this magnificent bucket of bolts will be hauling you around the arena in groups of ten. Each group will be delivered to a separate starting platform. Your task is simple: take your position and wait for the signal to begin."

Alavan paused for effect.

"Any attempt to leave your platform before the start signal will result in immediate disqualification."

He then turned toward a massive holographic display where the competition rules appeared.

"And now, the rules of our first qualifying round."

He gestured toward the list.

"First, the use of scrap and any other objects found in the arena as weapons is strictly prohibited. You may only use your own body: hands, feet, tails, claws, mandibles-whatever nature blessed you with. Want to bite? Bite. Want to scratch? Scratch. But no outside weapons."

The next rule illuminated on the display.

"Second, victory will not be determined by who remains standing last. The winner will be the fighter who demonstrates the greatest performance during the event."

Surprised murmurs spread throughout the hall.

"To make that possible, surveillance cameras have been installed all across the arena. We will see every move you make. So don't expect to hide behind a pile of junk and come out at the end pretending to be a hero."

He raised a finger.

"When time expires, an end-of-round signal will sound. At that point, all fighting must cease immediately. Continue battling after the signal, and you will be disqualified."

Alavan lifted his arm high above his head and proclaimed dramatically:

"Let the first qualifying round begin!"

The hall erupted into cheers and excited shouting.

The fighters were quickly organized into a line. They were then loaded into the transport in groups of ten and distributed across various locations throughout the enormous junkyard arena.

Once the first group had been delivered, the transport returned to collect the next ten participants.

Eventually, it was Edmond's turn.

He stepped onto the cargo platform, and the vehicle carried him and the other fighters into the arena to be assigned to their starting positions.

The moment Edmond entered the arena, he was nearly deafened by the endless roar of the crowd.

The spectator stands had been built high into the arena walls and were protected by sturdy steel fencing to prevent anyone from accidentally falling into the battlefield below.

Thousands of spectators shouted, chanted slogans in support of their favorite fighters, waved signs, and placed bets.

At last, the vehicle stopped beside one of the starting platforms.

Edmond stepped onto it, and the surface immediately glowed red.

The driver pointed at the platform.

"Remember, don't step off until the start signal sounds. Once the light turns green, you're free to move."

Edmond stared at him in confusion.

"Seriously? They already explained that. Do you repeat the same thing to every fighter?"

The driver didn't answer.

Without a word, he drove off to deliver the remaining participants.

Edmond was left waiting.

And waiting was something he hated.

Time crawled by painfully slowly. It almost felt as though the driver was intentionally moving slower with each new passenger.

Meanwhile, Squoid, Tork, Emali, and the other fighter representatives were escorted to a separate viewing room.

Comfortable chairs and specialized terminals had been set up there, allowing them to monitor the arena through the surveillance cameras.

The room was crowded with spectators.

"That's a decent turnout," Tork remarked. "But I thought there'd be way more participants. The Third Tier is the most populated one, isn't it? Wouldn't everyone want a shot at the tournament?"

"A lot of them would," Squoid replied. "But there are requirements. To enter the Third-Tier qualifiers, a fighter must have at least one hundred victories."

He pointed toward the screen.

"Every fighter you see out there has met that requirement. But there's a major difference between them and Edmond. Most of them accumulated dozens of losses while earning those hundred wins."

A confident smile appeared on Squoid's face.

"Edmond reached one hundred victories without a single defeat."

He folded his arms.

"That's why I have absolutely no doubt he'll make it through this round."

Before long, the final participant took their position.

The transport left the arena, and the massive gates slammed shut with a thunderous boom.

A few seconds later, music began blasting throughout the arena. Then Alavan's voice echoed from the loudspeakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The moment has finally arrived! The first qualifying round of the tournament has begun-the tournament that will grant one lucky fighter the chance to compete for the title of Black Star Champion!"

The stands erupted with excited cheers.

"Today, one hundred and forty-six fighters will battle for twelve spots in the next round! Victory will not go to the last fighter standing, but to the one who proves themselves the most during the allotted time. And as for how much time you have..." Alavan grinned. "We're not telling you. A little mystery never hurt anyone!"

A wave of laughter rolled through the audience.

Alavan thrust his arm into the air.

"Let the battle begin!"

A massive gong rang out.

The platforms flashed green.

The contestants immediately sprang into action.

Some rushed off in search of opponents. Others moved to secure advantageous positions. A few wasted no time and started fighting right away.

Edmond took off as well, though without any particular urgency.

Before long, he spotted a group of five fighters.

Two were fighting each other while another pair was ganging up on a fifth.

Edmond simply charged into the middle of the brawl and knocked each combatant unconscious with a single punch.

Then he continued on his way.

*This is going to be pretty easy,* he thought.

Suddenly, a familiar voice shouted from behind him.

"Hey, asshole! Nobody's gonna save you this time!"

Edmond turned around.

The very same Glukloid who had tried to pick a fight with him earlier was sprinting toward him at full speed.

"I'm finally getting my chance to beat your face in one-on-one!" the Glukloid yelled. "Witness my supreme movement technique!"

The moment he said that, he began wildly zigzagging from side to side, constantly changing direction in an attempt to confuse his target.

Unfortunately for him, the instant he entered striking range, Edmond casually threw a quick right punch.

The blow landed squarely on the Glukloid's jaw.

He collapsed unconscious before he even hit the ground.

Edmond didn't slow down.

*And why waste so much energy hopping around like that?* he wondered.

Then someone shouted from atop a nearby junk pile.

"Hey, pale monkey!"

Edmond looked up.

Standing on the summit of a mountain of scrap was a stranger.

His arms were crossed, and he leaned confidently on one leg.

A Gryphlon.

Gryphlons were birdlike humanoids whose bodies were covered in sleek feathers. The plumage on their heads and arms was significantly longer and more decorative. Every member of the species possessed unique feather patterns and shapes.

Their hands and feet each had three digits, while their large toe ended in a hooked claw.

Though incapable of true flight, some Gryphlons could glide short distances using the long feathers on their arms.

The Gryphlon pointed dramatically at Edmond.

"You bastard! Today you shall pay for the humiliation you inflicted upon me, Glanesmon!"

With that, he leaped from the junk hill, spread the clawed toe of his right foot, and screamed:

"Behold my Toe of Fury!"

He dove straight at Edmond.

Edmond dealt with the attack effortlessly.

Twisting his body aside, he dodged the strike and immediately followed with a powerful spinning kick.

The blow connected directly with Glanesmon's beak.

The Gryphlon lost consciousness instantly and crashed into the ground.

Edmond had barely returned to his stance when two more fighters lunged at him from opposite sides.

He jumped into the air and performed a perfect split kick, striking both attackers in the head simultaneously.

The two fighters slammed back into the ground.

"Yeah..." Edmond scratched the back of his head. "This is getting kind of boring."

At that moment, something green, slimy, and burning splattered against his back.

The substance ate through his shirt and scorched his skin.

"AAAH!"

Edmond winced and spun around.

Standing before him was a Bulbon.

Bulbons were members of a species resembling enormous caterpillars. Their heads blended almost seamlessly into their bodies. Three pairs of short legs supported their rear segments, while a single pair of three-fingered arms protruded from the front.

Instead of a mouth, they possessed a tube-like organ capable of launching acid over considerable distances.

Due to the unique structure of their vocal systems, Bulbons could not speak the Universal Common Language without specialized translation devices.

The Bulbon proudly puffed out his abdomen.

"Bul-ba-ba-bu pu-pu-puk!" he shouted.

(*Taste my acid spit!*)

"Bbbup-pup-pup-pruuuuub!"

(*Technique: Spitter - Acid Scattershot!*)

A swarm of acidic droplets erupted from the creature's tube-like mouth.

The projectiles spread outward in a wide cone, covering a huge area.

Edmond charged directly toward the attack.

Leaning sharply backward, he slid across the ground on his knees beneath the cloud of acid before springing upright and rushing forward.

The Bulbon panicked.

It began spraying acid repeatedly in a desperate attempt to hit him.

But Edmond effortlessly dodged every shot.

When only a few steps separated them, he launched a powerful rising kick.

The strike landed squarely on the Bulbon's head.

The creature shot into the air and disappeared into a nearby pile of junk.

Edmond glanced down at his shirt.

There was barely anything left of it.

Burn holes covered the fabric everywhere.

He let out a heavy sigh.

It had been his favorite shirt.

While he mournfully examined the damage caused by the acid, a fist suddenly shot toward his cheek from behind.

Edmond reacted instantly.

He raised his arms and blocked.

The impact was so powerful that it crushed straight through his guard.

To dissipate the force, Edmond moved with the strike and allowed himself to be thrown sideways.

After flying several meters through the air, he landed atop a heap of scrap metal.

The damage was minimal.

Rising to his feet, he looked at his new opponent.

Standing before him was a tall, gray-skinned humanoid with an unusually large head.

Standing before him was a tall, gray-skinned humanoid with an oversized head.

His enormous black eyes occupied nearly half of his face.

A small nose, broad shoulders, and a friendly smile created a rather strange impression.

He was wearing a white medical coat.

The stranger studied Edmond carefully.

"Oh wow, you're standing," he said with genuine surprise. "You're the first person I haven't managed to knock out with a single punch."

He tilted his head slightly.

"I hope you're feeling alright. Any dizziness? If there is, don't push yourself. Go sit down somewhere and pretend you've been knocked out. Otherwise, you could end up with a serious concussion or chronic migraines."

Judging by his tone, he was sincerely concerned for his opponent's health.

Edmond pulled off what remained of his acid-burned shirt.

"You should worry about yourself instead."

He tossed the ruined fabric onto the ground.

"And do you always attack people from behind like a rat?"

The gray giant seemed not to hear the question.

Instead, he continued examining Edmond.

"Uh..." Edmond frowned. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

The gray-skinned fighter let out a slow breath.

"My goodness..."

There was genuine admiration in his voice.

"Your physique is magnificent. Your muscular proportions are nearly perfect."

After saying that, he began removing his coat.

Beneath it was an unbelievably developed physique.

Every muscle seemed perfectly sculpted.

Under the arena lights, his skin practically glowed.

The stranger struck one bodybuilding pose after another, proudly displaying his physique.

The only clothing he had left on were a pair of athletic briefs.

"At last! A worthy opponent!" he declared happily. "Let's introduce ourselves. My name is Oli Vava. I'm a doctor... and a fighter on the side."

He flashed a broad smile.

"And what is your name, my magnificent friend?"

Edmond looked slightly uncomfortable from all the enthusiasm.

"Edmond."

He rolled his eyes.

"Alright, enough posing. This isn't a bodybuilding competition."

Without another word, he charged forward.

Oli Vava wasted no time either.

Swinging his right arm back, he rushed to meet the attack.

And just as their fists were about to collide-

A blue-skinned man suddenly appeared between them out of nowhere.

He leaped into the air and attacked both fighters simultaneously.

His knee smashed into Oli Vava's temple, while his foot drove straight into Edmond's face.

Both fighters were sent flying in opposite directions.

A new challenger had entered the battle.

"And these two are the same..." the blue fighter muttered. "One hit and they're already down."

The newcomer wore a kimono, went barefoot, and sported a surprisingly stylish hairstyle.

He belonged to the Bixar race.

Bixars were humanoids who closely resembled humans. They were distinguished by their bluish skin, fin-like ears, and hair that resembled layered scales. Webbing connected the fingers and toes of their hands and feet, hinting at a semi-aquatic lifestyle, though they were perfectly comfortable on land as well.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing jumping into someone else's fight?!" Edmond shouted.

"Indeed," Oli Vava added. "Where are your manners, young man?"

"Oh, sorry." The Bixar shrugged. "I just didn't expect either of you to get back up."

Then he turned toward Edmond.

"How about I take this pale sack of potatoes' place?"

Oli Vava immediately frowned.

"Excuse me. Who exactly are you calling a sack of potatoes?"

"Kid, get lost," Edmond said. "It's not your turn yet. First I'm going to beat this giant, and then I'll fight you."

"That'll take too long," the Bixar complained. "I don't want to stand around like an idiot waiting."

"Maybe we could make it a three-way fight?" Oli Vava suggested unexpectedly.

Edmond paused for a moment.

"Uh... that sounded a lot more questionable than you probably intended."

He smirked.

"But sure."

His body began to change.

His skin rapidly darkened into a deep crimson shade.

His muscles swelled, veins bulging beneath the surface.

His eyes turned black while his pupils became stark white.

An aura of something primal and dangerous seemed to radiate from him.

"Alright then," Edmond said through a predatory grin.

"Come on."

He spread his arms slightly.

"Two against one."

The blue fighter instinctively took a step backward.

He could clearly feel the bloodlust pouring from Edmond and tensed immediately.

Oli Vava, on the other hand, stared at the transformation with pure admiration.

"It's beautiful..." he whispered.

Tears even began to form in his eyes.

"Beautiful?" the Bixar grumbled. "He looks like some kind of monster."

He glanced uneasily at Edmond.

"Fine. Let's actually team up against him. I really don't like this."

Oli Vava reluctantly nodded.

Both fighters prepared themselves.

Edmond was just about to charge forward when a long signal suddenly echoed across the arena.

A moment later, Alavan's voice boomed from the loudspeakers.

"STOP! Time is up! All participants are to cease fighting immediately! Any combat after this announcement will result in disqualification!"

A chorus of disappointed groans swept across the arena.

"Return home. Those who have passed the qualifier will receive a notification within sixty hours inviting them to the next stage. Rest well and regain your strength."

Edmond clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Oh, come on. Why couldn't they give us a little more time? Things were just starting to get interesting."

The blue fighter let out a relieved sigh.

"Honestly, I wasn't looking forward to fighting something that terrifying."

With that, he quickly headed for the exit.

Oli Vava picked up his medical coat from the ground and began walking away as well.

As he passed Edmond, he gave him a friendly smile.

"Don't worry. I have a feeling we'll meet again."

He draped the coat over his shoulders.

"Maybe in the next qualifier."

His smile widened.

"Or perhaps in the tournament itself."

Edmond merely grunted in response.

For a while, he remained standing in the middle of the arena, watching as the fighters gradually dispersed.

Then he turned and headed toward the exit.

The first stage was over.

-------------------

Sixty hours had passed since the first qualifying tournament. As the organizers had promised, a notification arrived at Galaxy of Beauty informing them that the documents confirming participation in the second qualifying round were ready for collection.

Squoid sent Emali to pick them up while he stayed behind to watch the store. Tork helped him take care of customers.

As for Edmond, he had been left to his own devices.

Sprawled across the couch in the living room, he lazily waited for the next round of competition. More than anything, he wanted another chance to meet the two fighters he had never gotten to battle during the previous qualifier.

He was curious whether they could withstand the force of his Power Impulse.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the back door.

Not wanting to distract Squoid and Tork, who were busy with customers, Edmond got up from the couch and headed for the door.

The store was unusually crowded today.

Normally there would only be one or two customers browsing at a time, but now the sales floor was packed.

When Edmond reached the back entrance, he opened the door.

There was no one outside.

He frowned.

"That's strange..."

For a moment, Edmond assumed someone had decided to play a prank on him. He was already about to head back inside when he noticed a small piece of paper lying near the doorstep out of the corner of his eye.

He bent down and picked it up.

Several lines of text had been written on it.

Edmond began to read.

With every word, his expression grew darker.

The smile vanished from his face.

His eyes hardened.

And his fingers tightened around the paper so fiercely that it began to crumple in his grip.