The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, bathing the arena in bruised reds and muddy oranges. The temperature dropped slightly, but the tension in the air only grew hotter.
Ethan stood beside Alessia, both of them tense and motionless as the new cloaked figures emerged from the far gate. The black silk they wore rippled in the breeze like liquid shadow, and their faces remained hidden beneath hoods. Their weapons gleamed dully in the fading light—one carried a slender polearm with a curved blade at the end, the other wielded two short, sickle-like daggers connected by a living chain of glowing energy.
They hadn't been announced. They hadn't been among the twenty original teams.
"They're not one of us," Alessia murmured.
"I know," Ethan replied, voice tight. "But they're here now. And no one's stopping them."
The crowd had grown eerily silent. Even the ever-present voice of the billionaire, which usually boomed from unseen speakers with smug commentary, had vanished. It was as if the entire arena had been muted, save for the rustling of sand and the distant caw of a circling bird.
From the center of the field, another surviving pair—a tall woman with crystal-like skin and her stocky, axe-wielding partner—stepped forward.
"You two! State your names and intent!" the crystal-skinned woman demanded, her voice unnaturally resonant.
The Sentinels did not respond.
Instead, the one with the chained daggers tilted their head. Slowly. Deliberately. Then they moved.
In an instant, the glowing chain snapped outward like a serpent. It wrapped around the axe-wielder's neck, yanked him off his feet, and crushed his throat in a single motion. He didn't even scream. His body hit the sand with a dull thud.
The woman roared and charged, summoning crystalline spikes from her arms.
She didn't make it halfway.
The other cloaked figure blurred forward with the polearm. A flash of metal—a spray of blood—and her headless body tumbled to the ground.
Gasps echoed across the arena. Ethan felt bile rise in his throat.
"What the hell are they?" he whispered.
"Not Awakened," Alessia said grimly. "Maybe not even human."
Another surviving pair, younger contestants still bloodied from their last fight, began to back away. One of them turned to run.
The chain lashed out again. This time it missed, but the message was clear.
"We can't fight them," Alessia muttered. "Not like this."
"Then what? Hide?" Ethan asked.
"No. We survive." She grabbed his arm and pulled him behind a low wall of shattered stone near the edge of the arena. "We need to figure out what they want. They're not randomly attacking. They're...testing."
Ethan crouched beside her, heart pounding. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his racing pulse. The energy of Divinacea stirred within him—not bright and soothing, but sharp and buzzing like a warning.
For the first time since awakening his power, he felt...wrong. Not because he couldn't heal, but because he didn't know if it would matter.
He turned to Alessia. "If one of us gets hit, I'll try to keep you alive. But I can't fix a decapitation."
"You're not allowed to let that happen," she said, attempting a half-smile. "Besides, you haven't even seen my best move yet."
She was trying to keep him grounded. It worked—barely.
Across the field, the remaining teams were forming a loose ring around the Sentinels, uncertain whether to attack or retreat. Whispers passed through the air like wildfire:
"They're not part of the trial!"
"Maybe they're punishment squads?"
"Are they gods?"
Ethan's eyes narrowed.
"No," he whispered. "They're here to judge us."
Alessia glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
"I think... this is part of the gods' system. A test to separate those who only survive from those who fight with purpose. They're watching us."
He could feel it—eyes beyond the clouds, ancient and weightless. Ever since awakening Divinacea, the world hadn't just changed in sensation. It had changed in meaning.
He wasn't just healing people.
He was channeling something sacred.
A memory flashed through him—his mother, lying in a hospital bed, tubes in her arms, her smile weaker every day. He had prayed. Not to a god, but to anything. And now, that plea echoed in his blood.
"I need to be stronger," he said aloud.
Alessia nodded. "We both do."
A loud roar cut through the arena—one of the other teams had made their move. A duo with elemental control—fire and ice—rushed the Sentinels in a pincer maneuver.
It ended in seconds. The Sentinel with the polearm moved like smoke, slipping past the fire wielder's blasts and slicing the ice wielder's arm clean off. She didn't even scream—just stared in horror as her stump bled out. Then, with a twist, the other Sentinel's chain yanked the fire wielder into the air and slammed him down hard enough to crack the earth.
It was slaughter. And yet, the Sentinels didn't move toward the rest of the group. They returned to standing still, silent, as if waiting.
"They're gatekeepers," Ethan said. "They don't want to kill us all. They want to see who earns survival."
"Then we outthink them," Alessia said. "Use their pattern. Use their pride."
She began sketching something into the sand. "If we lure them, bait them into the others, and slip through their defenses..."
Ethan felt a pulse in his chest. Divinacea surged—but this time, something new layered beneath it.
He looked down at his hands. His fingers were glowing faintly. But not just with healing light. With awareness.
He could feel Alessia's heartbeat. Not just see or hear it—feel it. The life inside her. The vitality. The damage she'd taken.
"I think I can track life now," he whispered. "Or... feel it. Maybe even suppress or boost it temporarily."
Alessia grinned. "Then we've got something they don't."
As the remaining teams formed uneasy truces, a new phase of the trial had clearly begun.
No longer just survival.
Now, it was about worth.
And Ethan was determined to prove his. Not just to escape. Not just for Alessia.
But for the gods who were watching—and the power that still slept within him.
To be continued...