From Trash to Lord of Thunder: The Rise of the Cursed Extra

Clack clack clack!

Charles tore through the clan's halls like his life depended on it.

'Come on, faster!' he thought, the air whipping his face from how quick he was going.

'Am I imagining it, or am I speeding up?' he wondered, but there was no time to dwell.

The rain kept pouring outside, Patter patter!, sneaking through open windows and slicking the floor.

Charles rounded a corner, but he was moving so fast he lost control.

"Whoa!"

His boots skidded, and BAM! he slammed into the wall with his shoulder.

"Damn it..." he growled, stepping back and rubbing his arm, but the pain faded fast.

'Hold on...'

He moved his arm—rotated it, flexed it—and felt nothing. He tried the other one.

Nothing.

Both arms were in perfect shape.

'Am I fully healed already?' he thought, frowning.

But he still had a problem to solve: finding the arena.

Charles sprang up, cursing under his breath.

'Where's that damn arena?' he thought, scanning the hallways that all looked the same. 'This clan's a freaking maze.'

The thought of becoming Lira's servant made him clench his fists.

He bolted again until he recognized some columns, then took the stairs two at a time, reaching the hallway leading to the arena where he'd first met Lira and Kain.

'This is it,' he thought, trying to catch his breath, but...

The arena was empty.

No crowd, no fighters, not even a servant sweeping up.

'No...' Charles thought, a knot tightening in his stomach. 'Am I too late?'

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay calm.

Then, a sound snapped him out of it.

Heavy footsteps echoed from a side hallway. Charles whipped his head around and saw a figure that chilled his blood.

Kain Cole.

Kain strode with that infuriating swagger that begged for a punch.

'Crap!' Charles thought, reacting on instinct.

He dove behind a column, pressing against the cold stone to stay out of sight.

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Thump thump thump!

His heart pounded so loud he thought Kain might hear it.

'Chill, man,' he told himself, peeking cautiously.

Kain passed by without a glance, muttering about the rain and the show.

Charles let out the breath he'd been holding.

'That was close,' he thought, then frowned. 'Wait. Why'd I hide?'

It wasn't just Rian's body, with its quick reflexes and muscle memory of fear—now it was him.

'Am I scared of him?' he thought, the doubt making him grit his teeth. 'Well, makes sense... that bastard broke my arm.'

He recalled the pain, the crack, and the humiliation of lying on the ground while Kain laughed.

But then Charles moved his arm on instinct, bracing for a twinge... and got nothing.

He lifted it, spun it, flexed it harder than before.

No pain, no trace of bruises or frostbite burns.

'Am I really fully healed?' he thought, baffled.

Then he remembered Kain saying he wanted to watch him lose.

'If I follow him, he might lead me to the clan's other arena,' Charles thought, a spark of hope igniting.

Resolved, he decided to tail him, keeping his distance.

His body didn't just feel faster—it was agile, almost unreal.

Charles moved carefully, sticking to the hallway shadows as Kain walked on, oblivious. The rain kept falling, and the scent of wet earth filled the air.

Charles noticed Kain casually raising a hand now and then, redirecting raindrops before they could touch him.

'Showoff,' Charles thought, but he couldn't deny it was impressive.

The hallway opened to a wide field, and Charles stopped dead.

'Whoa!'

It was an open-air arena, massive, like a football stadium.

The stands were packed with hundreds of people cheering and clapping under the rain—yet no one was wet.

Around the arena, controllers in black tunics with blue trim waved their hands, parting the water like a light show.

Drops formed shimmering curtains that fell outside the stands, leaving the center dry.

'This is insane,' Charles thought, jaw dropping. 'They can really do that?'

The crowd wore modern clothes—leather jackets, jeans, even a few sharp suits—all buzzing with excitement, some recording on their phones.

'This isn't just a fight,' he thought. 'It's a damn spectacle.'

In the arena's center, two fighters were going at it.

Thud!

Whack!

Blows echoed, blending with the crowd's roars.

One threw a kick the other barely dodged, and the audience erupted.

"Let's go!"

An announcer shouted from a raised platform, his voice booming through an unseen system.

"And Juren Vask takes the lead!" he cried, spurring louder cheers.

'This is a circus...' Charles thought, still stunned.

The arena had no roof, but the setup was modern: bright lights, screens replaying hits, and rows of seats like a pro stadium.

Kain headed for the stands, and Charles followed cautiously, keeping his distance.

'Don't see me, don't see me...' he thought, weaving past servants carrying food trays.

The smell of grilled meat distracted him for a second, but he forced himself to focus.

Then he spotted a side entrance under a wooden awning, where fighters lined up.

'That's it,' he thought, sprinting toward it.

He stopped to catch his breath, eyeing the men in line.

The last two were huge, muscles like carved stone. They didn't wear clan tunics, just tight gear that screamed outsider.

'Those might be the ones Lira mentioned...' Charles thought, recalling her talk of external fighters.

BOOM!

Another thunderclap shook the sky, and the crowd gasped, half-scared, half-thrilled.

Charles glanced up, feeling a spark in his body—like the electricity he'd used before, but stronger now.

The announcer spoke again, declaring the current fight's winner, and the crowd exploded in applause.