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

Thud!

Whack!

Blows echoed through the open-air arena, blending with the crowd's roars at every hit.

Crack!

A fighter dodged a kick just in time, and the audience erupted in cheers.

The rain kept pouring, but black-tunic water controllers with blue trim kept the show dry, diverting drops with precise gestures.

Shimmering water curtains gleamed under the lights, turning the storm into part of the spectacle.

The announcer, from his elevated platform, bellowed the winners' names with a voice that sliced the air.

"Juren Vask advances to the next round!" he roared, and the crowd answered with a thunderous cheer.

Clap clap clap!

Fight after fight, names kept dropping:

Toren Vask, a brute who floored his opponent with a chest-crushing punch; Liraen Koth, a nimble woman who trapped her rival in a liquid sphere before knocking them out; and Kael Dran, a foreign fighter whose fire blasts left the crowd gaping.

Each victory was a show, and the arena pulsed with the crowd's energy.

Elsewhere in the arena, Lira Cole oversaw from a raised platform, away from the main stands.

"Tch!" She clicked her tongue, scanning a name list as the rain drummed in the background.

'This is going fine, but something's off,' she thought, a pressure tightening her chest.

"Miss Lira!"

Her assistant, in his black tunic with brown trim, appeared panting at her side. His boots were soaked, his face weary.

"We checked the whole clan, and... no trace of where the lightning struck. No visible damage, no fires... nothing."

Lira frowned, turning to him.

"Nothing?" she repeated, her tone barely hiding disbelief.

'That doesn't add up,' she thought.

The thunder had been too loud, the lightning bright enough to turn night into day.

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A bolt doesn't vanish without a mark, especially not after she'd seen it clearly hit a clan building.

"Fine," Lira said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "I'll deal with that later. Anything else?"

The assistant hesitated, scratching his neck.

"Well... yeah," he mumbled, lowering his voice like he feared her reaction. "We found your room's door forced open. The lock's busted, and... it looked like someone broke in."

Lira froze, a chill running through her.

'What?' she thought, heart racing.

No one should've been in there. She'd left Rian tied up, unconscious, with the door locked to ensure no one found him.

"What was inside?" she asked, keeping her voice steady though she was screaming inside.

The assistant shrugged, visibly nervous.

"Not much," he said. "Half-eaten cake on the table, a spilled soda glass... and bits of rope on the floor, like someone cut or snapped them."

Lira blinked, processing his words.

'The rope was broken?' she thought, panic hitting like a wave.

The substance she'd mixed into the cake—the amber liquid from the vial—was a potent sedative, meant to keep Rian out until noon tomorrow.

'No one should've woken him...' she thought, clenching her fists. 'Let alone helped him escape...'

Her mind raced.

'Did someone take him?'

But that made no sense.

'Who'd know Rian was in my room? And why would they want him?'

"Miss Lira?"

The assistant eyed her, concerned.

"You okay? You seem... nervous."

Lira shook her head quickly, forcing a tight smile.

"No, I'm fine," she said, though her voice came out sharper than intended.

'Get it together,' she thought, breathing deeply.

"Everything's under control."

But inside, her mind was a wreck.

If Rian wasn't in her room, her plan could implode.

She'd planned to swap Rian for Kaira Voss, a swift fighter who'd take his place in tonight's matches.

Lira turned to the water controller beside her.

"You," she said, pointing. "Keep things in order here. If there's any issue with the crowd or controllers, notify me immediately."

The man nodded.

But before Lira could move, the announcer's voice cut through her thoughts.

"Ladies and gentlemen, brace for the final fights of the night!" he bellowed, and the crowd roared.

"Ooh!"

"From distant lands, with absolute mastery of wind honed through relentless training, we present... Darion Veth!"

The arena shook with applause as a tall, muscular man strode to the center.

His short hair gleamed under the lights, and each step seemed to make the air ripple.

Whoosh!

He raised a hand, and a gust swept the arena, kicking up dust and driving the crowd wild.

Lira paused, watching from her platform.

'Darion Veth,' she thought, frowning.

He was one of the foreigners Kaira was set to face. But then the announcer continued, his voice faltering for a moment.

"And his opponent..." he said, clearly thrown. "Rian Cole, a fighter... without powers?"

The announcer paused, like he was double-checking his notes.

The crowd murmured, confused, as he apologized.

"One moment, seems there was a mix-up," he said, then, after a brief silence, corrected:

"Rian Cole, a fighter without powers, but bold enough to promise two back-to-back matches tonight, stands before us!"

BOOM!

A thunderclap roared, as if the storm itself punctuated the announcement.

The crowd exploded—some laughing, others cheering, a few muttering it had to be a joke.

"No powers?" a man in the stands scoffed, chuckling.

"This guy's nuts!"

Charles, now in the arena's center, felt every eye on him.

'It's time,' he thought, eyeing Darion Veth, who loomed like a mountain compared to his leaner frame.

Lira, from her platform, went wide-eyed.

'Rian!?' she thought, the ground shifting under her feet. 'What the hell is he doing here?'

Her gaze swept the arena, searching for any sign of Kaira Voss, the fighter who should've been in his place.

'Where the hell are you, Kaira!?' she thought, panic swelling.