I Am a Hero With A Hundred Abilities
Chapter 92 - 92: Ch 91. Obsession

From the stands, Ethan could barely keep himself in his seat. His fists trembled, knuckles white from how tightly he was clenching them, his jaw clenched so hard it felt like it might crack. At first, when he saw Kairo initiating an ability, he was caught off guard.

"He's cultivating?" Ethan thought in disbelief.

Ever since receiving the Sanctum, he'd never had to cultivate anything.

Every ability had come to him at full efficiency, perfectly tuned to his being.

The concept of slowly building an ability, forming a Cortex, and nurturing it until maturity felt... foreign.

But the shock quickly gave way to something else—pure, burning fury.

What Kairo was doing to Sophia wasn't just a fight—it was torture.

Kairo's mastery over space was horrifying. He didn't just use it to win. He used it to ensure Sophia endured pain no human—hero or not—should have to feel.

Every attack was like a tempest. But he kept her alive, just enough that the arena's safety mechanisms wouldn't activate, so she wouldn't be teleported out for protection.

"This isn't control from skill," Ethan realized.

"This is control born from obsession. From madness."

Ethan's hands shook, veins bulging in his arms. He could barely breathe, watching Sophia—someone he deeply cared about—get treated like a ragdoll. Every instinct screamed at him to jump into the ring, to make Kairo pay for every punch, every kick.

But he didn't move.

Not because he didn't want to—but because he knew it wasn't his time. Not yet.

He could only hope Sophia would survive this, though all hope of her turning the fight around had already begun to fade from his heart.

In the Ring...

Kairo was a storm of cruelty. His punches were merciless, his movements inhuman, space bending at his command as he vanished and reappeared—each time delivering a blow that could crumble fortresses.

Sophia—bruised, battered, bloodied—was barely standing. And still, Kairo kept coming.

"Why don't you fight back?" he snarled, delivering a crushing punch to her ribs.

"Come on, FIGHT BACK!"

He kicked her in the gut, sending her flying into the air, then warped above her, spinning midair before crashing his heel into her back, slamming her into the ground like a meteor. The arena cracked under the pressure.

Sophia could barely move. Every breath was pain. But Kairo wasn't done. He reappeared again, kneeing her in the stomach, flipping her across the ring. She hit the ground hard, the earth splitting beneath her.

"FIGHT BACK!"

"Come on, FIGHT BACK!!"

His voice became a broken chant, like a record stuck on a single track of madness.

He appeared above her once again as she lay beaten, trying weakly to lift her head.

Kairo stepped on her skull, pinning it to the arena floor.

"It's just as I thought... You really are insignificant."

"Now DIE."

He raised his leg high to bring it down and end the match—not out of mercy, but out of final judgment.

But just as his foot began to fall—

BOOOOM!!!

A sudden explosion ripped through the roof of the arena, smoke and flame bursting outward as a new presence entered the battlefield.

Descending through the smoke was a dark-skinned man with glowing white hair, his aura flaring with overwhelming energy. Behind him, a second figure landed silently—a man in a demonic mask, his arms crossed, a quiet menace surrounding him.

Kairo's foot froze midair, halted mere inches from Sophia's head.

Then—

A woman's voice, laced with fury, echoed across the arena like a divine command:

"How DARE you interrupt the Crownspire Ascension!"

Suddenly, space itself twisted in front of the new intruders.

And another figure—authority exuding from every step—materialized before them, facing off with calm power.

The arena had changed.

This fight was no longer just between Kairo and Sophia.

The true players were starting to enter the game.

****

All the contestants in the arena turned sharply toward the explosion, their bodies tense and eyes narrowed with wariness. Every single one of them, whether noble prodigy or rogue genius, felt the same chilling thought creep into their minds: "Who would be foolish enough to attack... when a Saint is present?"

Even those from Overlord clans and Ascendant lineages—individuals raised among the upper echelons of power—knew that no one survives a Saint's presence unscathed, unless the Saint wills it. A Saint's aura wasn't mere pressure—it was a force of nature, a law that bent reality around it.

And yet… the intruders—the white-haired man and the masked figure—stood there. Unaffected. ---

From the elevated platform, Saint Theresa, the powerful and regal overseer of the Crownspire Ascension, took a step forward, her robes glowing faintly with woven runes of sanctified Meta Essence.

Her golden eyes locked onto the white-haired intruder, her voice sharp with restrained fury:

"Drakos. What would make you crawl out of hiding and show your face here? I thought you were still nursing your injuries."

The white-haired man—Drakos—grinned as if this were a casual reunion between old friends.

"The doctor said I could leave early," he said lightly. "Figured I'd stretch my body a little."

Saint Theresa's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What do you take me for? A fool?"

Her aura erupted like a divine sun bursting through the clouds.

Meta Essence of overwhelming purity—crushing, absolute—flooded the arena, eclipsing everything the contestants had displayed thus far. It weighed on the world, making the ground quake and the very air scream.

And yet... Drakos didn't flinch.

Not a step back. Not a twitch.

He just stared at her, expressionless.

"I'm not here to play with you today, T," he said calmly.

Then, without warning, he turned his gaze toward the stands.

The other contestants panicked, stumbling back in fear, mistakenly thinking he was targeting them. But his eyes were locked on Ethan.

Saint Theresa followed his gaze—and then turned back to Drakos with a glimmer of realization.

"I won't let you have your way."

Drakos smiled again, but this time there was no humor in it—only finality.

"I wasn't asking."

Suddenly, the arena shook as an explosion of pressure tore through the air—

And both Saint Theresa and Drakos vanished, disappearing into a higher dimension as their clash rippled through the folds of space and reality, the battlefield no longer bound to the mortal plane.

Silence fell.

And then the masked man, still standing calmly in the center of the chaos, took a single step forward.

He moved toward the contestants, cold intent radiating from his body like an impending storm.

But before he could go any farther—

"Stop."

The announcer, a once-cheerful voice now filled with steel, appeared before him, his stance ready.

"Don't think you can do as you please just because the Saint is no longer here."

The masked man tilted his head.

Then with a casual snap of his fingers—dozens of Sentinels appeared. The masked man said nothing, but the threat was clear.

But the announcer only smiled faintly.

"You're not alone?" he said softly.

"Neither am I."

Suddenly—dozens of cloaked figures emerged from the shadows of the arena.

Each one a Hidden Guard of the Crownspire Ascension, elite protectors clad in battle tech armor, pulsing with charged Meta Essence.

"Protect the contestants!" the announcer roared.

And with a war cry that split the air, the two forces clashed, Sentinels against Ascension Guards, power against power.

The arena had become a warzone.

And far above them, in a dimension few could even perceive—

Two Saints battled, shaking the heavens with every strike.

The Crownspire Ascension was no longer just a test.

It had become a stage for something far greater.