mantra knights

Chapter 2: Let the Games Begin

The wide plains just outside the Capital had been transformed into a massive, historic battleground. Endless waves of wild grass rolled beneath the breeze, stretching toward the horizon. Surrounding the space were tall, ancient stone pillars, each one etched with glowing Mantra symbols that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. This was sacred ground—one where hundreds of young warriors would soon fight to earn their place in history. The late afternoon sun cast a golden haze over the field, creating long shadows as more than four hundred hopefuls stood in stiff silence. By sunset, only 128 would remain.

Kaiyo Tsukehara stood in the crowd, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. Static buzzed faintly in the air around his hands—evidence of his lightning-based Special Manifestation. He could expel raw bolts of electricity, a volatile and destructive power, but he couldn't channel it internally. No muscle charging, no reaction speed boosts. No. His power was all the flash and fire you'd expect from someone who tries so hard to be seen .

To Kaiyo's right stood Luca Fujimoto, as calm and unmoving as a statue. Dressed in a sleek compression shirt and loose martial pants, Luca exuded a quiet confidence. His bright red hair, tied into a sharp bun at the back of his head, glowed in the sun. His gaze drifted over the other candidates, cool and calculating. He didn't speak, didn't flinch. Luca never needed to say much—his control spoke volumes. He raised one hand, and from thin air, a weapon shimmered into existence—a kusarigama, its blade and weight forged from molten lava that cooled into obsidian-like edges. It didn't burn the ground, didn't smoke. It simply existed, as if summoned by sheer will.

On Kaiyo's left was Tomiwa Adams, standing with his head bowed, fingers brushing a beaded necklace as he whispered a prayer. There was peace in his presence, like still water untouched by wind. Floating beside him, nearly invisible to those not sensitive to Mantra, was a translucent projection of a Yoruba masquerade warrior—sword raised, ever watchful. Kaiyo didn't need to see it fully to feel its power. Tomiwa's aura was calm but deeply rooted.

A sudden hum broke the tension. A crystal structure floating above the field flickered to life, its core glowing bright blue. A voice followed, amplified across the entire battlefield.

"Today, your journey begins—or ends."

The voice was deep, serious, and carried the weight of judgment. It belonged to one of the senior Mantra Knights, acting as announcer and overseer.

"The first trial is simple: a battle royale. Fight until only 128 of you remain. If you are knocked out, you're done. There are no second chances."

The words dropped like a stone in a pond—sending waves of tension rippling through the crowd. Some flinched. Others stiffened. For most, this was the harsh reality crashing into their dreams. Over two hundred and seventy of them would fail today. Their dreams of becoming Mantra Knights would end before they ever really began.

Up above, a colossal viewing platform floated quietly. On it sat six figures dressed in signature armor and robes, each marked by different symbols and colors. These were the Lances, the six most powerful and influential Mantra Knights alive.

Leia Fujimoto, Lance of Strategy, leaned slightly forward, resting her chin on one hand. Her red-and-white braid hung like a banner across her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable. Beside her, the masked figure of Xavier Gray tapped a slow rhythm on the side of his chair. His white mask, etched with a G-clef, reflected the sunlight eerily. The rest of the Lances remained still, judging.

Along the edges of the battlefield, the stone glyphs flared to life, glowing with white energy. The air shimmered.

"Begin."

The single word echoed with finality.

Chaos exploded across the field.

Some candidates screamed and rushed forward. Others activated their powers immediately. Walls of stone and sand burst from the ground. Blades of ice and wind spun through the air. Sparks and flames painted the grass in violent bursts. Mantra clashed with Mantra, light against light.

Kaiyo sprinted forward, lightning trailing behind him like a comet. His body reacted faster than his thoughts, instincts taking over. He ducked under a fireball, rolled across the dirt, and narrowly avoided a spike of hardened bone. His breath came quick and sharp. He flung his hands outward, expelling twin bolts of lightning that exploded against a nearby group. They scattered, yelping in surprise.

I have to stand out, he thought. They need to see me.

Luca remained perfectly still until a girl charged at him from the side. In a flash, he spun the obsidian-bladed kusarigama in a wide arc. The chain whipped around with deadly precision, slicing the air with a whoosh a red line of magma trailing behind. The girl halted mid-charge, eyes wide. The blade embedded in the dirt inches from her foot. She stepped back, retreating in silence. Luca didn't say a word. He pulled the weapon back with a flick and turned his attention elsewhere.

Tomiwa moved through the chaos like a steady wind. His projection lashed out with a wide sweep of its spiritual blade, knocking down another fighter before switching masquerades to another with a staff using a wide sweep to knock out a row of other contestants, eliminating eight of them in one go. Tomiwa didn't waste movement. His strikes were efficient and focused.

Meanwhile, Zimi Werner, the young tech genius with no Special Manifestation, peeked from behind a pile of stone. With a tap to his wrist controller, his custom mechanical limbs activated, lifting him off the ground in a burst of blue energy. He darted through the air, scanning for an opening to strike. Before using a calculated blast with his ray gun to knock out an opponent

The battle continued for over an hour. It was ruthless and fast. Candidates dropped one by one, some screaming, others collapsing silently. The field was littered with scorched grass, cracked dirt, and scattered weapons. Med drones zipped in and out, collecting unconscious fighters and carrying them off the field.

Above, a floating scoreboard constantly shifted, removing names in real time. Dozens of dreams were ending by the second.

Kaiyo stumbled and dropped to one knee, breath ragged. He had knocked out three people—but only barely. He looked down at his shaking hands, the sparks flickering weakly.

"Still think you're fast?" someone growled behind him.

A tall boy with a jagged blade charged. The sword came down in a flash. Kaiyo rolled away, thrusting his palm out. A lightning burst cracked into the dirt, blasting debris into the air. It missed. The attacker lunged again.

Kaiyo didn't answer. He kept moving, ducking low and blasting another arc behind him. He wasn't fighting with strategy—he was fighting to survive.

As Kaiyo pulled himself up, bruised and panting, his eyes caught the rising form of the Coliseum in the distance. Stone columns spiraled upward, forming a massive circular structure. It was the next stage of the Selection—a place where the 128 would be tested further.

For the lucky few still standing, it was the next step.

For the rest, their journey had already ended.