The Bloodbath Odyssey; I reincarnated to become the cursed

Sarah sat on the floor, legs crossed. A ceramic cup sat beside her, filled halfway with coffee.

The cup looked expensive, and at a mere glance at it, one needed not to be told that it came from the Citadel.

Sarah was meditating, or so she thought she was. Her eyelids had been arching to shut for a befitting sleep.

The coffee beside her was just to keep her from dozing off, but her head continued to bounce around, jolting up at every instance.

This time, she was determined. She was going to look into her inner self without wanting to doze off. Nothing was going to stop her.

"Yes," she pondered, "this is solely the spirit".

But within minutes, she jolted her head again. This time, her head nearly fell off, and her neck almost twisted.

"Hell no," she muttered as she stood up, stretching. Her joints let out cracks that sent a sweet, pleasurable ripple of satisfaction across her body.

Everyone knows that feeling, though.

She had to think, meditate about her training, about her life, what she saw as a total misery.

"What was the need of being alive and yet not being able to achieve your dreams, eh?" she pondered, shoving strands of hair off her face.

She had registered for the tournaments. It had been her dream since she knew something, to become an Azren, to protect people from harm.

But this was her fourth time applying, since she had lost in all her tournaments.

The first two times, she lost in the Arena battles, and the previous one, she had won the Arena battle only to see herself failing the Woods Hint tournament.

It got her angry. She was so close. If only she was given a little time, just a little, she would have been an Azren by now.

At the very thought of that, the anger came back. She grunted, her face in a deep frown.

"Pull yourself together, Sarah. This is now in the past."

She swept the cup off the ground and took down the coffee in one gulp, as though it would make her feel better , but only to get her crazy.

The coffee had shreds that had decanted underneath the cup, and now they were in her mouth.

She smacked her lips in great distaste as she grimaced.

"Curse these silly fake coffee makers…"

Her tournament was just hours away. She had to concentrate. 

She needed to know if she could do it again, if she could still tap in, if she could still see her Azrax of the within beast again, and then know if she could summon it.

But the early morning sleep still lingered in her eyes.

She sat on the floor again, legs crossed as usual.

Now the room had a dim pink color cast upon it by the pink curtain that covered the window, which in turn was reflecting the dawn.

This time, she rested her back on the side of her bed, which wasn't fancy, but it was large and clean, with a thick wool blanket and enough space to stretch fully in any direction.

The mattress dipped just enough to cradle the body, and the cotton sheets smelled faintly of sun and fresh air.

She had summoned her Within Beast before, while she was in the tournaments, though she was still defeated because, at first, she had not known how to control it.

And then, in the second one, she failed because she summoned the Lucent Within Beast, which she had not trained on, and also, it let her down.

The beast just stood there, doing nothing, while she was knocked unconscious.

But now, she had learnt it all. But that didn't mean she was not still afraid.

She hadn't slept well because of the silly nightmare she had concerning her Within Beast.

Shutting her eyes once more, she tried to concentrate, but it wasn't easy.

Everything around her seemed to be disturbing.

She suddenly felt like the materials in her room became living. She opened her left eye and peeked.

"Urgh," she groaned. "This isn't working. Not at all."

She sluggishly shoved herself up to her feet and went towards her wardrobe, which was opposite her bed.

It stood tall and wooden, with designated designs etched unto the brown shiny wood.

She threw the two doors open arrogantly.

She was kind of having a mixed feeling of numbness, and disdained, more of nervous. Today was the D-day, the day where she is to contest in another tournament.

Well, she is going to be quite famous if she fails for the fourth time. At the thought of that, a quick thrill of ice ran down her spine.

She swallowed as she took out some dress from her wardrobe, a crop-top tunic and a black tight, and then a thick, leathery black and shiny suit.

She raised it high and glared at it. It held memories of her past failures, and it better not let her down this time.

She turned and placed the cloth on her bed. Then, with another glance around her, she noticed her room was at the verge of becoming a mess.

She had spent the past days training and had given little time to her room.

Beside the other side of her bed lay a rack of silvery practice swords, dull-bladed daggers, and a pair of worn gauntlets hung like silent witnesses to sleepless nights.

Then, to the right side, was a little stand, and on it sat a single lantern that illuminated the room with a dull golden gleam, competing with the pink glow cast by the curtain.

Muddy prints ran from the entrance door into the room, which signified that Sarah was out that early training before she started her meditation technique, that had not worked as planned.

The Arena Battles was the first phase of the tournament. It is about defeating your opponent in a fight, on a circular stage raised to almost five thousand feet above the floor.

It had one very strict rule: that a fighter in the tournament must show his or her Azrax -that is, the Within Beast.

Since an Azren must first learn the basics of how to control his or her beast and how to summon it as well, thereby proving it during the tournament.

The day broke as people from far and wide in the Great City all moved towards the Citadel.

The tournament is not something anyone would like to miss. It is something very much enjoyed by everyone.

A woman dressed in a blue cloak was on the stage. She was tall, about six feet, and had this strong feminine texture. Her face was beautiful, but was always mean.

She hardly lets out a smile not to speak of laughing, and her tone was something you wouldn't always like to hear.

She was Madam Hooch.

Crowds sat high above in the arena, around the wide circular pit where Madam Hooch stood.

The towered stone terraces where the crowd sat were arranged row upon row, each level rising higher than the last.

From the lowest benches near the fighting ground to the loftiest tier that nearly kissed the sky, the seating was built in a grand, sloping design a podium of steps carved to give every spectator a clear, commanding view of the battle below.

At the very top, seated high above the rest like a king upon his throne, were the Sentinels and the White Elders, their presence commanding as much attention as the duel itself.

The higher one sat, the greater the status, and from above, the crowd seemed to ripple like a sea of heads and cheering mouths cascading downward toward the bloodstained sand of the arena floor.

Madam Hooch raised her hand with great energy, as the ground below rumbled violently.

A circular pattern was cut across the ground, and pulling her hand across the air, the circular platform rose from the floor.

Slowly, it started moving upward. It rose higher and higher until it was closer to the crowd's view.

At this, there was a mechanical sound as lights fluttered on.

Though it was daytime, the lights were so bright that their white glow oppressed even the golden color of the sun.

Another jet of excited yells filled the air.

Then, with another mechanical hiss, another podium slid high above, toward the towered stages that stood almost to the sky.

With a man standing on it. He held a microphone and a pole that stood vertical on the podium. His was nicknamed Vocal.

He was dressed in a purple overcoat with a high collar that nearly swept the barricaded podium he stood on.

His face was perfect, his jawline hidden behind a neat line of beard as he spoke with a ravaging voice.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE DAY WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR, THE DAY OF THE ARENA BATTLES!"

A loud stream of hails followed his voice. It was as though his words lingered in amazement across the crowd of people waiting for the tournament.

His tone also reached the locker rooms.

There, Sarah sat on a bench, her back resting on her locker. She didn't feel like talking to anyone, and yet she couldn't ignore what others were saying.

Their voices rang high in her head.

"This is my first time in this competition, and I'm sure I'm going to make it. I don't know why someone will fail that tournament repeatedly," said a red-haired lady who was changing into her battle dress.

"…I mean, I've trained very well, both my Azrax and my fighting skills, and I'm ready to rumble… Someone failing is his fault.

The person didn't give his all to the training," the girl continued, her voice now sounding estranged in Sarah's ears.

"Gwen, don't be so sure. Besides, you don't know the level your opponent might have trained. You don't know if his Azrax is stronger than yours, and you might run out of luck, you see," said another voice.

To Sarah, that sounded smarter.

"…Yeah, you are right. But there's nothing like stronger. Even if they were, then you play smart… I just think they should change the rules.

Once someone fails more than twice, he shouldn't be left to compete anymore, never."

Those last words sank into Sarah. She couldn't bear it anymore.

Who was this Gwen of a girl? Who does she think she is?

"Hey. You might think you're smart, but there are smarter people who run the Citadel. That decision is theirs, and that is why they don't choose people like you as Sentinels."

Sarah let out a hush louder than ever as Gwen turned to look at her.

"Well, look who it is, the winner of the past three tournaments," she said, her voice painted with sarcasm, as a jet of laughter filled the room.

"Straight bullet," someone said.

Sarah frowned. She just hoped they paired her with this Gwen girl. She was about to reply when the voice of the announcer pierced the air once more.

He had now called the first contestants, and the tournament had begun.