Bloodsoaked Champion Romane & Geschichten

Confused, I stare. Then he gestures ahead of us. I turn. And gasp. “You’ll need to bathe in this virgin blood if we’re going to defeat every other woman in Chase’s life.” I stare at the massive tub before me in horror. Dark crimson blood fills it almost to the brim. The metallic scent instantly assaults my nose. Virgin blood? Just to have Chase? Just to defeat other women like this Lucy Roshid? The smell hits me harder. The news about Chase. The image of that blood. Lucy Roshid.

I try to stand up again, but I fall back faster than the first time. “Better save your energy, miss.” “Shit,” I pant. “Shit, indeed.” I stare at him sideways. His lips are dry and cracked, which could mean he's dehydrated. I motion at his jacket, where there's a red hole. Blood stains cover his cheeks, too, giving him the look of a wounded warrior. "Did you lose a lot of blood?" He stares at his injury as if he forgot it’s there. “No. This should be fine.”

Someone came behind me and tied to stab me with a sword but I was already crushing them before they could even try. "Help." The champion cried as I started to drain him using all the force I could. "Help." He whimpered this time but it was too late I already was draining him dry. Every ounce of his magic was mine. So much power was flowing in me. I felt like the true God I was. Absolutely powerful. People finally stopped coming forth because they realized that I was unbeatable. After every ounce of the champions magic was drained the champion finally breathed his last breath. 'The winner is Alexander The God of absolute dark power.' The announcer whispered with dread.

I try to move, but strong hands press on my back. "Easy Gold Status Captain. Easy. Let's us help you to your feet," a firm voice says and I blink a few times to clear my vision. "After a quick run-through in the CRM (cell repair machine), the other Champions will be ready for selection. Harvest females, please return to your rooms and prepare for Selection," a loud voice says, and the crowd cheers as I realize I lost. Garlof got me. He won the brawl. He knocked me out. He is the Harvest Champion.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the turbulent energy within me—the strange, raw power that had first surged forth in the training grounds, and which now felt both like a weapon and a curse. Moments later, a hulking figure stepped forward from the rogue ranks. He was massive, his muscles rippling under scarred skin, and every movement exuded raw brutality. His eyes were cold, devoid of emotion, and his stance spoke of years spent in violent combat. I knew in an instant that he was their champion, the one chosen to test my mettle.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his blade. “Interesting,” the man said, his voice a guttural echo. It carried over the battlefield, curling in every ear. “So the girl bleeds light. Perhaps my master will find her amusing.” Kaelen snarled, sword raised. “You’ll never touch her.” The champion tilted his head, as though considering. Then he gave a low whistle. At once, the remaining wolves slunk back into the mist. “We’ll see,” he said, and vanished with them, the fog swallowing him whole.

This Corpse Champion was more powerful that he would care to admit, perhaps even stronger than the hundred-year Corpse Puppet that he had seen at the Falling-jade Glow. Without waiting for everyone to recover from their shock and bewilderment, the Corpse Champion emitted a feral howl suddenly, its eyes turning maniacal red as if they were burning. Two red beams of light shot from his eyes, setting everything in its path ablaze and left only destruction in its wake. "Careful!" Xu Gu cautioned and chanted a spell. Six shafts of golden light shot down from the sky and protected everyone, at least for now.

The curved steel sliced deep across his chest, parting skin and muscle in a bright red line. Gideon staggered, sword dipping. The pack gasped. Damien stepped back, blade lowered but ready. Blood dripped from the tip onto the snow, staining it scarlet. “Yield,” he said quietly. Gideon looked down at the wound. Blood soaked his trousers, pooling at his boots. He raised his eyes to Damien, then beyond him to Ashley. For the first time something flickered in his expression that was not rage. Regret, perhaps. Or resignation.

\] Then, with the kind of melodramatic drumroll, only a murder‑game could muster: “BEHOLD YOUR CHAMPION!” The voice echoed across the plaza. Spotlights—actual, physical beams of hard white light—shot up from hidden fixtures, converging on the central screen. The grid of faces vanished. Replaced by one. Perfect makeup. Hair like liquid ink. Eyes that knew exactly where to look. Selene’s smile blazed across the city center, huge and hungry. SELDANE VAELOR – CHAMPION WIN RATE: 89%

The red light of the heat lamp had been a stage light, and I had played my part with the cold, hollow perfection of a mannequin. After the balcony door clicked shut and Toby’s shadow vanished into the darkness of the pines, the room didn’t return to silence. It returned to Laredo’s laughter—a low, melodic sound of absolute victory that made the skin on my back crawl. He didn’t touch me immediately. He walked to the sideboard and poured two fingers of scotch, his movements fluid and relaxed. He was a man who had just watched his greatest rival crumble, and he was savouring the vintage of the moment.