The Champion's Mind Novels & Stories

As strategies go, I can’t fault it. Unfortunately for the Bratva - which my brother heads - he’s made no secret of the fact that he’ll gut anyone who tries to hurt me. It’s nothing personal, just that I’m the only remaining member of his family and also a valuable chess piece in his organized crime games – a strategic marriage might mean the difference between being friends or enemies.

The machine-wolf shrieked, its body seizing as its own armor cooked it from the inside out. "He’s a battery, Thorne!" I yelled over the roar of the wind. "Every time your lapdog hits him, he’s hitting himself with ten thousand volts!" Richard didn't wait for the shock to fade. He moved with a speed he shouldn't have had. He tackled the champion. Another arc. Another scream. The smell of burning fur and ozone filled the circle. The champion tried to pull away. Its silver plates were glowing now, heated by the resistance. It was a furnace strapped to its own skin.

He was the leading trend setter. Carson White. A surgen for past five years in a hospital built by none other than his grandfather. He was outstanding student through out his educational period. He was soft spoken, warm person. Above 6 feet he stood dominent and prominent and anyone could easily spot him in a crowd of millions.

I had told her times without numbers to stop preying on my thoughts. I didn't answer as I waited for them to tell me whatever he wanted me to do. "We have an upcoming championship in two weeks. This isn't any kind of championship. This is choosing the best fighters to become warriors of Veridian. Warriors that can protect the clan and its people..." He walked to the stall behind the ring where different weights were placed. He picked one of them and started lifting it up with just one hand. His muscles bulged out as he did, and he couldn't hold back but stare at how amazing he was.

As if in response, the mysterious mist which had been receding began to thicken once more, spreading amongst the towering stone columns again. The champions have no choice but to sound a retreat. Congregating together were six of the most powerful champions in the world. They stood on the summit of Mount Immortal Tao, overlooking the growing fog that slowly devoured the territories it once lost like a beast protective of its lair. Shrouded in soft glows emanating from the immense powers they wielded, no one could see their faces, although the mercurial glow they emanated clearly mirrored their mental state and one did not have to be a wise sage to know that the champions were nowhere near be

I walked back to my dorm with the notebook in my bag and the timeline in my head and the weight of eleven pages pressing against my spine like a second heartbeat. The championship was four weeks out. The biggest public moment of the season – Rhys on the ice, scouts in the stands, cameras, attention, everything Caleb needed to stage his biggest move yet. The pattern demanded it. Every public moment triggered an escalation. The championship would be the most public moment of all. I sat on my bed. Opened the notebook to the last page. Wrote one line at the bottom. Championship – May. The biggest stage. He'll make his move.

“The king is hosting a competition. Twenty-three members of the council will sponsor a Champion to train and compete for the title of Kyrador ’s Assassin. You would represent me.” I blinked, the word *Champion* sinking into my mind like a stone. “So, I’m to be your lackey, then? The Crown’s pet murderer?” Callum’s smile returned, though there was no warmth in it. “Hardly. You’ll be competing against thieves, assassins, and warriors from across Lumaria . If you win, you’ll be my father’s Champion. If you lose...” “I go back to Karnak,” I finished, the bitterness thick in my voice.

"Then the world rankings. Direct access to the main draw of the World Championship. Sponsors, contracts, publicity rights—but more importantly, they won't just watch you. They'll see you." Lennox leaned back. The wooden bench creaked softly beneath him. "And the risk?" Sloane answered this time, calm and precise. "Exhaustion. Injury. Mental overload. If you don't have a precise daily routine, if there's no time to reset your nervous system, if there's no control... you fall apart. Not physically—mentally. This isn't the ring of instinct anymore. This is pro level. Strategy. Politics." Silence. The weight of the words settled over them.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as I pulled my helmet over my head, locking it in place. My heart thundered in my chest, the adrenaline coursing through me like liquid fire. This was it—the championship race. Everything I had fought for, every sleepless night, every bruised knuckle, had led to this moment. And I wasn’t going to let Victor Kade take it from me.

He may think that he had done something wrong. Because how much wrong it can be? To see someone steal your identity ahead of you. You must be thinking that how wrong I am? To still thinking about winning and losing? But isn't it true that in the end, no one will ask any question? Only the winner and loser stands out in the crowd. Trust me. I don't care about anything. I don't even care about the wisdom of the stars at this time. So, you heard me I don't fucking give a damn about anything at this moment. I don't give a damn about winner and loser at this moment.