**Volume 2: Upper World**
**Chapter 49: Blood on the Snow**
January 1st, 12:47 a.m.
Frosty’s knees buckled first.
She’d been standing there in the snow with him — shoulders relaxed, small smile still lingering after his confession — when her hand suddenly pressed to her side. Fingers came away red. Thick, dark blood seeped through her jacket, spreading fast across the gray fabric like spilled ink. She looked down at it, confused for half a second.
Then she laughed — short, shaky, more exhale than sound.
“It’s crazy… I liked you when I saw you.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Sky’s heart slammed into his ribs.
He lunged — caught her under the arms right as her legs gave out completely. She sagged against him, head dropping to his shoulder, breath shallow and wet. Blood soaked into his hoodie in seconds, warm and sticky against his chest.
“Frosty —”
He didn’t finish.
He just dragged her — half-carried, half-pulled — back toward the dorm tunnel. Snow crunched under his boots, her feet leaving faint red trails. She tried to help, tried to walk, but her legs weren’t listening anymore. All she could do was hold onto his sleeve with one trembling hand.
The hallway lights buzzed overhead — dim, yellow, flickering like they knew something was wrong. Sky kicked the dorm door open with his heel, staggered inside. The room was empty — everyone else still out in the stands or in their own corners of the stadium. He crossed to his bunk in three steps, lowered her down gentle as he could. Her head lolled against his pillow, hair fanning out dark against the gray sheet. Blood kept spreading — slow but steady — pooling under her hip.
Sky dropped to his knees beside the bunk.
He pressed both hands over the wound — hard — trying to slow it. Her blood was hot between his fingers. She winced, eyes fluttering, but managed a weak smirk.
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“Don’t… look so scared,” she whispered. “I’ve had worse.”
He didn’t answer.
Just kept pressure, staring at her face like if he looked away she’d disappear.
Minutes passed — maybe ten, maybe twenty. The bleeding slowed. Her breathing evened out a little. She reached up, shaky fingers brushing his cheek.
“Sky…”
He swallowed hard.
“Don’t talk. Just… rest.”
She smiled — small, tired.
“Bossy.”
Then her eyes closed.
Sky stayed there — hands still pressed to her side — until her breathing went steady and deep. Only then did he ease off, slow, watching for fresh blood. It had stopped. The wound wasn’t closing, but it wasn’t pouring anymore either. He pulled the blanket up over her, tucked it around her shoulders like she was just sleeping.
Then he slid down to the floor.
Back against the bunk frame.
Legs stretched out.
Stared at the opposite wall in the dark.
Didn’t sleep.
Just sat there — hoodie soaked red, hands stained, listening to her breathe.
---
January 2nd, 6:15 a.m.
The dorm lights snapped on — harsh, automatic.
Sky jolted upright, neck stiff, back screaming from the hard floor. Frosty was still out — breathing steady, color back in her cheeks. The blood on her jacket had dried dark and stiff overnight.
He stood slow.
Changed quick — didn’t want to wake her.
Blue T-shirt. White pants. White shoes. Simple. Clean. Knife still at his belt.
He looked at her one more time — sleeping, peaceful for once — then slipped out the door.
The hallway was quiet. Most players still asleep or nursing wounds. Sky walked alone to Arena 14 — his assigned ring. The place was already lit up — circular stone pit, 30 feet across, high walls topped with razor wire and floodlights. Stands half-full with early risers: demons smoking, rogues betting, normal people clutching each other. No one cheered yet. Too early. Too raw.
Sky stepped into the pit.
Waited.
Memories hit like a sucker punch.
Het — laughing during training, cracking his knuckles, calling Sky “boss” half-joking. Het shielding the younger kids during the academy massacre. Het sliced clean in half by Yuka’s Cleave — upper body toppling one way, legs the other. Blood spraying in that perfect arc. Eyes still open.
Sky’s throat tightened.
Tears stung hot behind his eyes.
He clenched his jaw — hard — forced them back. Blinked once. Twice. Gone.
He wasn’t crying today.
Not here.
Not now.
Het stepped through the opposite gate.
Same age. Same height almost. Same academy jacket — torn now, stained. Crowbar still in his hand, pact glow faint but angry. He stopped at the edge of the pit, looked at Sky for a long second.
No words.
Just a nod.
Sky nodded back.
The announcer’s voice crackled over the speakers.
“Match 14. Sky vs Het. Begin.”
They moved at the same time.
Het charged — crowbar swinging in a wide overhead arc, pact edge glowing brighter, cutting the air with a whistle.
Sky sidestepped — smooth, spatial sense tingling — and countered with a quick Azure Push. Force slammed into Het’s chest like a truck. He flew back, boots skidding, but rolled once and came up swinging again.
The fight was on.
Across the stadium — Arena 22.
Frosty vs her cousin.
The one who’d taken care of her for seven years — taught her ice control, bandaged her scrapes, called her “little sis” even though they weren’t blood. Now he stood opposite her in the ring, ice already riming his fists, eyes hard with something between grief and duty.
Frosty gripped her bokken — frost nails forming along the edge.
She didn’t smile.
Neither did he.
The announcer called it.
“Match 22. Frosty vs Kael. Begin.”
And somewhere else — Arena 7.
Jaylee vs Yuka.
Jaylee stepped into the pit twirling invisible threads between her fingers, grin sharp and playful.
Yuka waited calmly — same unchanging smile, hands in coat pockets.
The bell rang.
Threads snapped forward like whips.
Illusions bloomed — perfect copies of Jaylee rushing from every angle.
The crowd roared.
The day had begun.
The chapter ended.
To be continued…
