056 Hero of Elsewhere
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XVI

The artificial morning sun spilled through the tall windows, its light casting long shadows across the elevated platform in the heart of the venue. Unlike the exotic arenas and elaborate battlefields we’d fought in before, this setting was raw, simple, and completely exposed. A single metal stage stood where hunters usually mingled or announcements were made. No frills, no distractions—just a stark battleground where everything would be laid bare.

The semi-finals.

I took a deep breath, the weight of the day settling heavily on my shoulders. The crowd buzzed quietly around me, a mix of spectators, eliminated hunters, and those who had come to witness the next step in this grueling tournament.

President Bob stood at the edge of the platform, as eccentric as ever. His red cape fluttered slightly, an unnecessary addition to his already flamboyant outfit. But the real kicker was his choice of shorts. Bright yellow, almost offensively so. I didn’t know whether to laugh or marvel at the sheer audacity of it.

Focus, Reynard.

I stepped onto the platform, my shoes clicking softly against the metal floor. The murmurs of the crowd quieted as I took my place at the center, their collective attention now fixed on me. The air felt heavier here, charged with expectation.

And then… I waited.

The seconds stretched, each one dragging longer than the last. The silence pressed against my ears, amplifying the tension. My gaze flickered to the entrance, half-expecting Marah Maldave to saunter in with her trademark smugness and air of invincibility.

But no one came.

A whisper rippled through the audience, growing louder with each passing moment. I kept my expression neutral, but unease crept in. What was taking her so long?

President Bob finally raised his hand, commanding silence. His voice boomed across the open space, amplified by the speakers.

“Since Marah Maldave has left the venue and forfeited the match, the victor of this semi-final is Reynard Bright!”

For a moment, I thought I’d misheard him.

The crowd erupted into murmurs and gasps, their voices a chaotic blend of confusion, disappointment, and wild speculation.

“Did she really forfeit?”
“Why would she leave? She was a semi-finalist!”
“Maybe Reynard scared her off?”

I stood there, letting their chatter wash over me. My heart pounded in my chest, not from excitement but from the strange hollowness of it all. This wasn’t how I’d envisioned this match ending.

I swept my gaze across the crowd, catching glimpses of curious eyes, skeptical faces, and the occasional knowing smirk. Somewhere in the sea of people, I saw Harper watching me, his expression unreadable.

Marah Maldave… forfeited? Why?
Probably because of what I have shown her…

I stepped off the stage as President Bob declared the match officially closed, his enthusiasm doing little to lift the strange mood. 

The roar of the crowd faded to a dull hum. My focus narrowed on Selena, who stood near the edge of the gathering, arms crossed, her expression casual but her eyes sharp as ever. She always had a knack for looking relaxed while being anything but.

I made my way toward her, closing the distance quickly. Without a word, I reached out and lightly grabbed her arm, leaning in to ensure what I said next wouldn’t carry beyond her ears.

“I suspect ‘Dummy’ to be a member of the Elsewhere Cult,” I whispered, my tone low but firm. “Be careful. He can disrupt probabilities, nullify auras, and bypass the Tower’s protection.”

Her smirk vanished in an instant, replaced by a hard, calculating look. “That’s a hell of a suspicion. What tipped you off?”

I hesitated. The realization had struck me like a bolt of lightning moments earlier, all the fragmented pieces of evidence falling into place. “Just trust me on this one,” I said, my voice quieter now.

Selena studied me for a long moment, her sharp gaze searching mine. “Fine. But you better not leave me in the dark for long. I hate the dark. It’s not fun.”

I glanced around, my mind racing. Marah’s sudden disappearance, the uneasy feeling that had been gnawing at me since the beginning of this round—it all made sense now. There was only one person in the Elsewhere Cult capable of causing this kind of disruption, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to intervene if it meant keeping their secrets intact.

The Hero.

In the Hunterworks lore, the Elsewhere Cult’s leadership was divided into a trinity: the Saint, the Prophet, and the Hero. Each one held immense power, but the Hero was their weapon—a zealot who carried out the cult’s most dangerous missions. Known by many titles—Head Inquisitor, Chief Warrior, True Fanatic—he was most terrifying for his ability to operate within and outside the Tower’s rules.

Selena let out a slow breath, her eyes scanning the crowd. “So, let me get this straight. This ‘Dummy’ can kill you and me, but we can’t kill him because the Tower’s protections favor him? That’s a real peach of a situation.”

I nodded grimly. “Exactly. He’s capable of bypassing the safeguards the Tower provides. He’s not just dangerous—he’s a zealot, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to break all the rules if it meant fulfilling his mission. And right now, that mission likely includes taking me out.”

Selena tilted her head, her expression shifting to something colder, sharper. “So, what’s the play? Do you want me to keep him off you? Or...” Her lips curled into a grin, though it lacked her usual cheer. “Do you want me to end him before he gets to you? I don’t care if the Tower makes it impossible—if he can kill us, I’ll figure out a way to return the favor.”

My eyes flicked to President Bob, who was watching us from across the venue, his grin wide and knowing. He had a way of making you feel like he was in on every secret, even if he wasn’t.

I leaned closer to Selena, lowering my voice even more. “You can kill him.”

Her eyebrows shot up, her grin fading into a skeptical smirk. “How? Come on, the President’s staring at us... He might disqualify me, you know? Speak faster.”

I took a steadying breath. “The Elsewhere Hero’s attributes work against him. Because of the nature of his powers and techniques, the Tower’s protection doesn’t apply to him. If you go for the kill, he’ll die for real. No revival. No miraculous healing. But...”

Selena’s smirk vanished entirely, her gaze turning razor-sharp. “But what?”

“That only works if he’s going for the kill too,” I said carefully. “If he’s just playing it safe, using basic aura techniques, he’s untouchable. The Tower will shield him. We can’t afford to provoke him into a full-on fight unless we’re absolutely sure we can finish it.”

Selena let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. “You really think I’m going to sit back and wait for him to make the first move? Dream on, Reynard. If I have the opportunity, I’m ending him.”

“Selena, listen—”

But she didn’t wait. With a graceful bound, she leapt onto the arena platform, landing in a crouch that radiated confidence and danger.

The crowd erupted into cheers and murmurs as Selena straightened, her eyes locking onto Dummy. Her posture, her stance—it was a challenge, plain and simple.

I watched her, my chest tight with unease. The Hero was here, and Selena was walking straight into his path.

All I could do now was hope she was ready.

The crowd’s murmurs swelled, their excitement palpable as Selena stood tall on the platform. Her cloak caught the artificial light, billowing faintly behind her like a banner of defiance. From the opposite side, Dummy stepped forward, his movements casual yet unnervingly deliberate. His unassuming figure betrayed the immense danger I knew he posed.

Selena didn’t wait for any formalities. Her aura flared to life, a shimmering distortion that crackled with latent energy. In her mind, the fight had already begun.

All I could do now was watch—and trust her.

It wasn’t that I doubted her abilities. Selena Fair was as skilled as they came, a hunter whose ingenuity often left her opponents reeling. But Dummy—no, the Elsewhere Hero—was no ordinary opponent. He wasn’t just strong; he was an unstoppable force, a living storm bound by no rules but his own.

President Bob’s booming voice cut through the murmurs, commanding the attention of everyone present. “On my left side is Selena Fair, known for her unorthodox techniques and overwhelming firepower! And on my right side, the enigmatic Dummy, undefeated and untouched in all his matches! A battle of the unpredictable versus the indomitable!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, the energy in the air electric.

Dummy stood calmly, his expression almost bored. He wore a weathered leather jacket over a plain shirt and ripped jeans, the picture of nonchalance. Yet every movement he made, from the way he slipped brass knuckles onto his hands to the slight adjustment of his stance, spoke of deadly precision.

“Fight!” Bob’s declaration rang out, and the arena came alive.

Selena wasted no time. Her invisibility cloak shimmered before vanishing entirely, leaving her unseen to the naked eye. The platform erupted in chaos as her arsenal came into play. Submachine guns barked, grenades detonated, and an RPG sent shockwaves through the air. Smoke and debris obscured the stage as explosions tore apart the metal floor, the crowd roaring with every thunderous impact.

And then, through the chaos, came a sound that sent a chill down my spine—a low, condescending laugh.

As the dust began to settle, the figure of Dummy emerged unscathed, standing at the center of the destruction. Not a single mark marred his appearance.

Selena, visible once more, lunged at him with blinding speed. But Dummy was faster. His fist drove into her abdomen with the force of a sledgehammer, sending her crumpling to her knees. 

It was a quite a sight as Selena’s eyes dulled, while she spat a fuckton of blood.

Bob stepped forward, his tone solemn. “Knockout! The winner is Dummy!”

The crowd erupted, a cacophony of cheers and gasps. But something didn’t sit right. My instincts screamed at me to look closer.

Then, the thunderous bang of a shotgun shattered the noise.

Selena had stopped holding back.

The arena fell silent as Dummy’s body collapsed, his head exploding in a gruesome spray. The crowd froze, stunned, as Selena stepped forward, a shotgun resting casually on her shoulder. Smoke curled from the barrel, her expression one of cool defiance.

She blew on the muzzle, smirking. “Take that back, Bob.”

President Bob, caught mid-declaration, blinked in surprise. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, it seems I may have jumped the gun—so to speak.”

Selena raised an eyebrow, her tone biting. “Declare my victory.”

But Bob’s demeanor shifted, his grin fading into something more serious. “Unfortunately, Selena, my Seeker techniques aren’t that terrible.”

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as Dummy’s lifeless body began to stir.

The headless figure pushed itself upright, its movements unnervingly smooth. The audience watched in horrified fascination as bone, sinew, and flesh regenerated before their eyes, reconstructing his head in a matter of moments.

Dummy stretched lazily, his smirk returning as if nothing had happened. “That was a cheap shot,” he said, his voice carrying a mocking edge. “But I’ll admit, it stung a little.”

Selena’s grip on her shotgun tightened, her frustration evident. Yet beneath it, I could see the spark of determination that had carried her through countless battles.

This fight wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

And now we knew: this wasn’t going to be a test of brute strength. To bring down the Elsewhere Hero, it would take cunning, precision, and a willingness to embrace risks that bordered on madness.

~056

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