Extra's Pov: The Goddess Wants Me To Conquer Milfs

Logan found an empty seat and settled in, watching the fight unfolding in the arena below.

On stage, a young man with taut, corded muscles traded blows against a slender man wielding a long spear.

Brawn, the muscled one, slammed his fist into the ground. The shockwave was instant and massive, lifting the slender man off his feet and hurling him toward the crowd.

Just before he crashed into them, an invisible barrier shimmered into existence around the arena’s edge.

He slammed into it and dropped, blood trickling from his orifices, his face already draining of colour.

He raised one hand weakly.

"I... admi—" before he could finish, another shockwave hit him.

His head swam. Before he could register what was happening, Brawn had already closed the gap and drove a fist toward his skull.

Bang!

His head burst like a watermelon, a slick spray of blood and white matter painting the ground.

"Brawn wins!" A loud voice rang out from a slightly chubby man standing at the edge of the stage, just beyond the barrier.

Cheers erupted at once.

"That’s it!!! Nice one Brawn! I earned 50 silver coins extra!"

"Fucking brat, what a waste of my money... couldn’t even land a hit."

Some were pleased. Their bets had gone through. Others were furious.

The noise poured into Logan’s ears but he paid it no mind.

He had built this place. Whatever it produced, he’d have to live with.

A wry smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

’I really should have been a little more lenient while building such a dangerous novel world.’

He filed it away as a note for the future.

Forfeiting was always an option, naturally.

But if you couldn’t get the words out in time, you died. And your opponent walked away clean. More than clean, actually, because a kill came with its own reward.

"Congratulations on killing your opponent, Brawn. A twenty percent bonus has been added to your gains!"

An eager light entered Brawn’s eyes.

He bowed toward the stage, then turned and headed off to collect.

Logan watched him go from amidst the crowd, quiet and still, calculating his chances against Brawn.

Meanwhile, servants moved quickly onto the stage with lesser origin abilities, ’Cleaner’ and ’Purifier,’ dissolving the body and drawing the blood up from the floor until the stage was bare and ready.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer, the same chubby man, leaned into the mic, "our next fight is particularly interesting..."

He let the pause stretch.

"It’s between Avery... one of the only ladies with a 7-win streak so far, and the Night Dreamer."

As his voice faded, a slender woman stepped out from the crowd. They parted for her without being asked, recognising her by the cat-face mask she wore.

Avery walked to the stage at an even pace, expression calm.

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly. Something about her felt off.

’Do I know her?’ he asked himself, then leaned forward. A look of quiet interest settled in his gaze.

’That’s not the right question.’ He paused. ’What character did I write her to be?’

His eyes stayed on her as she stepped onto the stage.

Almost at the same moment, a man emerged from the opposite side of the crowd. A clean Japanese mask sat over his face.

Both had chosen to hide.

Logan sensed their auras at a glance. Both sat comfortably above his own.

If he wasn’t wrong, they were somewhere in the Origin Apprentice rank. Their origin energy was vast but still recognisable, still comparable in texture to his own.

The Origin Apprentice rank sat directly above the Origin Initiate.

Logan shifted slightly, gaze drifting across the crowd.

"Are you both ready?" the announcer said into the mic.

They nodded at the same moment.

He turned back to the crowd, voice booming.

"Have you placed your bets, ladies and gentlemen? I promise you this fight won’t disappoint you in the slightest!"

"Wooohooooo!!!!" The roar that came back was loud enough to feel.

Cameras started rolling. Excited young faces lifted phones, already filming, already thinking about where to post it.

The announcer smiled, something mischievous in it. Then, loudly: "Fight!"

The word had barely left his mouth before Avery was already behind the Night Dreamer, a gleaming dagger in her hand, angled for his neck.

He’d expected it. He slipped to the side at the last moment, her blade catching the edge of his mask with a sharp, scraping sound.

Without pausing, Night Dreamer extended one hand. Electricity crackled from his palm and he drove a finger forward, sending a bolt of lightning toward her at blinding speed.

It was already in front of her before she could react.

Avery seemed to still for just a moment, then she was moving backwards in quick, precise steps, her small frame cutting through space with clean efficiency.

When the lightning died, she stopped.

They stared at each other.

The distance between them had stretched to five metres, at least.

Logan watched and read them quietly.

Avery’s origin path fed her speed. Night Dreamer’s was built around lightning. Neither could do real damage without closing the distance, and closing the distance meant surviving contact.

As though arriving at the same realisation, they both moved again.

Avery was three times faster than Brawn, that much was clear. But with lightning writhing around him, there was no clean line in.

Then, just when the fight seemed to have settled into a stalemate, Avery stopped. She let the gap widen. Her hand dropped to her leg.

She pulled out a row of needles.

She threw them all without a breath of hesitation.

Night Dreamer’s expression cracked.

He moved to intercept, lightning cracking outward in dense bursts, burning through every needle that came near him. They fell in a continuous, relentless sheet, like a storm refusing to break.

He cleared the last of them and exhaled.

That single moment was all she needed.

She was a blur closing toward him, and this time her speed wasn’t three times his. It was five.

Night Dreamer’s pupils shrank.

’She wasn’t using her full strength.’

Too late.

A thin line appeared at the edge of his neck.

His eyes went wide. Then his head tilted slowly, loosely, to one side.

The crowd hung in stunned silence for one suspended beat before the noise broke over everything.

"Avery! Avery! Avery!"

The chant thundered through the arena.

Avery turned toward the judges.

"Avery wins! Due to eliminating opponent, an additional twenty percent bonus has been distributed."

She gave a short bow and walked out through the barrier without looking back.

Two more kills remaining.

She left the arena to train. The last fight had shown her something. A flaw she hadn’t accounted for. She wanted time to address it before the next challenge.

Back in the arena, the energy hadn’t dropped.

If anything, the excitement around an 8th kill was only building, hard to suppress. Whispers and murmurs circulated through the crowd. They wanted to know if she would push to ten. If she would carve her name into something lasting.

The announcer cleared his throat and used it.

"Ladies and gentlemen..."

His voice settled through the speakers with practised ease.

"You might think that having eight kills in a row is legendary... however... tonight you’re in for a surprise, specially prepared for you."

He let it breathe.

"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice shifted, trembling slightly now with genuine excitement, "I introduce to you the mysterious challenger who wants to perform a streak... Legion!"

The crowd went quiet first.

Then it split open.

"A streak? He wants to battle ten opponents in a row???"

"Is he mad or does he have that much confidence in his abilities?"

"I don’t care if he’s mad or not, I need to fucking place a bet! I could cash out from this..."

As the crowd surged and swelled around him, Logan stood calmly from his seat, mask still firmly in place.

’Well... I guess it’s my time to shine huh...’