Capítulo 98: Reactions
**The Colossus's Perspective**
The ebony-skinned colossus advanced like an unstoppable force, his mace crashing down with primal fury on his opponents, breaking bones and ending lives with the same ease a farmer cuts down wheat.
Every strike was accompanied by a roar that seemed to resonate from the depths of the arena itself, fueled by bloodlust and the desire to overpower anyone who dared to stand against him.
As he moved with his blood-soaked mace, he saw a fighter collapse before another participant.
The colossus paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on the scene.
The warrior clad in black, iridescent armor was toying with his prey, torturing him slowly.
Each blow was calculated to inflict maximum suffering, not to kill, but to prolong the agony.
A shiver ran down the colossus's spine, an emotion he hadn't felt in a long time: fear.
The brutality of that fighter wasn't just physical; it seemed to stem from an abyss of darkness that made him even more terrifying.
He wasn't just an opponent; he was a predatory beast, hungry for suffering and destruction.
The colossus gripped his mace tighter, trying to suppress that flicker of terror.
He couldn't afford to show weakness, not now, not in this arena.
But deep down, he knew that the true danger wasn't the brute strength of the other participants, but that living shadow who moved like a demon amid the chaos.
**Serpent's Perspective**
"Serpent" moved with lethal elegance, his curved blades slicing through air and flesh with surgical precision.
Every strike was a death sentence, every movement a step in his deadly dance.
For him, the Battle Royale was a game, a hunting ground where every mistake by the other participants was a new opportunity to deliver a silent death.
However, as he moved among the shadows, he observed that dark and imposing figure torturing an opponent with icy calm.
"Serpent" slowed down for a moment, his icy eyes fixed on that scene.
He had seen death many times, he had inflicted it just as often, but never like that.
There was something deeply disturbing about the way that warrior reveled in the suffering of others, as if pain was the true objective, not death.
For a brief moment, "Serpent" considered the idea of confronting that creature, but the thought quickly faded.
It wasn't the time, not yet. He would wait, he would find a way to eliminate him, but not in a direct confrontation.
No, this required a different approach, something more devious.
That monster was dangerous, and "Serpent" wasn't willing to risk his life without a perfect strategy.
**The Crowd's Perspective**
The crowd of the Ryushin Colosseum was not made up of mere spectators; they were worshipers of blood, screams, and torn flesh.
Every strike, every death, was greeted with cries of enthusiasm, an uncontrollable frenzy that fed the dark energy of the arena.
When they saw the warrior in black armor torturing that unfortunate combatant, their excitement reached new heights.
It wasn't just a fight; it was an exhibition of pure cruelty, a demonstration of power that transcended mere killing.
The man's suffering, the way he crawled desperately to escape his fate, fed the crowd's thirst for violence.
Some began to frantically place bets on him, convinced that no other participant could match that brutality.
Others shouted his chosen battle name, "Ragnarok," like a call to chaos and the end of all things.
For the crowd, that fighter was not just a warrior; he was a force of nature, a living symbol of the destruction they eagerly awaited.
Every strike, every drop of blood spilled, was a celebration of their insatiable thirst for violence.
And they knew, with terrible certainty, that this night would bring nothing but death and devastation.
**The Nanny's Perspective**
From her reserved position among the stands, the nanny watched the arena with an expression of glacial calm, but inside, her emotions churned like a stormy ocean.
Her eyes, as sharp as blades, followed every move of Ragnarok, every strike delivered, every heavy breath that brought him closer and closer to the heart of the massacre.
When she placed her bet on him, it wasn't for money but for a certainty that went beyond mere confidence.
Ragnarok was a weapon, a tool of destruction that she herself had helped to shape, and she knew that in an arena like this, there would be no rival capable of stopping him.
But now, watching his cruel dance of death, something inside her stirred.
She wasn't surprised by Ragnarok's brutality but by the coldness with which he inflicted suffering.
The nanny had seen many warriors, many battles, but what was happening in the arena went beyond the simple desire to win.
Ragnarok wasn't just fighting; he was savoring every moment, drawing strength not just from his opponents' deaths, but from their pain.
While the other participants moved to survive, Ragnarok seemed to move to prove something much darker and more terrible.
Every strike was a message, every wound inflicted a signature of the chaos and destruction he carried within him. And it was exactly what the nanny had hoped for.
**The Nanny's Thoughts: The Reason for the Torture**
The nanny continued to watch from above, her cold, calculating gaze following every move of Ragnarok.
She had no doubts about why he had decided to torture that participant instead of finishing him off quickly.
She knew Ragnarok's mind well, his tactics and intentions.
That cruelty wasn't an end in itself, it wasn't a mere display of power. It was a message, clear and ruthless, aimed at all the other participants in the arena.
"If you come and challenge me, but fail, this is what awaits you."
Ragnarok was sending a warning, a signal of terror intended to discourage anyone who thought of attacking him without being absolutely sure of victory.
Every strike, every scream torn from his victim's throat, was a warning to all: the suffering he inflicted was a fate worse than death, a torment that would strip not just life, but the will to fight.
The nanny knew that terror was a weapon as powerful as any sword.
When a warrior instills fear in his enemies, when he forces them to hesitate, to think twice before acting, he has already won half the battle.
Every second an opponent spends trembling or calculating their chances is a second Ragnarok can use to plan his next lethal blow.
This was why she had bet on him, because she knew that Ragnarok was not just brute strength or skill with a sword; he was a master of psychological warfare.
The arena wasn't just a physical battlefield but also a mental one, and Ragnarok was proving that he could dominate both with a brutality that exceeded anyone's expectations.
And as the other participants watched him with growing fear, aware of the fate that awaited them if they dared face him, the nanny could only admire the perfect execution of her plan.
Every scream, every drop of blood spilled, was a piece of that larger strategy, a mosaic of terror and dominance that would lead Ragnarok to victory.
"You understand it well, my dear," the nanny thought with cold pride. "Fear doesn't just kill the weak, it also breaks the strong. Keep it up, and there will be no one who dares stand in your way."
The nanny's smile widened as her mind already envisioned the inevitable end of that battle.
Ragnarok would dominate not just with the sword but with terror, turning the arena into a kingdom of death and suffering from which only he would emerge victorious.
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