Chapter 8 About Savage Glory
“Call,” Red repeated slowly, her voice tight. “This is the so-called Savage Glory Arena?”
“I don’t know.” Call lifted both shoulders in a helpless shrug.
A tiny floating robot drifted down their row. Its body was a compact metal box with two small mechanical arms and propellers that kept it aloft. A scanner device blinked on its front panel. More of the same robots hovered along each row, scanning bracelets on people’s wrists.
“Would you like to join the Cirque?” the robot asked in its flat monotone. “Participation is optional.” It raised the scanner toward them.
“Is this the Savage Glory Arena?” Red asked.
“No. This is the Cirque,” the robot replied without inflection.
Red exhaled sharply in frustration. “Then where is the Savage Glory Arena?”
“You are in the Cirque,” the robot repeated. “That is all you need to know.”
The mechanical answer made Red’s jaw clench. She could feel irritation boiling under her skin.
“Are you joining the Cirque?” the robot asked again.
“No,” Red said firmly.
Call, meanwhile, leaned forward with curiosity. “What do we get if we join?”
“Winners receive prizes and a place within the Guild,” the robot stated.
“And if I lose?” Call asked.
“The winner chooses your fate. Mercy is optional.”
Call thickened his swallow. “Right. Maybe… maybe next time.”
The robot moved on to the next group.
A sudden shimmer of light flickered in the center of the field. A massive hologram materialized—two AI figures Red had never seen before.
One resembled a tall, elegant woman plated in gold, glowing softly like molten sunlight. The other stood beside her, silver and sharper in shape, with broader shoulders and an almost regal bearing.
“Welcome to the Cirque,” the golden AI announced. Her voice was deep, echoing faintly, polished yet devoid of emotion. “My name is Aurum. And this is Uho.”
“Unhexoctium,” Call murmured under his breath.
“What?” Red frowned.
Call glanced at her. “AIs with high ranks are named after elements. Aurum is gold. Uho is short for Unhexoctium—temporary name for element 168.”
“But Viz isn’t an atomic name,” Red pointed out.
“No, probably not. But Aurum and Uho are elements. They’re on the periodic table.”
Red wrinkled her nose. “I never understood any of that. Don’t plan to learn it either.”
Call chuckled softly. “Everyone has their own weird interests.”
Aurum and Uho continued speaking in turns, their voices alternating like a rehearsed performance. They explained that the place they were standing in was part of a region on the ship called After Domini.
The city's structures were modeled after human architecture from before 2000. Even the woodlands they had passed through were real vegetation. Grown for decades aboard Ohm’s ship.
These forests, Aurum explained, would later be transplanted onto Minerva, a planet suitable for humans.
But Minerva was small. Too small.
According to the AIs’ calculations, only around three thousand humans could live comfortably there. Only those with superior DNA would be allowed to reproduce. The rest… would be sterilized.
Savage Glory battles would determine who earned a place on Minerva. Even humans in hibernation would be awakened later and forced to compete.
This first match would declare only one winner. And this winner, with Viz, would choose the remaining 2,999 humans who would join on Minerva. Seems like Viz would rule over them with full authority.
“The sacrifices of the other warriors will be honored for eternity,” Uho concluded.
Red felt sick. Her head throbbed.
Humans reduced to breeding stock. Eliminated like defective animals.
AI—who should have been beneath humankind—were now deciding who lived and who died.
What if the winners were monsters? What if they didn’t care about the millions still sleeping on Earth?
The idea of humans killing each other just for the privilege to exist made Red’s stomach twist. Someone had deliberately created Savage Glory, someone who wanted bloodshed.
“The Cirque is where one may earn high positions,” Aurum continued. “We offer the opportunity to earn entry into Savage Glory matches.”
“You may gain status, housing, and rank in the Guild simply by participating in Cirque battles,” Uho added.
Aurum’s face shifted into a faint, cold smile. “Weapons, rations, and other resources will be provided to those brave enough to show their skill in the Cirque’s small matches.”
Small match? Red’s whole body tensed.
It sounded less like a competition and more like a miniature slaughterhouse.
Her hands trembled slightly. She was terrified. She understood now—the Cirque was designed to reduce the number of contenders before Savage Glory even started.
A funnel. A filter. A quiet execution tool disguised as entertainment.
“The first match begins…” Uho’s voice boomed across the stadium.
“Let’s get out of here,” Red whispered. Her stomach felt hollow, her limbs weak. She hadn’t eaten in hours. Her emotions were scraped raw. If she stayed to watch people die, she knew she’d break.
“But… Red, maybe we should see what happens first,” Call said hesitantly.
Red snapped her glare toward him. “Do you really want to see people killing each other? Are you sure anyone here will show mercy?”
“Why not?” Call asked weakly.
“Call,” Red said, voice tight with exhaustion, “there can only be one winner. Mercy is pointless when everyone faces death in Savage Glory. Losing a few lives here is safer than risking dying in the true arena. That’s why people will go all out. The Cirque is the easiest chance to eliminate future threats.”
“But… they still have the option to spare someone.”
“Do you honestly believe they will?”
Cheers erupted from the crowd, a roar of excitement. The sound crawled under Red’s skin like something poisonous.
For a moment, it felt like humanity had been thrown back into ancient times, reveling in bloodshed for entertainment. Adrenaline and desperation would turn even good people into killers.
AI wanted new wars between humans. The last great war had ended fifty years ago—yet here they were, pushing mankind toward another massacre.
None of this made sense. All of it needed to be stopped.
“I’ll wait outside,” Red said quietly. “Stay if you want.”
Call looked torn. Curiosity burned in his eyes, but the look on Red’s face—anger, fear, disgust—made him hesitate.
“Do you really think humans would be so cruel?” he asked.
“Call,” Red whispered, “you don’t know what people become when survival is the prize.”
He stared at her for a long moment… then sighed. “All right. We’re leaving.”
Red nodded. “Thank you.”
They turned to go, but Aurum’s voice suddenly rang through the arena:
“First match. Baron. Nineteen years old. Tank classification. Versus… Aamon. Twenty-two years old. Assassin classification.”
The crowd exploded in wild applause.
And Red’s body went rigid—completely frozen.