Demonic Pornstar System novel Chapter 916

Chapter 916: Victory Condition

He clapped once, and the sound was impossibly sharp, a concussive snap that hit hundreds of chests like a drumbeat, and the arena erupted.

The first three seconds were bedlam. Bodies surged in every direction, abilities flickering to life across the hall in bursts of color and heat and pressure. An earth-type shattered the padding beneath his feet and launched himself at the deck. A ranged caster hurled a bolt of fire that Calypso swatted aside with her tail without looking.

Yuna moved laterally, low and fast, her feet barely touching the ground as she wove between bodies in a pattern that put three large fighters between her and the nearest threat before anyone realized she’d left the spot she’d been standing in.

Skyline had given her this much, at least. When the field goes chaotic, get clear. Find angles. Read the fight before you commit.

She stopped behind a cluster of recruits who’d frozen in the middle of the arena, looking at each other instead of fighting, and raised her voice.

"Hey! Stop charging at them one at a time! Group up! They’re three people and a dog. I know they’re individually monstrous, but we have numbers. So we must use them or they’ll pick us apart!"

A stocky man with gauntlet-type bracers looked at her, then at the deck where Luna had already begun moving, then back. "Who the hell are you?"

"Someone who’d rather not eat a thunderbolt alone. You in or not?"

He was in. So were the eight people standing around him, drawn to the only voice in the hall that sounded like it had a plan instead of a grudge.

"Ranged fighters, stay back and provide cover! Melee, on me, we go together! Do NOT split off solo, that’s exactly how they..."

She stopped. A woman with a halberd was squinting at her, head tilted.

"Hold on. Are you Yuna Park?"

The blood left Yuna’s face faster than Luna’s thunderclap had cleared the front rows.

"No."

"You are! You’re that S-tier from Skyline! I’ve seen you on their recruitment banner!"

"I wish."

"You just crossed thirty meters in a second and started barking tactical commands at strangers."

"Lots of people can do that."

"You’re literally S-tier."

"Nope."

The halberd woman opened her mouth to press it further, but the arena floor buckled as Pebble shifted its weight overhead and a sweep of amber light washed across the hall from six enormous eyes, and priorities corrected themselves on the spot.

"Fine," the woman said, raising her weapon. "Definitely-Not-Yuna, what’s the plan?"

Yuna opened her mouth to answer, and Calypso jumped off the observation deck.

She dropped straight off the railing like stepping off a curb, and the padded floor split in a starburst beneath her feet when she landed. Bare-handed, stanceless, a red-skinned demoness in a tank top rolling her shoulders once as she sized up the nearest cluster of fighters.

"Come on!" she called out, spreading her arms wide. "There’s so many of you! Why isn’t anyone coming?!"

Seven people obliged at once.

The first, a brawler built like a refrigerator, threw a right hook that connected flush with her cheekbone. Her head snapped sideways, but the grin held.

She grabbed his outstretched arm with one hand, pivoted, and slung him across the padded floor into four of his friends like she was skipping a stone across a lake. He bounced once, tangled with the others, and none of them got back up.

’She’s pulling her punches,’ Yuna realized, watching the last two crumple as Calypso tore through what was left of the group without slowing down. The brawler was groaning on the padding, bruised and winded but breathing. If a Z-tier had swung for real, there wouldn’t be enough left to groan.

So they were holding back. Probably. Hopefully.

Then the second problem arrived.

Luna flickered. One frame she was leaning on the railing with her hands in her pockets, and the next she was on the arena floor forty meters away, and Yuna’s trained eyes caught maybe two frames of the transition. The hoodie didn’t even shift on her shoulders.

Her hands were still in her pockets.

A tank-type built like a wall charged her from behind, fist already swinging. Luna leaned sideways without turning, barely moving, and let the punch sail through the space where her head had been. She kicked backward with one foot. The man left the ground and didn’t come back to it for about fifteen meters. He hit the far wall and stayed down.

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