The silence shattered like glass.
"JAKAR!!!"
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!"
"HE RIPPED HIS FUCKING SPINE OUT!"
The crowd erupted, hundreds of voices blending into a roar that shook the air.
Demons pressed forward against the arena's boundary, shouting Jack's chosen name with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for gladiators and legends.
"JAKAR! JAKAR! JAKAR!"
The chant built like a wave, starting with a few voices and spreading until it seemed like every demon in the training yard was screaming the name in unison.
Fists pumped in the air.
Weapons clashed against shields in rhythm with the shouting.
They didn't care about Korr's charred corpse.
They didn't mourn Vox's twitching body or his severed spine lying in a pool of blood.
Demons died every day in Pho's fortress. Death was entertainment, a reminder that strength was all that mattered.
And they'd just watched someone demonstrate strength beyond anything most of them could hope to achieve.
