A Smile That Should Not Exist
The third match had ended.
Yaksh and Hydron remained inside the healing chambers, suspended in restorative light. Their wounds were deep—far deeper than most realized—and even divine regeneration would need time to undo what pride and history had carved into their bodies.
The Endless Abyss grew quiet once more.
Sam rose from his seat, his presence alone enough to pull every wandering thought back into focus.
"The next match," he announced evenly,
"will be Zingari versus Dragon King."
A ripple spread through the arena.
Both contenders turned away without a word and headed toward their chambers to prepare.
Sam exhaled slowly. "This one," he said, almost to himself, "will be interesting."
Meera caught it immediately.
She turned toward him with a slow, knowing smirk—one that never meant anything good.
"Oh?" she said. "And why is that, Sam?"
He didn't answer fast enough.
She leaned closer, eyes narrowing playfully.
"Let me guess. Another beautiful girl. Another one of your generals."
Sam winced. "Enough," he replied, irritation slipping into his voice. "How long are you going to interrogate me like this?"
Meera raised her hands. "Relax. I'm just observing patterns."
"There is no pattern," Sam insisted. "Zingari and Dragon King are both powerful in their own ways."
He paused, then continued more seriously.
"Dragon King looks strong—that much is obvious. But Zingari…"
His eyes followed the empty ring.
"She's always been a mystery. I still don't know her race. To everyone else, she looks gentle. Cute. Harmless."
Meera nodded exaggeratedly. "Yes, yes. I understand."
Sam frowned. "You do?"
"Of course," she said with a grin. "You just needed an excuse to talk about another woman."
Sam opened his mouth—then closed it.
He looked away, awkward.
Meera laughed softly, satisfied.
The arena gates opened again.
From the eastern side stepped Dragon King.
Even in human form, his presence was overwhelming.
He wore a regal crimson outfit, tailored perfectly to his frame. Long red hair flowed freely down his back, complemented by a neatly trimmed beard that only sharpened his commanding aura. A ring shaped like a coiled dragon rested on his hand, faintly pulsing with restrained power.
He didn't need wings to look like a king.
He walked to the center of the ring and stopped, standing tall, eyes steady.
Then—
From the western gate, Zingari appeared.
The contrast was immediate.
She wore a simple white royal dress, elegant in its restraint. Light golden hair framed her face softly, her snow-white skin glowing faintly beneath the auroras overhead. A small, plain necklace rested against her collarbone.
She looked… innocent.
Not fragile.
Not weak.
Just pure.
Her steps were light, unhurried, and with every movement the atmosphere subtly shifted—like the Abyss itself was paying attention.
She stopped across from Dragon King and smiled.
Dragon King studied her for a moment, then spoke.
"Zingari," he said calmly, "you may surrender now. I have no desire to harm you."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"It has been many years since you last fought. You were weak then. I doubt much has changed."
Zingari's expression didn't waver.
She continued smiling.
Innocent.
Sweet.
"Brother Dragon King Zabura," she replied softly, her voice gentle, almost musical.
"I know you are very powerful."
She tilted her head just a little.
"But in the past few years…"
Her smile deepened—just enough.
"…I've become a little stronger too."
There was something wrong with that sentence.
Not in the words.
In the tone.
A subtle distortion slipped through her voice—something sharp hiding beneath the sweetness. It wasn't a threat spoken loudly.
It was worse.
It was confidence spoken quietly.
Dragon King's eyes narrowed.
The air around him thickened as brutality surfaced, ancient and prideful.
"So be it," he said coldly.
In his hand, a weapon formed.
A dragon katana, its blade etched with scales, radiating restrained fury.
"As you wish."
The wind shifted violently.
The Endless Abyss groaned.
Something bad was about to happen.
And Zingari was still smiling.
The bell rang.
The Endless Abyss answered.
A deep, unseen pressure rippled across the arena as Dragon King released his aura. Crimson energy surged from his body in violent waves, coiling around him like living fire. The ground beneath his feet cracked, sigils flaring desperately to contain the sudden escalation.
His grip tightened around the dragon katana.
Rage poured into the blade.
Not controlled.
Not measured.
Absolute.
"This ends now," Dragon King growled, voice layered with draconic resonance.
He vanished.
A blink.
That was all it took.
Dragon King reappeared directly in front of Zingari, katana already mid-swing, aimed cleanly for her neck. It was a killing strike—fast enough that most gods would not even realize they had been attacked.
Zingari smiled.
Not nervously.
Not defiantly.
Gently.
In the same instant the blade descended, she raised her hand.
A flute appeared between her fingers—crafted from pale bone and polished metal, elegant and ancient, humming faintly as if already alive.
Steel met sound.
A single, clear note rang out.
The katana stopped.
No clash.
No sparks.
Just… silence.
The red aura around Dragon King shattered like glass, his killing intent dispersing into nothingness as if it had never existed.
His eyes widened.
Zingari didn't give him time to think.
A pulse of purple-gold aura erupted from her body—soft in color, overwhelming in presence. She stepped forward and drove her fist into Dragon King's chest.
The impact wasn't loud.
It was deep.
Dragon King was hurled backward, blood spilling from his mouth as his feet scraped violently across the stone. He roared, fury exploding outward as he tried to force his transformation.
Scales began to surface. Power surged.
But it didn't complete.
Music filled the arena.
Zingari lifted the flute to her lips.
She began to play.
The melody was gentle. Almost childish.
And utterly terrifying.
With every note, Dragon King's aura weakened. The crimson energy faded, dragged downward by something far more fundamental than force.
Harmony.
Order.
His transformation stalled—then reversed.
"What—are you—doing?" he snarled, struggling to breathe.
Zingari lowered the flute slightly, still smiling.
"Calming you," she replied softly.
She vanished.
Not a teleport.
A skip—as if the world had simply allowed her to be somewhere else.
She appeared behind him and struck with the flute, the bone-metal instrument glowing faintly as it slammed into his back. The sound wasn't music this time.
It was a command.
Dragon King collapsed to one knee.
Before he could recover, Zingari released the melody. Her aura condensed, flowing into her fist until it glowed a radiant gold.
She stepped forward.
And punched.
The strike landed squarely against Dragon King's chest.
The impact echoed across the Endless Abyss like a tolling bell.
Dragon King's body went limp.
He fell.
Silence followed—thick, stunned, absolute.
For a moment, no one moved.
Not the generals.
Not Meera.
Not even Ruhi.
Everyone had known Zingari would win.
But this—
This was not a fight.
This was an erasure.
Sam rose slowly.
"The winner of this match," he announced evenly,
"Zingari."
He gestured, and Dragon King was lifted gently, teleporting away toward the healing chamber.
Zingari watched him go.
Then she walked to the edge of the ring and stopped beside the space where he had fallen.
Her voice dropped—cold, quiet, sharp.
"You've grown weaker, Brother Zabura," she said without turning.
"Careful. Pride rots faster than flesh."
An evil smile flickered across her lips—gone as quickly as it appeared.
She turned away.
The purple-gold aura faded. The flute vanished.
Zingari returned to her seat, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
Once again—
She looked like a gentle, harmless girl.
No one spoke.
Because now they understood.
Zingari wasn't weak.
She had simply never needed to prove otherwise.