Asher, Ren, and Nova stood their ground, boots planted firm against the weathered wood. Their bodies were coiled tight, every muscle tensed, battle instincts honed to a razor's edge. The air tasted of sweat and fear and the metallic tang of blood yet to be spilled.
'Finally,' Asher thought, his pulse quickening with anticipation. 'This is what I live for. The moment before the storm breaks. The second before steel meets flesh.' His fingers flexed around his blade's grip, a familiar hunger stirring in his chest—not for death, but for the dance itself. The beautiful, terrible dance of combat.
Ren's breathing was shallow, controlled. 'Stay focused. Stay alive.' His eyes darted between the Ghost Beast and the canal below, where the alligators circled like vultures. 'I've survived worse. I've survived everything they've thrown at me. I won't die here. Not in this gods-forsaken arena. Not for their entertainment.' His palms were slick with sweat against the leather-wrapped hilts of his daggers.
Nova's jaw was set, her teeth grinding together so hard they ached. 'I have to kill this monster myself. I have to show Lucius that I am a woman of steel and that I am coming for him.'
The rage burned in her belly like hot coals, but beneath it—cold, creeping fear. 'What if we can't stop it? What if this is where it ends?' She pushed the thought down, buried it deep. Fear was a luxury she couldn't afford. Not now.
Then—Cipher's eyes snapped open.
Her gaze swung—toward the stage, toward her friend, toward the inevitable. Her companions were safe for now, but from her position she could only catch the side profile of the Ghost Beast. Its pale flesh gleamed under the torchlight, slick and wrong.
'Zane, are you alert?' Cipher's voice rang through her mind, clear as a bell in still water.
'Yes. Did meditation help?'
A slow grin tugged at Cipher's lips. 'More than help—my senses are sharper than ever. Every nerve has activated. I feel whole.'
She scanned the arena, her keen eyes cutting through the chaos of bodies and noise. She counted the brute soldiers—the pillars of Lord Vutagon Mondanza's power. She observed their formation, their numbers, their stance. Weapons gleamed at their belts. Armor creaked as they shifted weight.
Her gaze shifted back to the Ghost Beast. It had just finished chewing the head of the alligator. The wet crunch of bone had ceased. Nothing remained. Not even splinters. Not even teeth. Just a dark smear on the wooden planks and the smell of raw meat hanging thick in the humid air.
The Ghost Beast's thoughts were not thoughts as humans understood them—they were impulses, instincts wrapped in contempt. 'Pathetic. So fragile. So slow.'
It surveyed the three warriors before it with something approaching amusement. 'You think your little blades can pierce me? You think your numbers matter? A thousand of you couldn't bring me down. You are insects. Less than insects. You are the dirt beneath my feet, and you don't even know it yet.'
From his throne high above the arena, Lucius Vance leaned in closer to Lord Vutagon Mondanza, his voice hushed but tinged with awe. "This… is something else. I momentarily doubted you, but not anymore."
Lord Vutagon Mondanza smirked, the expression pulling at the scar tissue along his jaw. "Yesterday was only preparation for this." His tone held deep satisfaction, like a man savoring aged wine.
"Of course, I made a fortune. I placed my diamonds on Asher and Ren. I knew—without a doubt—that they would win. And because of that, some fools developed faith in them."
His smirk widened, dark and cunning. The torchlight caught the gold caps on his teeth.
"And today?" His eyes flickered with amusement. "They will place their precious stones on them again." His chuckle was low, confident, twisted—a sound like grinding glass. "And that is when I will wipe them out."
Lucius inhaled sharply, his expression shifting to admiration. "I didn't realize you were such a strategist." He shook his head slightly, rings glinting on his fingers. "You paint the image of a brute—yet you move like a wolf among sheep." A pause. "You and I will go a long way."
Lord Vutagon Mondanza exhaled slowly, enjoying the praise like smoke from a pipe. "We will rule this kingdom," he murmured, voice thick with promise. "And perhaps—even the vampires themselves."
Lucius tensed slightly at the suggestion, his silk collar suddenly feeling tight. "If you can control this beast, then the sky will never limit you."
Lord Vutagon Mondanza's coiling chuckle returned, his amusement barely contained. "That is just one side of me." His voice dropped low, almost conspiratorial. "Stay by my side, Lucius, and we shall make the whole heavens tremble."
On the wooden stage below, the Ghost Beast did not attack. Not immediately. Not recklessly.
It studied them.
'Which one breaks first?' The creature's pale eyes moved from face to face, reading fear like a language. 'Which one runs? Which one begs?'
Its movements were calculated, its steps slow, deliberate—like a predator measuring its prey before the kill. Each footfall made the stage groan.
The wood creaked under its weight. Its breathing was strange—not quite human, not quite animal. A wet, rattling sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in its chest.
The crowd's excitement waned for a second, uncertainty rippling through them like wind through wheat. Then—impatience snapped back into place.
"What is it waiting for?" A mercenary gritted his teeth, spittle flying.
"JUST TAKE THEM OUT! I WANT TO GO HOME WEALTHY!" A second voice rang out, hoarse and desperate.
"YES, FINISH THEM OFF!"
Then—a woman's cry, shrill and piercing: "YEEEHHHH! TAKE THEM OUT!"
Within seconds, the crowd ripped into a frenzy, their earlier fear dissolved, their lust for blood surging to its peak. The roar was deafening—a wall of sound that pressed against the eardrums. Fists pounded on railings. Feet stomped on stone. The arena itself seemed to shake.
The stage was set. The feast was about to begin.
The crowd's uproar agitated the Ghost Beast, its elongated head twisting, searching for the source of the relentless noise. Its neck bent at an unnatural angle, vertebrae popping audibly.
'Noisy cattle. Screaming for slaughter they don't understand.'
"Attack!" Asher roared, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade through silk.
'Yes!' The thought exploded through Asher's mind like lightning. 'Now we begin!' His blood sang in his veins, every nerve ending alive with electric anticipation. 'This is it. This is what separates the living from the dead. The strong from the weak. Come on, you damn monster—show me what you've got!'
He stood centered, Ren to his right, Nova to his left. Asher launched first, his blade flashing silver in the torchlight as he leapt forward, boots leaving the wood, aiming directly for the Ghost Beast's head.
But—the Beast was faster.
Its huge arms crossed in defense, and the impact rang out—a clash of metal against metal that echoed through the arena like a church bell. Sparks flew. The vibration traveled up Asher's arms, rattling his teeth. His blade barely scratched its surface—just a thin white line across the creature's forearm.
'Incredible!' Asher's grin widened even as his arms screamed in protest. 'It's strong. Really strong. This is going to be fun.'
'So weak,' the Ghost Beast thought, barely registering the strike. 'Like a child with a stick.'
Nova charged next, feet punching against the wooden stage with rapid thuds. She thrust her Kartana blade forward, aiming for its back, her movements sharp—precise. The blade whistled through the air.
'For Lucius. Die, you bastard. DIE!' Her vision tunneled, the world narrowing to just the beast's pale flesh and the point of her blade.
But—the Ghost Beast sidestepped.
Right into Ren's attack.
Ren had anticipated the movement, his twin daggers cutting low—targeting the creature's legs, aiming for the tendons behind the knees. It should have been a clean hit. It should have landed. The angle was perfect.
'Got you,' Ren thought, a flash of triumph—
But the Ghost Beast leapt into the sky.
The attacks missed. Completely. Both daggers sliced through empty air with a soft whisper.
'You think you know my movements? You know nothing.'
Ren froze, eyes wide in disbelief. "What—?!" His breath hitched in his throat. He had never missed a target. Not once in five years. But today—he did.
'No. No, no, no. This can't be happening.' Cold dread washed over him like ice water. 'If I can't hit it, if none of us can hit it—' The thought spiraled, dark and terrible. 'We're going to die here. We're actually going to die.'
The crowd exploded.