Confident, Darfredon stepped into the corridor leading to the arena.
His footsteps echoed against the stone—slow, steady, almost solemn.
Each reverberation felt like the announcement of an irrevocable sentence.
When he finally emerged into the arena, the orange light of dusk enveloped him.
- The sun was dying on the horizon, painting the sky in red and gold…
An omen.
A bloody one.
From the stands, a roar rose.
The crowd, already dense and restless, was hungry for spectacle.
Voices joined together in unison, like a chant of war.
- THE VETURIUS BROTHERS! THE VETURIUS BROTHERS!
Darfredon lifted his eyes.
He cast a brief glance at the crowd… cheering him without even knowing who he truly was.
Or who the Veturius brothers truly were.
Across from him, a man already stood ready.
Fists clenched. Gaze dark.
No joy. No hatred.
Only tension mixed with unease.
This gladiator…
was his brother. Or rather, Sextus's brother.
Barnabé—upright yet trembling—carried in his eyes a sorrow he did not even understand.
Suddenly, Darfredon's attention was drawn elsewhere.
Up there, at the very top of the arena…
High above the stands…
Death had taken his seat upon his throne.
At his side, a little girl—Reaper—watched the scene in silence… casually tossing her doll between her hands, as if merely passing the time.
Death's voice, amplified by the vastness of the amphitheater, thundered throughout the space.
- THANK YOU FOR COMING IN SUCH GREAT NUMBERS!
THESE TWO LEADERS HAVE FOUGHT THE ROMAN EMPIRE FOR YEARS.
THEY HAVE SLAIN MANY OF OUR SOLDIERS…
BY LEADING A SMALL VILLAGE OF RESISTANCE FOOLISH ENOUGH TO DEFY OUR AUTHORITY.
BUT TODAY…
THE VETURIUS BROTHERS FINALLY STAND IN THE ARENA.
AND SINCE MERCY HAS ACHIEVED NOTHING…
WE SHALL PUT AN END TO THEIR REBELLION, AS IT SHOULD BE DONE.
DO NOT BE DECEIVED BY THEIR CALM DEMEANOR… OR THEIR SILENCE.
THEIR COMBAT SKILLS LEAVE NO ROOM FOR DOUBT.
ONE OF THEM WILL BECOME OUR CHAMPION.
THE OTHER… WILL JOIN PLUTO IN THE UNDERWORLD.
ARE YOU READY TO WATCH THEM FIGHT FOR THEIR LIVES?!
The crowd roared in unison.
- YES, WE ARE READY!
Death raised his arms, savoring the surrounding euphoria.
- THEN, IN RESPONSE TO YOUR FERVOR…
GLADIATORS, BEGIN THE FIGHT!
With those words, Death slowly sat back down, his smile still frozen in place as the tension rose.
Darfredon, for his part, flashed a predatory grin.
He had been waiting for nothing but the signal.
And when the gong rang out, he charged.
His opponent, however, stepped back.
- I refuse to fight you, Sextus!
We should join forces and escape this place.
Darfredon stopped a few steps away, narrowed his eyes.
- Tell me… do we know each other?
He raised his fists.
The other man parried each blow while continuing to speak.
- I'm Barnabé… your younger brother.
Don't you recognize me? What's happening to you, Sextus?
He pushed him back, without violence, trying to wake him—both literally and figuratively.
But Darfredon suddenly felt a brutal pressure inside his skull.
Sextus, lodged somewhere deep within him, was desperately trying to regain control of his own body.
In vain.
His effort only triggered a blinding migraine, which Darfredon endured without flinching.
Yet Sextus did not give up.
He kept fighting.
Resisting.
Existing.
Darfredon twisted his lips into a crooked smile.
- I wasn't aware my vessel had a little brother.
You want to speak to him? He's here… somewhere in my head.
But I'm the one in charge now.
- My name is Darfredon… and I am all that remains when humanity collapses.
His voice was mocking.
Cruel.
And without warning, Darfredon lunged at Barnabé, without the slightest mercy.
That sudden move triggered an inner shock.
Sextus, still imprisoned within his own body, screamed inside Darfredon's mind. He fought desperately against this domination. A powerless spectator, he watched his brother refuse to fight… and it tore him apart.
He heard his voice clearly—pleading, broken.
- Please, Sextus… let's stop this fight.
But Darfredon, absolute master of the body, answered coldly.
And as he spoke, a tear ran down his cheek—salty, burning—born of Sextus's emotion, still alive somewhere within him.
- For the last time… I'll say it again: I am not your brother. I am Darfredon.
- I will never fight you, Sextus. You should do as I do… give up this fight.
- I hate facing people who let themselves be killed. COME ON! SHOW ME WHAT YOU'RE MADE OF! FIGHT BETTER THAN THIS!
Darfredon shouted, exasperated by Barnabé's behavior. He shoved him violently to the ground, without the slightest restraint.
High above the arena, Death watched the scene, growing increasingly disappointed by this lackluster fight.
Beside him, Reaper played with her doll, shaking it absentmindedly, as if bored by the spectacle.
- Why aren't they fighting like the others? she asked in a plaintive voice, lazily shaking her doll.
- You see, Reaper… when two souls share the same body, and one of them refuses to fight someone dear… it is no longer a simple duel. It becomes an inner struggle. And that is the true battle unfolding right now.
He sketched an almost tender smile, fascinated by the complexity of the chaos he had sown.
- But be patient, my daughter… I'm going to help them fight better. And you'll see: it won't be just a clash between two bodies… but a war in which one will try to crush the will of the other.
Reaper frowned, her eyes fixed on the arena.
- But it's not the one fighting badly… it's the one on the ground. He's not doing anything.
- Exactly, Death replied as he slowly rose to his feet. I'm going to give those two a little help.
With a lazy gesture, he motioned to one of his guards—one of the three Erinyes.
- My dear Megaera… could you lend me your weapon?
- Of course, Death, the blond woman replied, slowly drawing her sword. A glacial smile spread across her lips as she handed it to him.
Weapon in hand, Death calmly descended a few steps, then walked up to the balustrade overlooking the arena.
His voice then thundered—implacable, amplified by the natural acoustics of the stone theater.
- GLADIATOR, IT IS TIME TO FINISH THIS! KILL HIM!
And without the slightest hesitation, he hurled the sword into the air.
The blade spun through the sky before crashing into the dust, landing very close to Darfredon.
- KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!
The crowd screamed, seized by a macabre frenzy, drunk on spectacle and blood.
Darfredon slowly bent down, picked up the weapon with an impassive expression… then leveled it at Barnabé.
- You've already wasted enough of my time. Do you have any last words?
Barnabé, his eyes clouded with tears, froze. He slowly closed his eyelids. Two tears rolled down his cheeks.
And in a trembling voice, he whispered.
- Please… Sextus… don't do this…
At those words, Sextus managed to find a crack in Darfredon's mind.
He reclaimed control of his own body with a scream torn from the depths of his being, forcing the fallen angel back into a corner of his consciousness. Darfredon was momentarily locked inside this mental prison… but he was already fighting to break free, ferociously.
Sextus's body began to tremble, shaken by this inner war.
In one final effort, he hurled the sword far away from himself.
The gesture triggered a wave of whistles and boos throughout the arena.
The crowd, hungry for blood, voiced its disappointment at a fight deemed too hesitant.
All of them… except two.
Death and Reaper remained transfixed.
They saw beyond flesh and blood.
They were witnessing a duel of souls.
A spectacular clash between two exceptional minds.
And suddenly… a broken voice cut through the silence.
Against all odds, Sextus managed to speak through the mental turmoil.
His voice, trembling and muffled, escaped his lips as he slowly raised his arms, every movement a struggle.
- Barnabé… kill me. Don't waste time…
His brother stared at him, frozen.
- I… I can't… I can't take your life… Barnabé replied, slowly getting back to his feet. His face was ravaged by horror, his gaze drowned in tears.
His heart in tatters.
Sextus dropped to his knees, his body wracked with spasms.
Darfredon was already trying to regain control. The struggle was violent, feverish, and every second gained felt like an eternity.
Tears streamed down Sextus's cheeks.
His voice, fragile and breathless, rose once more.
- Barnabé… hurry… I don't know how long I can hold him…
- Who… who are you holding back, my brother? You're frightening me… Barnabé asked in panic, rushing toward the weapon.
- I'm holding back a creature… a being named Darfredon… But… hurry… I won't be able to resist much longer…
Barnabé seized the weapon and rushed toward his brother.
When he reached him, he looked him straight in the eyes.
- No matter what happens to you, my little brother… know that I will always love you. Take care of yourself… and the others. Find a way out of here.
Sextus gave a weak nod, his lips trembling.
- But for now… kill me… quickly… I can't anymore…
- I promise you, Sextus, Barnabé replied in a broken voice, before carrying out his brother's final wish.
But the very next instant, Darfredon regained control of his vessel.
In a blinding motion, he avoided Barnabé's strike and disarmed him at the very last second—a reflex so fast it stunned the entire arena.
After evading the attack, he spoke aloud, as if to himself… yet his words were aimed directly at Sextus, banished to a corner of their shared mind.
- You surprise me, Sextus… You're tougher than I thought. One day, I'll deal with you. But for now, my priority is to annihilate your precious little brother.
- Sextus? Who are you talking to? Have you gone mad? Barnabé asked, completely lost.
- I see you're not very sharp. A few minutes ago, it was your brother standing here. But now… he's gone. I'm the one facing you.
With a swift motion, Darfredon brought his sword down toward Barnabé. But the latter, barehanded, narrowly dodged the blow. He staggered back to his feet, breath ragged, eyes filled with fear.
From the heights above, Death—hungry for spectacle—signaled to another of his Erinyes warriors.
The young red-haired woman approached in silence, gently brushed Reaper's hair, then drew her sword. Without a word, she hurled it toward Barnabé.
Darfredon followed the weapon's trajectory with his eyes, stepped back slightly, and—wearing a mocking expression—deliberately allowed Barnabé to seize it. Then, with icy contempt, he declared:
- Now that you have a weapon… you have no more excuses. Stop running like a coward and fight.
- Darfredon… I don't know what kind of monster you are. But I swear you will die!
- I see you're finally starting to understand… I am not your brother. Now, the real fight can finally begin.
- YES, I SEE IT NOW… MAY THE MOST POWERFUL OF GODS GRANT ME THE STRENGTH TO DEFEAT YOU!
Barnabé shouted, raising his weapon before charging straight at his opponent.
Smiling arrogantly, Darfredon remained motionless until the very last second.
Then, with supernatural precision, he evaded the attack and violently drove his blade into Barnabé's left leg.
Barnabé collapsed to the ground, screaming in agony.
But at that very moment, Darfredon once again lost control of his vessel.
Sextus briefly became master of his own body. He blocked the next motion with desperate strength, then shouted at the top of his lungs, as if trying to be heard deep within his own mind—where Darfredon was already struggling to regain dominance.
- LEAVE MY LITTLE BROTHER ALONE!
His voice rang out, carried by raw, sincere fury.
Under the strain of this inner battle, the weapon slipped from his hands and crashed heavily onto the ground.
Barnabé, noticing the sudden change, approached his brother. When he reached him, he slowly raised his weapon to put an end to the fight…
But suddenly, Darfredon overpowered Sextus once more and reclaimed control of his vessel.
Without the slightest mercy, he brutally pressed down on the blood-soaked wound in Barnabé's left leg.
- AAAAAH! OW!
Barnabé screamed, overwhelmed by excruciating pain.
He struggled, but agony dragged him down, causing his sword to slip from his grasp.
Seizing that moment of weakness, Darfredon took hold of the weapon… and cleanly severed his opponent's left ankle.
Barnabé howled in pain.
The crowd, delirious, cried out.
- KILL HIM! KILL HIM!
Darfredon's gaze swept over the crowd, then settled on Death, standing at the top of the arena.
Impatient, Death lowered his thumb in a clear gesture.
His voice echoed.
- FINISH HIM!
Darfredon did not fully understand the meaning of the gesture, but he grasped its murderous intent. He turned his attention back to Barnabé, groaning at his feet.
- Shut up. You're exhausting me…
He drove his sword into Barnabé's heart, without the slightest remorse.
A fatal blow.
Silence came first—then an explosion of cheers.
The crowd rose as one, applauding with sinister joy the victorious gladiator.
Satisfied, Death signaled Darfredon to leave the arena.
A new legend had just been born…
But Sextus's heart was in mourning.
Shattered by his brother's death, he abandoned the struggle, allowing Darfredon to take full possession of their body.
And in a corner of their shared mind, he withdrew in silence… to weep.
Darfredon calmly withdrew his sword from Barnabé's lifeless body, then walked toward the exit, where two guards awaited him.
Behind him, the blood-soaked sand preserved the final traces of a shattered brotherly love.
Two other servants approached to retrieve Barnabé's body, but Death gestured for them to stop.
Without a word, he ordered them to step back.
He left the corpse to the claws of sand and silence.