The moment the battle began, the pit became a maelstrom of violence, a swirling vortex of raw, unbridled power. Within seconds, the weakest warriors, those ill-prepared for the brutal reality of the Underpaths, fell like leaves in an autumn gale, their bodies littering the bloodstained stone. Four survivors remained, their presence a testament to their skill and ruthlessness.
The golden-armored man moved first, a blur of gold and steel. He thrust his spear forward with terrifying speed, a lightning strike aimed straight for the brute with twin axes. The larger man, his muscles rippling with raw power, barely managed to raise his weapons in time, sparks flying as metal met metal. But before he could counter, the spearhead shimmered, and a golden shockwave blasted him backward, slamming him into the pit wall with bone-crushing force.
Simultaneously, the lich raised a skeletal hand. Black tendrils of shaktih, like writhing serpents, snaked through the air, seeking a target. The hooded figure reacted instantly, vanishing in a swirl of dark mist just as the tendrils lashed out. A moment later, they reappeared behind the lich, a dagger wreathed in violet flames already descending toward its exposed skull.
The lich didn't even turn. A pulse of necrotic energy exploded from its body, a wave of chilling power that forced the hooded figure back. They hit the ground hard, skidding across the bloodstained stone, their cloak singed and smoking.
The brute, recovering from the golden warrior's attack, let out a guttural roar, a primal sound of rage and defiance. With inhuman strength, he hurled one of his axes like a missile. It tore through the air, straight for the golden warrior's head—only for the spear-wielder to sidestep effortlessly, the axe embedding deep into the wall behind him with a resounding thud.
From the viewing hall, the Dravian mage, his clawed hands gripping the crystal ball, smirked, watching the chaos unfold. "A strong set," he muttered under his breath, his eyes gleaming with a morbid fascination.
Ash watched in silence, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. His eyes weren't just seeing—they were studying. Every movement, every technique, every mistake. He needed to understand what separated the strong from the dead, to dissect the very essence of survival in this brutal arena.
Beside him, Maeve shifted uncomfortably. She could feel the rising tension in his body, the way his breath had slowed, as if he were preparing for a fight he wasn't even in yet. "You're thinking too much," she whispered, her voice laced with concern.
Ash didn't answer, his eyes locked onto the battle, calculating different outcomes, predicting the next move, and analyzing the subtle shifts in power.
In the pit, the golden warrior had forced the brute to his knees, his spear inches from the man's throat. The hooded figure had disappeared again, likely waiting for an opportunity to strike from the shadows. And the lich—the lich wasn't even looking at them anymore.
Instead, it turned its hollow gaze toward the screen. Toward Ash.
Ash felt it immediately—a cold, unnatural sensation, a chilling awareness. A warning.
And then the lich dead smiled. A twisted, knowing grin that sent a shiver down Ash's spine.
Ash's blood ran cold. [No, it's not possible, he thought], his mind reeling. [Don't tell me he heard me back then.] He was waiting at that moment for me to touch his cover. He looked at Maeve, internally thanking her for her intervention, for keeping him from revealing too much.
Meanwhile, the announcer, his voice a grating drawl, commented on the ongoing battle to the audience perched in the towering seats of the slaughterhouse. "Ahh, this place sucks. So stinky… disgusting."
Uren muttered, trying to reach a particular seat, his nose wrinkled in disgust. Kael looked at him with an amused smirk. "You don't like to get dirty, huh, Uren?"
Uren looked at him with pure disinterest. "Please, Master Kael, this is not the right time or a place."
Kael let out a sigh as they carefully tried to reach their seats. In the pit, the brute mumbled something under his breath, his eyes filled with a desperate, primal rage. "BEAST WILL—TERRO…"
Before he could complete his will, the golden warrior's spear tore through his throat, silencing him forever. "Ahhh… aghhhh," he gurgled, falling silently to the bloodstained ground.
Kael stopped in the middle of his track, his eyes widening as he watched the brutal execution. Uren, caught off guard by the sudden halt, stumbled into his back. "What now?" he grumbled, his annoyance quickly turning to apprehension as he saw the scene unfolding in the pit before sitting on seat.
The silence in the pit thickened, a suffocating blanket of dread. The lich, its hollow gaze fixed on the screen, now turned its attention back to the remaining combatants. With a slow, deliberate movement, it raised a skeletal hand into the air, its fingers curling as if grasping something invisible. A faint ripple distorted the air, and slowly, agonizingly, the hooded warrior materialized into view, suspended mid-air, their silent struggle a desperate dance against an unseen force.
The hooded warrior thrashed, their body contorting in a silent, desperate struggle. They tried to vanish into their shadow-like mist again, but the lich's grip was unyielding imbued with shakih. The air crackled with dark energy, and within a matter of seconds, the hooded warrior's body began to decay, crumbling into a viscous, mud-like substance that dripped onto the stone floor.
The announcer, his voice usually a grating drawl, was momentarily speechless, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and morbid fascination. He stammered, trying to explain the sudden, gruesome demise to the audience. "Well, folks, that's… that's certainly a new one. Seems our skeletal friend here has a knack for… disintegrating the competition. Quite the party trick, wouldn't you say?" He forced a nervous chuckle, but the tension in his voice was palpable.
The golden-armored warrior, his spear still radiating a faint golden aura, looked at the lich with a mixture of apprehension and disgust. He tsked, a sound of reluctant respect, and held his spear aloft, enchanting It with a blinding, shining light, preparing to unleash a devastating attack. But before he could even take a step, the lich vanished.
A chilling silence descended upon the pit. Then, a sickening thud echoed through the arena.
The golden-armored warrior's head rolled across the bloodstained stone, its gilded helmet clanging against the jagged surface. His body, still standing for a moment, then crumpled to the ground, his spear clattering beside him. The lich stood behind him, its skeletal hand still dripping with the remnants of the warrior's life force.
Kael, who had paused mid-stride, his eyes fixed on the unfolding carnage, let out a low whistle. "Well, that was… efficient," he murmured, his amusement tinged with a hint of unease. Uren, his face pale, swallowed hard. "Efficient and terrifying," he whispered.
The Dravian mage, his crystal ball still projecting the scene, let out a low, guttural chuckle. "Impressive," he muttered, his voice laced with a dark satisfaction. "It seems we have a worthy champion in the making."
Ash, watching the scene unfold on the screen, felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. He had seen death before, but the lich's movements, its effortless brutality, were something else entirely. It wasn't just power; it was a chilling, calculated efficiency that spoke of something far more sinister. He felt a primal instinct, a warning deep within his soul, telling him that this was no ordinary opponent. This was a force to be reckoned with, a creature that defied the very laws of life and death.