The battle had ended, but the true horror was only beginning.
A deep, unnatural hum filled the pit, a soundless vibration that seemed to reverberate through the very souls of those watching. The air thickened with something unseen, an ancient force that made even the most hardened warriors shift uncomfortably.
Then it began.
The lich raised a skeletal hand, fingers curling as if plucking invisible strings in the air. Instantly, the bodies of the fallen—the brute, the hooded assassin, the golden warrior and other insignificant bodies laying around—began to dissolve. Not into blood, not into flesh, but into an eerie, spectral mist.
Their souls were being pulled from their corpses.
The pit filled with ghostly tendrils of energy, twisting and writhing like dying embers in the wind, their silent screams almost audible in the suffocating air. The golden warrior's once-proud frame, the brute's lifeless bulk, the assassin's shadowed form—all reduced to essence, consumed by an unseen force.
And the lich… it opened its maw.
A sickening, gurgling noise filled the pit as it drank deeply. The mist was sucked into its frame, disappearing into the cracks of its bones. Something inside it shifted. Changed.
Horns burst from its skull, jagged and uneven, curling like the twisted crown of a demon. Its ribcage expanded, bones snapping and reshaping as new layers formed, thicker, stronger. Golden veins pulsed through its structure—remnants of the warrior it had devoured, now part of its grotesque new form.
The atmosphere shifted. Before, the lich had been terrifying. Now? Now, it was something else entirely.
A heavy pressure descended upon the hall, an unseen force pressing down on every watching soul. It was suffocating, inescapable. It wasn't just power. It was hunger.
From the upper viewing hall, Kael let out a low whistle, leaning forward. "Well, shit," he muttered, his usual smug amusement flickering with something else—wariness. Even he, someone who had seen monsters far worse than most, knew this wasn't normal.
Beside him, Uren sat frozen, his fingers digging into the arms of his chair. His usual snide remarks were gone, replaced by something close to dread. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "That's… not just a litch anymore. That's something else entirely. I don't know how ash gonna deal with it." He paused and look at audience who are as shocked as them or even more then look back at pit before continuing, "I knew litch consume souls but this one … This one consuming the whole thing."
The announcer, alwayss quick with a joke or an exaggerated comment, had gone silent. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came.
Back in the waiting hall, Maeve clutched the brim of her hat, pulling it lower. She could feel it—a horrible, crawling sensation under her skin, like something vile was trying to seep into her very soul. Even without looking, she knew.
And then there was Ash.
He sat perfectly still.
His fingers, resting on the wooden table, had dug so deeply into the surface that small cracks spiderwebbed outward from his grip. His breathing remained steady—too steady. But inside, his mind was a storm of calculations, emotions, and something else. Instinct.
His body was reacting before his mind could fully grasp the gravity of what he had just witnessed. The way his pulse slowed, his senses sharpened—he had felt this before.
Not fear.
A warning.
This wasn't just another strong opponent.
This was something unnatural. Something that devoured. Something that shouldn't exist.
Ash exhaled slowly, releasing his grip on the table. He couldn't let his emotions show. Not here. Not now.
But as his eyes remained fixed on the lich, he knew one thing for certain.
When his time came to face it… it wouldn't be a fight. It would be survival.
The tension in the hall remained thick, the aftermath of the lich's gruesome transformation still gripping the spectators like an iron fist. Yet, the tournament had no time nor hesitation.
Another set was called.
The name rang out across the hall:
Maeve Marciana
Maeve flinched slightly at the sound of her name but took a deep breath, steadying herself. She gripped her wooden staff, her fingers trembling for only a moment before she pushed herself to her feet.
Ash, seated nearby, observed her closely. "You wanna fight me right? So Don't hesitate," he muttered.
She turned her head slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I won't." Then, with quiet steps, she walked toward the pit entrance.
The other fighters in her set—hardened mercenaries, mages, and a towering beastkin wielding a massive iron club—were already shifting into their stances, eyes locked on their prey.
The Dravian mage overseeing the viewing screen adjusted the crystal ball, projecting a sharp, clear image onto the wall of the participants' hall.
The countdown began.
Five.
Maeve stepped into position, her oversized hat casting a shadow over her face.
Four.
The beastkin warrior sneered, tightening his grip on his club.
Three.
One of the mercenaries cracked his knuckles. "Let's take the girl out first."
Two.
Violet light flickered at the edges of Maeve's fingertips.
One.
"Be gone."
A pulse of shaktih erupted from her body.
The pit was swallowed in a surge of violet energy, expanding outward like an implosion of reality itself.
The moment the wave touched them, every single fighter disappeared.
No screams. No struggle. No blood. Just… gone.
The pit, once a battleground of chaos and carnage, was now completely empty.
The participants' hall fell into stunned silence.
Even the announcer, who had spent the entire tournament narrating each brutal moment with exaggerated excitement, was left speechless. His mouth opened and closed uselessly before he finally stammered, "W-WELL! That was… quick!"
Maeve turned, walking back toward the entrance as if nothing had happened. She hunched her shoulders slightly, adjusting the brim of her hat to shield her face from the countless stares fixed on her. As she passed Ash, she whispered softly, "I didn't want to fight them but you."
Ash remained silent, his fingers twitching slightly as he processed what he had just witnessed.[Am I even ready?], Ash start to doubt himself.
In the audience stands, Kael leaned forward, the usual smirk on his face fading slightly. "What the fuck?"
Uren, sitting beside him, exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "I told you."
Kael shot him an incredulous look. "You knew she could do that?"
"I had a feeling," Uren admitted, his eyes still glued to the pit.
Kael grumbles, "Fine you won the bet, but reward back home."
Uren just smirks slightly,
The Dravian mage, still holding the crystal ball, chuckled darkly. "She didn't even give them a chance. What an amusing little witch."
The crowd murmured in confusion, some in awe, others in fear.
One moment, a full battlefield. The next, absolute erasure.
Kael sat back, running a hand through his hair. "Damn. She's scary."
Uren folded his arms. "She ended a free-for-all before it even started."