The moment the gong sounded, the pit exploded into a maelstrom of violence.
The beastman lunged first, a snarling blur of muscle and claws, his intent as clear as the bloodstain on his fangs. He pounced toward the assassin, a predator locking onto its prey. She twisted, vanishing into a blur of movement, her daggers flashing like silver lightning as she narrowly avoided the killing blow.
The mage, his eyes alight with manic energy, wasted no time. His hands surged with crackling shaktih, conjuring a volley of firebolts. The blazing projectiles arced through the air, searing toward the knight, who raised his massive greatsword in response. With a grunt, the armored warrior swung, slicing through the flames with sheer force, the impact sending embers scattering across the pit floor, quickly melting debris and minor threats.
The brute roared, a sound that shook the very foundations of the pit, his war hammer crashing down onto the cracked stone where the mage had been standing a second earlier. The ground trembled from the sheer force, dust and debris flying upward like an explosion.
Ash stood still, a silent observer in the heart of the chaos. Watching. Reading. Each fighter moved with lethal precision, their attacks honed by years of brutal survival. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion.
[This isn't some brawl in the slums. These people have fought to survive.]
But it wasn't just their skill that made Ash tense. It was the raw, unbridled intent behind every strike. It was the feral excitement in their eyes, the thrill of the hunt, the joy of the kill.
The beastman wasn't just attacking—he was hunting. The assassin wasn't dodging—she was toying, savoring the chase. The brute didn't just swing—he sought to crush, to obliterate, to reduce his opponents to dust. And the knight… the knight fought as if nothing could kill him, his movements imbued with an almost arrogant invincibility.
Ash clenched his fists, scales humming beneath his skin, a silent promise of the power he held in reserve.
The assassin suddenly reappeared at the brute's side, her daggers slipping between his ribs with the ease of a whisper. The brute grunted, barely fazed, and backhanded her with terrifying strength. She flipped mid-air, landing effortlessly, a smirk curling at her lips, her eyes gleaming with amusement.
The mage, seeing an opening, chanted a new spell, lightning crackling between his fingers. But before he could release it, the knight was there, his greatsword swinging in a horizontal arc. The mage barely dodged in time, his spell fizzling as he leaped backward, his eyes wide with a flicker of fear.
The beastman, unbothered by the chaos, turned his attention to Ash. Their eyes met, a silent acknowledgment of the impending clash And Ash moved.
The beastman lunged, claws extended—fast, too fast for most—but Ash was faster. He sidestepped at the last second, his fist slamming into the beastman's ribs with enough force to send him skidding backward.
A flicker of surprise crossed the beastman's eyes. Then he grinned, a predatory expression that sent a chill down Ash's spine. "Not bad," he rumbled, his voice a low growl. "Guess I'll rip you apart first."
Ash cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing through the pit.
The beastman wasted no time, his claws tearing through the air as he lunged again. This time, he was faster, sharper, his movements a blur of raw agility. His strikes came in rapid succession—left, right, diagonal, a flurry of slashes aimed to rip Ash apart.
Ash twisted his body, barely dodging each attack by the breadth of a hair. The whistle of claws cutting air rang in his ears, his instincts screaming at him to move, dodge, counter.
The beastman grinned, his eyes gleaming with feral delight. "You're quick."
"Too quick."
Ash ducked under a swipe, stepping into the beastman's guard. His fist lashed out, striking his opponent's ribs with a solid thud. A normal fighter would have staggered, but the beastman merely chuckled—then retaliated with a vicious knee to Ash's gut.
The Impact stole the air from his lungs. Ash gasped but forced his body to move. He twisted, slipping away just as claws raked down where his face had been.
He needed to think. Adapt.
The beastman was a predator. His fighting style was relentless—if Ash just dodged, he'd eventually tire out and get caught. He needed to strike back, to turn the hunter into the hunted.
"BEAST WILL…" The beastman growled, a dark energy surging through his veins.
Those words were enough to make Ash dash backward, creating distance.
Kael looking at fight with stoic face with patience, while uren looks on edge, "Why he is not retaliating quickly and end this disgusting wolf?"
Kael looks at uren, "patience.. uren. I understand why he doing this you'll know in future sure."
The beastman grinned, this time brighter, more feral. "Why you backed off? You definitely stronger than I."
Ash raised an eyebrow at his admission, his mind racing.[This thing also a good observer.]
"What, surprised how I know?" The beastman taunted, his eyes gleaming with a strange knowledge. Ash didn't give in to his remarks, refusing to be distracted. Then, suddenly, the beastman's eyes widened in rage.
"BEAST WILL—Lycanthropic Overdrive!"
He lunged toward Ash's right shoulder mid-transformation, his claws sharpening, dense fur erupting across his body. Before Ash could react, the transformed beast was in front of his face. Ash barely managed to harden his scales where the attack was supposed to hit and block his stomach in a tactical manner. But the attack didn't land. Ash looked up into the beastman's eyes, now fully transformed, a wild creature. He recognIzed the beast wasn't looking at him, but past him. Ash backed off a little, then the actual view came into focus.
It was the assassin, who had vanished earlier in her own combat, trying to take advantage of Ash's distracted attention. He couldn't believe what just happened. Why had the beast saved him? And why hadn't his senses picked up the assassin's presence?
The assassin, caught mid-strike, thrashed in the dire wolf's powerful grip, her daggers useless against the beast's thick hide and overwhelming physical superiority. She twisted and turned, a desperate dance against an inescapable fate, but the wolf's jaws clamped down, a vise of bone and muscle. Then, a sudden plume of thick, black smoke erupted from the assassin's clothing, billowing outwards, engulfing the entire stadium in an impenetrable fog. The arena, moments before a stage of brutal clarity, was now a swirling abyss of darkness.
Kael, perched in his elevated seat, tightened his jaw, his eyes narrowed, his amusement replaced by a grim apprehension. [Do something], he thought internally, a flicker of unease creeping into his usually composed demeanor. [This isn't looking good.]
Inside the swirling darkness, visibility was reduced to nothing. Ash, sensing the shift in the arena, reacted instantly. He half-transformed his body into his swamp drake form, his scales hardening, his pores secreting a potent, poisonous covering over his scales. He adopted a fully defensive stance, his senses heightened, his instincts screaming a warning.
The other combatants, now blind and disoriented, were at a severe disadvantage. Shouts and the sickening sound of slicing steel echoed through the fog, punctuated by gasps and choked cries. But something else lurked within the darkness, a presence that made Ash's scales prickle. A spooky shadow moved through the fog, a phantom predator that seemed to exist beyond the realm of sight. It laughed, a low, menacing chuckle that sent shivers down Ash's spine, its voice a chilling whisper that seemed to come from all directions at once.
The shadow's laughter was a haunting melody of malice, a promise of pain and oblivion. It moved with an unnerving fluidity, a phantom that seemed to phase through the smoke, its presence a chilling reminder that the darkness was its domain.
Ash, his heart pounding, shifted his stance, his draconic eyes straining to pierce the darkness. He knew he was vulnerable, his senses dulled by the thick fog. He had to rely on his instincts, on the primal awareness that had kept him alive this long.
Meanwhile, in the viewing hall, Maeve sat with a serene smile on her face, her glowing eyes fixed on the now-blank screen. She tapped her fingers on the armrest, a picture of casual amusement. The chaos unfolding in the pit seemed to entertain her, the uncertainty and fear a source of perverse delight. She watched, not with concern, but with a detached curiosity, as if observing a particularly interesting experiment. The screen was now just a black canvas, but she could see the shaktih fluctuations inside the pit, she can feel the presence of the darkness. And she enjoyed it.