The slow, arrogant applause echoed in the silence of the arena. Each clap sounded like a whip crack in the thick air. Lord Valerius stood on his balcony, his crystal wine goblet raised slightly in a sarcastic gesture. From his high perch, he was a God observing his own hell. He could see every detail of the scene below: two unconscious bodies, the once-arrogant twins now lying like broken dolls. The sand around them was blackened by fire, still emitting a thin smoke that smelled of burnt flesh and failed magic. And in the midst of it all, wrapped in smoke and steam from the drain, was a thin figure who could barely stand.
He was not impressed by the Nulla's strategy. Using the environment? Such lowly tricks were the weapons of the weak, the methods of cockroaches hiding in the cracks of walls. What amused him, what pulled the corner of his lip into a thin smile, was the endurance. The strength to keep standing despite being supposed to be broken. Like a cockroach that refuses to die even after being stepped on multiple times.
"Magnificent," Valerius said, his cold and controlled voice breaking the silence, audible to the farthest corner of the arena. "A cockroach is surprisingly hard to squash."
Boredom is a curse for those who have everything, a disease that gnaws at the soul from within. In the Sky Citadel, among the spires that pierced the clouds, Valerius possessed power, wealth, and a Blood Sigil that made him equivalent to a lord among men. He had seen what he considered great magic duels, where mages with Gold Sigils bent reality itself, yet it all felt sterile. It was like a ballet performance whose steps he had already memorized. He had tasted the most expensive wine from the hanging gardens of Elysia, heard the most beautiful music played by elven maestros. It all felt hollow, an endless repetition of tiresome perfection.
The dance of Sigil against Sigil was a dance he could predict with every step. Fire against water, earth against wind, speed against strength. All calculable, all anticipated. That was why he descended into this hellhole. He sought something raw, something unpredictable, a dissonance in the perfect symphony of magic. He sought chaos.
And in this filthy arena, he found it.
This youth, Kairan, was a fascinating anomaly. A blind spot in his perfect magical perception. Valerius could sense the world in the form of energy flows. He could see the majestic golden auras of the royal family, the sharp silver light of the knights, and the dull colors of the commoners. He could even feel the emptiness of other Nulla, like a small black hole in the cosmic energy web. But this youth was different. He wasn't a hole. He didn't create a void; he seemed to erase the web itself. Where he stood, the laws of magic ceased to apply.
To see that nothingness defeat the twin fire magic in such a… primitive way? With sand, scrap metal, and filthy steam? It tickled a curiosity that had long been dormant. This was no longer just a spectacle of violence. This was an experiment.
He smiled cruelly, the smile of a scientist who had found a rare specimen. "You have proven yourself worthy," he continued, his voice now aimed at the wounded figure below, each word enunciated with deliberate emphasis. "You are worthy of being a toy for my pet."
That smile was a death sentence, and the entire arena knew it. He gestured to the gatekeepers with a lazy flick of his finger, a command more absolute than any royal law in this pit. "Release the Gravemaw. Let's see how long this cockroach can last."
As the giant iron gate at the far end of the arena began to creak open, pulled by massive, rusted chains, Valerius leaned forward, resting his elbows on the balcony railing. This was the show he wanted. Not Sigil against Sigil. But the desperate endurance of one against untamed primal force. Burnt flesh and bone against fang and claw. Hope, crushed. It was the highest form of art to him, a poem written in blood and screams.
From the darkness behind the gate, a low growl was heard that seemed to make the very stones of the arena tremble. It wasn't just a sound; it was a physical vibration that traveled through the floor, up into the bones of the spectators. Even the knights behind Valerius, accustomed to beasts of war, looked slightly uneasy.
The Gravemaw stepped out, not with haste, but with a heavy, confident gait. The creature was larger than it looked in the sketches, its powerful muscles moving under its thick, dark skin like natural armor. Its steel-plated jaw dripped a thick saliva that smoked as it hit the sand. Its eyes, like a pair of red-hot coals, burned with pure rage and insatiable hunger. The air around it shimmered with a faint heat—a side effect of the fire magic Valerius periodically used to make it even more savage and uncontrollable. This wasn't just a pet; it was an extension of Valerius's own cruelty.
Valerius expected to see despair on the Nulla's face. He wanted to see that moment, the moment he savored most: when the small pride from a previous victory shatters into a million pieces. He wanted to see a trembling body, pleading eyes, a total surrender before the inevitable end. That was the best part of the show, the absolute affirmation of his power.
But he didn't see it.
Kairan, his body visibly in pain, forced himself to stand straight. Every muscle must have been screaming, his burns must have felt like hellfire. Yet, he stood there, his back straight. He ignored the beast that was now stalking across the arena, sniffing the air with a deepening growl. His sharp, unblinking eyes were locked on a single target: Lord Valerius.
Valerius was slightly taken aback. The pupils of his eyes dilated a fraction of a millimeter. That gaze... it wasn't the gaze of a resigned prey. It was the gaze of a hunter sizing up its opponent. Amidst a sea of fear that felt so warm and comfortable to him, Kairan's gaze was a shard of ice, piercing straight through his boredom and touching a nerve of his arrogance. This cockroach didn't just refuse to die. It dared to look back. It dared to assess him.
For the first time that day, for the first time in years, Lord Valerius felt something other than boredom. Something called... excitement. A long-lost thrill of anticipation. This specimen wasn't just interesting. It was defiant.
On his balcony, the bored lord finally smiled sincerely. The smile of a predator who had at last found prey that could fight back. The real show was just about to begin.