Yuga stepped into the hallway, the torches lining the walls flickered violently before snuffing out all at once, leaving the passage drenched in darkness. An icy wind howled through the corridor, pushing him forward with an invisible hand. The path ahead twisted unnaturally, bending into a winding road that led to a glaring white light in the distance. It loomed, framed in a massive rectangular shape, almost like the mouth of some great beast ready to swallow him whole. Somewhere behind him, a disembodied voice echoed, too faint to make out clearly, but it's tone lingered, reverberating through the stone walls. Then, without warning, an unseen force shoved him forward—hard. Yuga stumbled, discomfort etching itself into his features as he was forced out into the open.
He was regurgitated from the shadows, spat into the center of the arena like discarded prey. The crowd surged around him, an ocean of bodies roaring in anticipation. Their excitement was infectious, a feverish energy that vibrated through the air. Yuga could feel their hunger, their desire to see blood spilled in the sand. Every cheer, every shout, made the ground tremble beneath his feet as they welcomed this new combatant, eager to see if he was worthy of their attention.
Blinking against the sudden brightness, Yuga squinted as the arena came into focus. His brown skin shimmered under the harsh light, every step drawing the gaze of the audience. His stark white hair—a color that seemed almost unnatural for someone of his complexion—glowed like diamonds under the sun, catching the eyes of the spectators. A sharp, predatory grin stretched across his face, his pearly, shark-like teeth flashing as he moved forward, each step kicking up small clouds of dust and sand.
The energy of the crowd was overwhelming, their gazes suffocating, yet Yuga felt a strange calmness settle over him. A small, almost imperceptible aura surrounded him, a confidence that drew their eyes but kept them at a distance. Despite the noise, his mind raced with one thought:
What have I gotten myself into?
His pulse quickened as his eyes darted across the arena, taking in the faces of the spectators. Men, women, children—all screaming for the battle to begin, their voices blending into one massive, unrelenting roar.
But where was his opponent?
Yuga's attention narrowed, his focus shifting as the cacophony of the crowd faded into the background. His eyes fell on a figure standing across the arena, a hulking form shrouded in a massive cloak that covered nearly every inch of his body. The cloak billowed slightly in the breeze, but beneath it, Yuga could see little more than shadows. His opponent's features were hidden entirely, his face obscured by the deep hood, leaving only his towering frame visible. The figure's sheer size was intimidating, but it was the lack of any discernible aura that sent a chill down Yuga's spine.
There was nothing—no magic, no energy. The man seemed more like a walking shadow than a human being.
A strange, unsettling calmness washed over Yuga as he locked eyes with the shadowy figure, or at least where his opponent's eyes should have been. The discomfort he'd felt moments before was beginning to fade, replaced by a growing sense of curiosity.
Who was this man? Why did his presence feel so… empty?
Almost without realizing it, Yuga found himself cracking a smile—though it was brief, quickly erased as he reminded himself that this was a fight, not a game.
The announcer's booming voice shattered the tension. "INTRODUCING OUR 66TH COMBATANTS! THE MAN WHO ISSUES FAITH AND JUDGMENT TO EVEN THE UNDESERVING—THE SAAAAINT!! Uh... and our newcomer Yuga, I guess?"
The crowd erupted into deafening cheers, their voices shaking the very foundations of the arena. The announcer's tone was filled with dramatic flair, designed to stir the excitement of the audience to a fever pitch.
"I AM SURE ALL OF YOU KNOW THE RULES!" the announcer continued, his voice growing louder, more theatrical with every word.
"ANYTHING GOES, SO LONG AS YOU DON'T KILL THE OPPONENT! THE BEST COMBATANTS WILL BE CHOSEN BY THE SIX HANDS—OUR WISE AND POWERFUL LEADERS—TO BECOME THEIR SQUIRES, AND SOON AFTER, FULL-BLOWN ADVENTURERS CAPABLE OF OWNING LAND AND OTHER GRACIOUS GIFTS! GIVE IT YOUR BEST, AND MAY ADENIA FALL!!"
The crowd roared louder still, their shouts echoing in the vast space. Yuga's eyes flicked upward to the balcony above, where a door creaked open. Six figures, each one cloaked and masked, stepped out onto the ledge. They moved with an eerie grace, their presence casting a heavy shadow over the arena. These were the Six Hands, the enigmatic rulers of Ambrassia—the same figures Yuga had seen in Tomoki's office a day ago.
They took their seats, their masked faces turned toward the arena below, their power and control evident even from this distance. Yuga felt a shiver run down his spine. These were the ones who would decide his fate.
A soft worried laugh escaped his lips as he turned his attention back to his opponent. The man was still as a statue, unmoving beneath his cloak, save for a lazy hand that reached down to scratch his rear. He let out a yawn, as if entirely uninterested in the spectacle unfolding around him. Yuga couldn't sense even a flicker of magic from him. It made yuga excited an unknown variable that he alone could test.
This guy's as good as dead. Yuga thought, his confidence returning.
With a motion, Yuga shrugged off his shirt. His skin, smooth and taut, stretched over faint but defined muscles. Veins traced intricate patterns along his torso, pressing against his olive skin. Physically, he and his opponent were vastly different, their heads many levels off with one another, but Yuga was lighter, more agile. Whether that would give him an advantage remained to be seen.
Despite the calm facade he wore, a gnawing sensation took root in his stomach. There were no rules here, save one: don't kill your opponent.
Everything else was allowed. He took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he exhaled, steadying himself. His rosé-colored eyes glinted in the sunlight, their hypnotic gaze drawing the attention of those around him. A hand rested on his heart for a moment before he took his stance.
The fight was about to begin.
Yuga's heels lifted from the ground, calves tense as the muscles flexed beneath his skin, the fibers twitching in anticipation. The warmth from his body spread in waves, his breath coming out in controlled, measured exhales. His stance was solid, deliberate. His right foot stood guard, poised to act as a defensive measure, while his left foot remained firmly planted, ready to propel him in any direction. He stayed balanced on the balls of his feet, palms open and slightly curved, chin tucked in tightly. His arms guarded his midsection, elbows pointed outward just enough to protect his ribs but not hinder his movement. His eyes, sharp and focused, never left the cloaked figure in front of him.
He was ready, or so he thought.
Without warning, a shadow streaked toward him—faster than anything Yuga had ever witnessed. The massive, dark-skinned man named Saint—whom he'd encountered outside the coliseum—was suddenly upon him, a blur of motion. For someone of such size, this level of speed defied all logic. The man shouldn't have been able to move like that. His sheer mass should've made his movements sluggish, predictable. But Saint was different?
Yuga's instincts screamed at him, forcing him to flinch, his left foot involuntarily shifting backward to brace for impact. But it wasn't enough. Before he could properly react, a tremendous force slammed into him, a crushing blow to his torso that landed between his ribs and stomach with such ferocity that his vision exploded into a kaleidoscope of color. The impact felt like a sledgehammer to his core, driving all the air from his lungs.
Gritting his teeth, Yuga tightened every muscle in his abdomen, desperately attempting to mitigate the damage. But the raw strength behind the strike was overwhelming. His body lifted off the ground, his feet losing contact with the earth entirely, as if he'd been struck by a catapult. The wind whistled in his ears as he was hurled across the arena like a ragdoll, the force sending him crashing into the nearest wall.
The stone cracked and splintered under the impact, a deafening boom reverberating throughout the arena as Yuga's body crumpled against the wall. Dust and debris exploded outward, and a crater formed around him, his silhouette embedded within the crumbling rock. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt, the edges of his vision darkening, a nauseating vertigo threatening to drag him into unconsciousness.
The crowd erupted into cheers, their frenzied voices blending into a symphony of excitement as they savored the brutal spectacle. To them, this was entertainment—a fight between two men, a clash of strength and skill. But for Yuga, it was quickly turning into a struggle for survival.
Saint's voice boomed across the arena, his tone filled with condescension and fervor. "You should learn to praise our creator, young man. Its holy light and spirit grant eternal blessings. Praise Sol praise the sun!"
His words echoed ominously, carried on the wind that now swept through the open arena, swirling the dust and smoke that hung heavy in the air. Saint marched forward with deliberate, methodical steps, his massive figure cutting an imposing silhouette against the cracked earth beneath him. The ground beneath his feet seemed to tremble, cracks spider-webbing through the stone with every step he took, turning the arena into a forsaken ground.
Yuga, still half buried in the shattered wall, could barely move. His chest heaved as he tried to suck in a breath, but his lungs refused to cooperate, seizing up as the pain in his ribs intensified. The world around him felt distant, muffled, as if he were submerged underwater. His vision blurred, shapes and figures blending together in a disorienting haze. For a fleeting moment, he felt as though he was drowning, sinking into a dark abyss where the light of hope was nothing more than a fading memory.
The sensation was terrifyingly familiar—the feeling of air slipping away, of life ebbing out. His chest felt like it was about to collapse under the pressure, his heartbeat growing louder, each thud echoing like a war drum inside his skull. He thrashed against the sensation, his mind screaming for him to breathe, to fight, but his body refused to obey. Every muscle burned, his lungs on the verge of imploding.
Forcing his eyes open, Yuga gritted his teeth and focused. No. I'm not done. He thought. With what little strength he could muster, he pushed his palm against the cracked stone at his back, using it as leverage to pull himself free from the debris. His knees buckled, but he refused to let them give out. Pain lanced through his body, every nerve screaming in protest as he straightened his spine, his feet finally regaining contact with the ground. His head throbbed, the world still spinning as he took a faltering step forward.
He could barely see straight, his vision swimming in and out of focus, but there was one thing he could feel clearly: the raw, burning emotion surging through his veins.
Disgust. Utter and complete disgust towards himself and his weakness. He hated feeling like this. It reminded him of H̸̡̙̬̬̟̯̤̖̼͖̱̞͒͂̂̈̎́̇͌̿̒͂̾̿̈́ę̸̝̭̐̓̈́̅̒̌̿͗̌͋̉̕̚̚͝ŗ̷̪́͑̈. How could he forget what weakness felt like? It was a constant in his life.
Yuga exhaled sharply, slicking his hand back through his hair, the pressure against his scalp mixing with the sensation of warm blood trickling down the side of his head. Droplets fell and mingled with the dirt below, leaving crimson splatters in the dust. The crowd's roar ebbed into a distant murmur, the faces around him blurred, reduced to smudges of color and sound. His heartbeat thudded relentlessly in his chest, each pulse amplifying the sharp pain radiating from his ribs.
The smell of sweat, dirt, and iron from his own blood permeated his senses. He stood hunched over for a moment, breathing through the burning ache in his body, his vision wavering as his mind struggled to find focus.
Ahead of him, Saint chuckled, a low, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate in the air between them. The hulking figure moved with predatory ease, the ground almost trembling beneath his heavy strides as he closed the distance. Yuga barely had time to react before Saint was upon him, the man's speed belying his massive frame. A blur of motion, Saint's arm shot forward in a tight arc, the hook aimed directly at Yuga's stomach.
Instinct took over. Yuga inhaled sharply, his body blurring out of sight just as Saint's fist cleaved through the air where he stood a split second before. The force of the missed blow sent a gust of wind rippling across Yuga's face, but he was already moving. Using the momentum of Saint's attack, he vaulted over his opponent's arm, his own body twisting fluidly in midair as he brought his heel crashing into Saint's jaw.
Saint staggered, more surprised than hurt, his eyes narrowing as he rubbed his jaw. But he recovered quickly, and with a snarl, he threw two rapid jabs in retaliation—one aimed at Yuga's chest, the other for his head. Yuga moved to intercept, his leg snapping out to deflect the first punch by kicking Saint's wrist, driving his opponent's fist into the dirt. Saint's second punch whizzed past Yuga's ear, a narrow miss, but Yuga wasted no time. He surged forward, planting his feet firmly before delivering a powerful uppercut, followed by a swift left hook. Both strikes landed clean, their impact reverberating through Yuga's fists.
But Saint barely flinched. He absorbed the blows like they were nothing more than the sting of a insect. His lips curled into a grin that sent a chill down Yuga's spine, and before he could retreat, Saint's hand clamped down on his forearm. Yuga's world spun violently as Saint swung him like a ragdoll, slamming his body into the ground with bone-rattling force. The earth cracked beneath Yuga's weight, and he let out a gasp of pain as his ribs screamed in protest.
Before he could fully process the impact, Saint lifted him again, this time by the ankle. Yuga dangled helplessly for a brief moment, his vision blurring, and then Saint's fist crashed into his ribs with a sickening crunch. Agony exploded in Yuga's side, and his body sailed through the air, slamming into the eastern wall of the arena. He collapsed into a heap amidst a cloud of dust and rubble, his breath coming in shallow, painful gasps.
Around him, the crowd erupted into frenzied cheers, their voices a song of bloodlust and sin. Women, children—innocence twisted into malice—screamed for more violence, for more suffering. The sound grated against Yuga's soul, filling him with a surge of disgust that threatened to consume him. His eyes, half-closed from exhaustion and pain, fixed on the jagged bricks of the colosseum wall as his thoughts churned in the silence of his mind.
Why am I here again? What is the point of all this? His heart pounded in his chest, the questions swirling through him like a storm.
Why am I putting myself through these meaningless spectacles? It doesn't matter. The answer came to him with grim finality.
I'm here to kill aWalker, to use their body as a key to reach my goal. Nothing else matters—not this arena, not these people. Even if it means using every underhanded trick in the book.
He remained still, his body limp against the debris as Saint's heavy footsteps approached, the man's shadow looming over him. Yuga's fingers twitched in the dirt, his mind calculating, waiting. Saint stopped just a few feet away, his voice carrying over the din of the crowd.
"Boy, arise. I know this isn't enough to kill you. I hope I wasn't wrong in my assumption, otherwise you have no place among our lord's gracious domain. You acted like a great combatant outside, so show me!"
Yuga inhaled deeply, every breath a battle against the pain in his ribs, and slowly pushed himself to his feet. His body ached, but his mind was sharp. With a swift motion, he scooped up a handful of sand and hurled it into Saint's eyes. The giant cursed, staggering back as he wiped at his face. Yuga didn't hesitate. Pivoting on his left foot, he spun into a vicious back kick aimed at Saint's stomach, the blow sending the larger man stumbling.
But Saint's recovery was immediate. Even as he tried to clear the sand from his eyes, his lips curled into a sneer. Yuga seized the moment, launching himself off his right leg and driving his knee into Saint's nose. Blood sprayed from the impact, and for the first time, Saint was truly pushed back, a growl escaping his throat as he shook his head.
Yuga fell back, panting, his hand clutching his side where the bruise from Saint's earlier punch had blossomed into an ugly purple mark. The pain was excruciating—each breath sent a sharp jolt through his body, but he forced himself to keep moving. He coughed, tasting bile at the back of his throat, but he couldn't stop now.
Saint spat blood onto the ground, his nostrils flaring. With a grimace, he stepped forward, towering over Yuga once again. The air between them was charged with tension, each man sizing up the other. Saint's eyes gleamed with a savage joy as he leaned down slightly, letting loose a glob of spit and snot that landed in Yuga's hair. The cold, slimy sensation made Yuga flinch.
He raised a hand, running his fingers through the back of his head and feeling the disgusting patch of spit mixing with the blood that still trickled from his scalp. Yuga then thought to himself.
Did he just-? THIS MOTHER FUCKER!!
His hand trembled with rage as he slowly looked up, locking eyes with Saint. The anger boiled over, raw and feral, coursing through his veins like molten fire. Without a second thought, Yuga spat on Saint's foot and threw an uppercut at the man's jaw, his muscles coiled with fury.
Saint anticipated the strike, dodging it with a quick step and retaliating with a brutal knee to Yuga's gut. The blow doubled him over, and before Yuga could react, Saint's fist came crashing down on the back of his skull. Stars burst in Yuga's vision as he hit the ground hard. He barely had time to roll to the side as Saint's boot aimed for his head. The kick grazed his chin, but Yuga used the momentum to push himself into a handstand, flipping back to his feet in a fluid motion.
The two men collided once again, trading blows in a flurry of punches and kicks. Yuga ducked and weaved, his strikes landing with ease, but each time he made contact, Saint countered with a devastating force. Every hit from Saint felt like being slammed by a boulder, knocking the wind from Yuga's lungs and rattling his very bones. Yet, despite the punishment, Yuga refused to fall.
Fueled by anger and adrenaline, he lashed out with a spinning kick aimed at Saint's jaw. Saint leaned back, dodging the strike with a grin. He wasn't fazed—if anything, he seemed to be enjoying the fight more with each passing second. Shifting his weight onto his left foot, Saint leaped forward and drove his fist into Yuga's head once more.
The impact sent Yuga crashing into the ground, his body bouncing off the sand and stone like a ragdoll. He groaned in pain, his hand clutching his shoulder as a burning heat spread through his abdomen and collarbone. His left arm was limp, unresponsive, and panic clawed at the edges of his mind. He struggled to his feet, his eyes darting frantically to locate his opponent, only to be met with the sight of Saint's fist barreling toward him.
The world exploded into pain as Yuga was hurled into the colosseum wall once again. Dust filled the air, and the deafening cheers of the crowd echoed around him as consciousness slipped in and out. Through the haze, Yuga saw Saint approaching, his figure framed by the dust cloud like a god of war. His voice cut through the noise, cold and dismissive.
"Boy, you're weaker than I imagined. You carried yourself with high shoulders, but now I see them sunken and diminished. I hope our lord grants you wisdom in this defeat—you need it."
Saint stopped a few feet from Yuga, raising his hand to the judges. "HEY! YOU SAID NOT TO KILL HIM, RIGHT? THE BOY CAN'T FIGHT ANYMORE—END THE MATCH! THIS WASN'T NEARLY ENOUGH FOR ME TO EVEN WASTE THE MANA IN MY SYSTEM!!"
Saint raised his hand, signaling to the judges. "End it. He's finished. This was no challenge." He laughed, tossing his head back as he started to walk away. But as the echoes of his laughter faded, another sound rose from behind him.
It was laughter.
A low, hoarse chuckle that sent a chill through the arena. Yuga, blood dripping from his face, dragged himself from the debris, his eyes burning with an expression you would see on a dying animal. His voice rasped through bloodied lips, "I'm not dead yet…you bitch."
Saint turned, his smile widening with a twisted sense of excitement. "COME BOY SHOW ME THE STRENGTH OF THE ARROGANCE I SAW OUTSIDE THIS ARENA SHOW ME WHAT YOU'RE CAPABLE OF!!"
Then yuga raised his right arm slicking back his bloodstained hair once more. He sank into a low stance, feet spread shoulder-width apart, his knees bent at an angle that gave him the appearance of a predator ready to pounce. The muscles in his legs tensed, a subtle tremor running through them as he steadied himself. His breaths came slow and deliberate, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply, pulling the air into his lungs until his chest felt tight. There was an eerie calm in the stillness of his body, a inferno that brewed just beneath his skin.
His lips parted slightly, barely a whisper escaping as he mumbled to himself, a mantra of desperation and defiance. Strength. He needed strength—an undeniable, unattainable, immeasurable force, something far beyond the limits of human capacity. His mind swirled with the thought, like a drowning man reaching for the surface, for air, for survival. But the truth gnawed at him, bitter and relentless. The strength he sought was beyond his reach, the kind only gods could wield, a cruel irony that he would never accept.
A sharp pulse of anger flared in his chest, igniting a visceral disgust that coiled in his stomach. The thought of using this power, the power bestowed upon him by the very thing he loathed more than anything—more than humans, more than enemies—a god. The word itself tasted like poison in his mouth. It was a power forced upon him, an unwanted gift from a divine hand he despised. Every fiber of his being rebelled against it, the idea of relying on something so foreign, so detestable, made his skin crawl.
But there was no other choice.
He clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding against each other as the reality set in. To wield this power, to tap into its depths, he had to do the one thing that sickened him to his core—he had to pray. He had to ask for assistance, to bow his head and beg like a mere mortal pleading for salvation. The very thought made his chest tighten, a nauseating wave rising from his gut. He could feel the bile creeping up his throat, threatening to spill out, the disgust palpable as if his own body were rejecting the notion.
Even now, as the words formed in his mind, they felt heavy on his tongue, like stones lodged in his throat, each syllable a struggle to push out. The act of speaking them, of acknowledging the existence of that wretched power, made him feel weak, pathetic. His muscles tensed involuntarily, a manifestation of the anguish within him. He wanted to scream, to tear himself away from this humiliating act, but his need for strength, for survival, overrode his pride.
Swallowing hard, his voice came out strained, tight with disdain. The words—begrudging, venomous—left his lips slowly, each one lingering like a curse. It was a prayer, though it felt more like a condemnation, each word coated in resentment. He spoke, his voice low and rough, filled with the bitterness that burned in his chest.
"Oh merciless father, Oh detestable father, odious father. I, the undeserving son, beseech thee. Grant your child the power to rend the world for your intention. May the seasons gyre, and may the world never face your ire. Bear witness to your creation, and your greatest regret."
In an instant, Saint vanished from sight, his movements impossibly fast, but Yuga's reflexes kicked in without hesitation. He barely saw the blur in his peripheral vision, catching the shift near his blind spot. Aiming for Yuga's broken arm, Saint came in with a vicious jab, intending to exploit his injury.
But Yuga's body reacted instinctively. He shifted all his weight to his left foot, dragging it backward in a fluid motion, just enough to lean away from the attack. His right foot snapped forward like a piston, connecting solidly with the Saint's stomach. The force of the kick sent the Saint stumbling back several feet. Yuga gritted his teeth as pain shot up his arm, but he quickly steadied himself.
His breath came in deep, deliberate inhales as he centered himself once more. Slowly, his bright pink eyes began to darken, swirling into a deep, violent cauldron of crimson and rose, their intensity growing with every second. His right fist clenched tightly at his waist, while his broken left arm hung limp at his side, forgotten in the moment.
Suddenly, a low hum filled the air, vibrating through the arena. It started as a faint noise, but as Yuga's muscles tensed, it grew louder and sharper. Each fiber in his arm convulsed, the muscles twitching as though alive with electricity. The hum transformed into a piercing whine, so loud and agonizing that many in the crowd winced, covering their ears in discomfort. Yuga's whole body trembled with raw, overwhelming power coursing through him.
With a growl, he channeled all that energy into his legs. His heels dug into the dirt, and in the next instant, he exploded forward, pushing from his toes with such force that the ground beneath him cracked and splintered. The speed was unreal. To the untrained eye, Yuga became nothing more than a blur—a streak of white light that tore through the air with impossible velocity.
Saint, who had been grinning moments before, now watched with wide eyes, the excitement draining from his face. Yuga's fist began to glow, radiating an intense light that shimmered with every color imaginable. Flames licked up his arm, twisting around it like a nest of rainbow serpents, hissing and coiling in fiery arcs. The sheer speed of his acceleration created a sonic boom, a deafening crack that reverberated throughout the arena. Everything seemed to slow in those few seconds. The Saint swung a fist, aiming directly for Yuga's face, but Yuga simply let him. He accepted the pain. He dipped beneath the attack, his body flowing like water as he slipped under the Saint's outstretched arm.
Yuga was now close, close enough to strike.
"21 SEASONS FIRST FORM—SHIVA!" he shouted, his voice erupting with raw anger and desperation.
His fist rocketed forward, smashing into the Saint's abdomen with a force that could only be described as cataclysmic. The impact reverberated through the arena, the sound of it like the crack of thunder in a storm. It wasn't just a punch—it was a seismic wave. The ground beneath them trembled as a massive shockwave erupted from the point of impact, sending sand and debris flying into the air in a swirling storm of grit and dust.
Saint's body was lifted off the ground, the force of the blow propelling him backward at breakneck speed. He flew through the air as though weightless, hurtling towards the arena's edge, his expression frozen in stunned disbelief. The sheer devastation of the strike echoed in every corner of the arena, leaving the spectators speechless.
As the dust settled, Yuga stood in the center of the arena, his body tense, chest heaving with effort. The vibrant glow in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by the same dull pain that always came after using the power he despised. He gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of what he had just unleashed, but refusing to let the agony show. This was the price he paid. There is always a price.
As the dust finally settled, a heavy silence blanketed the arena. The spectators, trapped in a surreal limbo between awe and dread, watched with bated breath. Yuga stood motionless amidst the chaos he had unleashed, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his own devastating attack. His once-glowing fist now hung at his side, limp and spent. Across the arena, Yuga's opponent, Saint, lay crumpled near the shattered gates, seemingly defeated.
But Yuga's victory was short-lived.
A low murmur rippled through the crowd as Saint stirred, slowly rising from the dilapidated opening. His silhouette loomed against the fading sunlight, casting long shadows that stretched across the arena floor. The crumbled debris parted around him as he stepped forward, dust sliding off his broad shoulders. His face twisted into a mocking grin as he poked his stomach, revealing the full extent of Yuga's blow—a massive black and blue bruise spreading like poison across his abdomen. The bruising, dark and ominous, pulsed with a sickening energy, growing more grotesque with each passing second.
Without warning, Saint disappeared again, reappearing instantly in front of Yuga. There was no time to react. A calloused hand gripped Yuga's head, the fingers pressing into his skull like a vice. Yuga felt his feet lift from the ground, helpless as Saint raised him high, dangling him like a dog. And then, the onslaught began.
The Saint unleashed a brutal volley of punches, each blow a crack of thunder that reverberated through the air. The speed and ferocity of the strikes were beyond human, so fast that the sounds of impact merged into a sickening, rapid-fire popping, like bones snapping under immense pressure.
Each punch landed with a force that sent shockwaves through Yuga's body, rupturing old wounds and tearing open new ones. Blood sprayed from his mouth and from the gashes that adorned his broken frame, a crimson mist that hung in the air like rain.
Yuga gasped, choking on bile and blood. His vision swam in and out of focus, his body screaming in agony. His knees buckled beneath him as the Saint released him, letting him fall to the ground like a discarded toy. Yuga collapsed in a heap, retching and coughing, his breath coming in shallow, wheezing gasps.
His body was ruined, battered beyond repair, but still, something deep within him refused to give up. He sat there, slumped and broken, as if awaiting a final judgment. Then slowly slipping into unconsciousness.
Then Saint, his expression softening into something akin to pity, glanced down at Yuga. He caressed his bruised abdomen with a sigh, the weight of the battle settling in his tired bones.
"You truly are a believer now," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "May my lord bless your heavy heart." Without another word, he turned away from the boy, his footsteps heavy as he marched toward the exit.
The sky above was painted in the fiery hues of a setting sun, its embers fading into the darkness, soon to be swallowed by night.
For a moment, there was only silence, save for the crackle of wind against the shattered remains of the arena. But then, the announcer's voice cut through the quiet like a blade.
"It seems... THE WINNER IS SAINT! WE THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING AND PRAY THAT YOU ENJOYED THE SHOW!"
The crowd erupted into a cacophony of noise, a chaotic blend of cheers, gasps, and jeers. A group of men rushed into the arena, scrambling across the blood-stained sand to reach Yuga's fallen body. Their hands were swift but gentle as they began to lift him, intent on carrying him to safety, perhaps to seek aid for the grievous wounds that marred his young body.
But just as they prepared to leave the arena, something stopped them.
From the royal box, a hand emerged from the folds of a massive black cloak, raised in an elegant, commanding gesture. The air in the coliseum stilled, the roar of the crowd immediately silencing itself as if under a spell. All eyes turned to the source—a figure sitting high above the arena, cloaked in mystery and reverence.
The announcer's voice trembled as he spoke again, filled with awe and uncertainty.
"It seems one of the Six Hands wishes to speak! It is none other than the Second Hand, known as the Hand of Knowledge and the Outer Aeon! My lord, what is it you wish to say?!"
A tall, almost otherworldly figure rose from within the Emperor's box, their movement slow and deliberate, as though time itself bent to their will. The figure's presence was commanding, their mask adorned with intricate carvings dipped in gold, the deep violet lines that slashed across the wooden surface giving it an air of wisdom and power. Their robe, dark as ink itself, shimmered with celestial light, the golden accents sparkling like stars against a night sky. The weight of their gaze fell upon the arena, a force so palpable it sent a shiver through the crowd.
When the Second Hand spoke, their voice was a soft echo, reverberating through the bricks and mortar of the coliseum like a forgotten whisper from the depths of the earth.
"Leave that boy. Given his performance and suitable appearance, I will allow him to pass. He shall be granted a license to work for the Paladins Guild and will serve as a vassal under my banner. This concludes the 233rd Adventurer's Assessment. May the world grace you with eternal understanding"
As soon as the words left the Second Hand's lips, the spectators erupted into a deafening cheer, their voices raised in triumph and celebration. The countrywide event, held every year since the death of the last emperor of Ambrassia, had finally reached its end.
And with it, the battle between a Saint and a non-believer had closed, their fates intertwined, both forever changed by the trial they had endured.
As night fell, a rich velvet darkness enveloped the kingdom of Ambrassia, the sky studded with stars that twinkled like scattered diamonds against a vast black canvas. A gentle wind carried the distant sounds of laughter and music from the taverns, but in the quiet sanctuary of Tomoki's office, silence reigned.
Candlelight flickered softly, casting warm, dancing shadows across the polished wood of his massive desk. Scattered papers lay before him, each one a reminder of the guild's many obligations, but one in particular drew his attention. The words "Labyrinth of Collodi" stood out boldly, illuminated by the golden glow of the candle. Tomoki's brow furrowed as he finished calculating the final payments for herbs and excavation tools, a task that weighed heavily on his shoulders—a reminder of his station as guild master.
Leaning back in his chair, he let out a soft sigh, the faint scent of parchment and wax enveloping him like a familiar shroud. Just as he began to relax, the circular window above his head swung open with a soft creak. A cool breeze swept into the room, carrying the intoxicating scent of jasmine, and with it came a voice that curled around him like smoke.
"Well, well, well, my little leech? Did you enjoy the show, Guild Master? I'm sure our little traveler did. Where is he, by the way? In bed, I presume?"
Tomoki glanced up to see Salina perched effortlessly on the windowsill, her figure silhouetted against the night sky. She was draped in a lace dress that shimmered like the midnight heavens, each delicate thread woven with glimmers that caught the candlelight. Her presence was a mixture of beauty and enigma, unsettling yet captivating.
"You have a terrible habit of perching atop my window," he replied, his tone a blend of exasperation and amusement.
Reaching for a goblet from the corner of his desk, he uncorked a bottle of dark wine from the cabinet, pouring himself a generous glass. The rich liquid swirled, catching the light as he settled into his chair, which creaked softly beneath him.
"Why are you so worried about the kid anyway? He seems like a lot to deal with, and a large waste of resources," Tomoki continued, trying to sound dismissive even as curiosity tugged at him.
Salina scoffed, her laughter light and airy, filling the room with an infectious energy. She climbed gracefully into the office, her movements fluid and enchanting, as if the air itself parted for her. Leaning closer, she poked him playfully on the nose, her smile serpentine.
"What I do with my playthings doesn't concern you, silly~" she purred, her voice dripping with playful seduction. "He is everything I've been looking for, and I can't wait to see what story he will make for me. Besides, you know the Labyrinth of Collodi is no ordinary place. It holds secrets that could change the fate of our world."
"A story, you say?" Tomoki raised an eyebrow, skepticism lacing his tone. "Are you planning to turn him into some hero? Or maybe a pawn in your grand game?"
Salina shrugged, her expression delightfully nonchalant.
"A bit of both, perhaps? But you should know, Tomoki, the Labyrinth is more than a mere challenge. It's a trial that can awaken hidden strengths—or unleash unspeakable horrors. It's all so much more interesting when they don't realize their potential. It's like watching a flower bloom in the darkest of places."
"And what about the consequences?" he pressed, leaning forward in his chair. "You know how things can spiral out of control. I don't want to clean up after your mess again."
"Oh, Tomoki," she said, her voice lilting with seriousness, "When have I ever left a mess? Consider this an opportunity for you. A chance to expand the guild's influence through Yuga. The boy has potential, even if he doesn't know it yet. But the Labyrinth… it could either break him or forge him into something magnificent."
Tomoki sighed, rubbing his temples as he pondered her words. "It sounds more like a gamble to me. Such unnecessary risks often lead to disappointment in the end."
"And yet, here I am," she retorted, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Life is one grand gamble, dear Guild Master. You should learn to embrace it. Besides, you know deep down that you find this thrilling. If he survives the Labyrinth, he'll come out stronger—potentially stronger than any of us."
Tomoki regarded her, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Perhaps, but let's not forget the stakes, Salina. Not everyone emerges unscathed from the Labyrinth's depths. Over a hundred missing people and no bodies to account for? What ever is there it doesn't want to be found."
"Well, that's too damn bad, because I need it to be found. Either Yuga fails and becomes a minor inconvenience, or he becomes everything I could ask for—and more. That's the beauty of chance!" she exclaimed, her laughter chiming like bells in the quiet room.
"To rise from the ashes or to be consumed by the flames—that is the true nature of this world! You must admit, it makes for an exhilarating tale."
Tomoki leaned back in his chair, a reluctant smile creeping onto his lips. "You always manage to see the world through a rather twisted lens, don't you?"
"And you love it," she replied, winking.
"Now, how about a drink to toast to our little adventure with Yuga? We'll see where his story takes us. Who knows? He might just become the key to unlocking the Labyrinth's secrets."
He raised his goblet, a mix of resignation and amusement in his gaze. "To Yuga then, and to whatever chaos you're about to unleash upon him. And to the Labyrinth, may it not swallow him whole."
"Cheers!"she chuckled, clinking her imaginary glass against his, her eyes sparkling with mischief as the candlelight flickered around them, casting shadows that danced across the walls like fleeting dreams waiting to unfold. Tomoki hours later softly leaned against his windowsill.
"Damn siren…"