Xhan appeared before Jackal.
He didn't descend. He didn't announce himself. He was just suddenly there, between the broken corpse and the crowd above. His mask didn't shift. Only his presence changed the weight of the air.
"That's enough," he said.
His voice wasn't loud, but it had power behind it. It cut through the tension.
"You've won. It's time for the second duel."
Pressure followed. Heavy, old, precise. Not a roar, but the still weight of something that had never lost.
Jackal blinked slowly. He didn't flinch, didn't answer. Just turned, boots grinding against blood-slick stone as he stepped down from the corpse. The fear clung to him like smoke. But he was calm now.
He began to walk away.
And then, it happened.
His mark flared.
Not with heat or pain, but light. Blinding. Purging. The white crest on his body ignited like a wound being rewritten.
A bird of light rose from it. Wings outstretched. Gentle. Radiant. Silent.
Then a second. Darker. Not shadow, but dusk, its wings dripping with the last color of day, trailing a faint echo as it followed.
Both birds hovered for a moment, hanging in the air in perfect stillness.
Then they dove.
Straight into Jackal's chest.
Not into his skin. Into him. Through him. They vanished past the bone, past his flesh, into something deeper.
The mark didn't return.
Jackal stood still for a moment, as if trying to make sense of what had just happened.
The crowd wasn't surprised. Neither was Xhan.
That must've been the reward. I hadn't expected one. But it made the win feel more worthwhile.
He started walking toward me. Slow, unsteady.
His body was a ruin. One leg dragged behind him, his shoulder hung low, and his chest still bore a hole punched clean through it. Mana leaked slow and steady from the wound, curling off his ribs like steam off fresh blood. His jaw hung cracked and half-split from earlier.
But he walked anyway.
He dissipated his soulbind, the blade vanishing into his System with a whisper of light.
He passed by, almost.
Then stopped and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Your turn, Darian," he said.
Using my name, not common of him. But he was right. I was next.
I didn't turn to him. Just watched the arena.
Khon wasn't someone I could afford to underestimate.
Jackal stood behind me now, silent. I waited. Unsure if there'd be a signal, or if I was just supposed to step forward.
The arena was still ruined. Cratered. Bloodstained.
Then the light came.
The circle reignited beneath my feet, glowing through cracks in the stone. A pulse, then another. The whole arena began to rebuild. Stone shifted. Roots retreated. Ash peeled away like paper.
It looked like someone was sculpting it by hand. But there was no hand.
Just light.
And in seconds, it was whole again. Like the screams and blood had never touched it.
Behind me, Jackal made a low noise.
"Neat trick," he muttered.
Then a guard approached me. Yuxian, masked, robe dark with ritual markings. He stopped a bit too far back.
"Your opponent will be arriving shortly," he said. "He will enter first."
His voice was steady. But something was off. Too steady.
I glanced at him. Shoulders tense. Feet ready to shift. Even his breath was shallow behind the mask.
Of course. Jackal had just butchered one of theirs.
The crowd hadn't settled. Their eyes flicked toward Jackal, then back toward the far gate. Like they didn't know whether to feel afraid or vindicated.
But I could see it in their faces. It wasn't pride that made them silent. It was hope. Desperate, quiet hope that Khon would fix what had just been shattered. That he'd bring order back to a ritual no one thought could be lost.
It wasn't about strength. It was about what he did. He fought in their arena.
And won.
Something no outsider had ever done.
Then came the sound. At first, I thought it was drums. But it wasn't.
I turned, and saw them.
House Feline. Dozens of masked warriors, bare-chested, crouched like coiled predators. They were striking their chests. Fists against flesh. Over and over.
Rhythmic. Deep. Building.
The same ritual thump we'd seen at the showcase, but louder now. Fiercer. As if it meant something else this time.
It echoed through the arena. Not a chant. A warning.
He was coming.
Khon.
He emerged from the far gate.
His hair was tied behind him.
And his face was unmasked, eyes locked on mine.
But there was something strange.
Behind his left eye, a piece of bone curled along his cheek and into his temple. Faint carvings ran through it. It wasn't a full mask, not yet, but it was forming.
Had he already started masking?
I thought that process took years. That's how the Yuxians explained it.
And then:
The sound stopped.
Khon stepped into the arena.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy. Like the space around him refused to breathe until he did. He walked with purpose, chest bare, hair tied back, each step quiet but absolute.
And then he spoke. His voice was firm, steady. Still not fully matured, but strong enough to hold the silence. By presence alone, it was easy to forget that he was the younger brother.
"My people. Do not dwell on the duel before. Do not be shaken by the words these humans used to disgrace us. Tolok's sacrifice will not be in vain. I will dominate. I will win against this human, against someone inferior to us."
The crowd began cheering. Louder than ever before. He seemed like a hero, almost.
Then he pointed at me, "This... limited human, by his body, by his mind, by everything they lack that the Deities have bestowed upon us, will be killed by me. I will rip his spine out. He will die by my hands in this duel, I promise you."
He paused, letting the silence stretch. Then added, "I swear it on the name of my House."
The cheering faded into breathless expectation.
But he doesn't know.
No clue who stands in front of him.
I'm the one who beat the Trial.
Who conquered the Seraph.
Who will shatter the hope he clings to, and break it in front of all of them.