Feiyu's footsteps echo against the cold stone as he approaches his chamber, every step heavy with frustration. His fists tighten, nails digging into his palms as his anger surges. Just before reaching his gate, he stops abruptly, his breath hitching as he glares across the arena.
Connor, battered and bruised, trudges toward his own chamber. Despite his exhaustion, he carries himself with the quiet confidence of someone who's weathered storms before. Feiyu's teeth grit together, his rage boiling over as he turns his head sharply toward Connor.
But something holds him back.
His clenched fist trembles before he forces his fingers to unfurl. The fiery intensity in his eyes softens, and with a sharp exhale, he releases the tension, steam curling from his lips. Feiyu sighs, lowering his gaze as he steps into his chamber. The heavy gate creaks shut behind him, sealing him in solitude.
Across the arena, Raiden, Kaito, and Zohar exchange uneasy glances from their respective chambers, having witnessed the brief but charged moment between the two combatants.
"Did you see that?" Zohar murmurs, his hands gripping the bars tightly. "That kid's got a storm raging in him."
Raiden nods, leaning casually against the gate, though his tone betrays his unease. "Yeah, he's got more fire than sense. That kind of anger... it's dangerous."
Kaito, always the quieter observer, watches Feiyu disappear into his chamber and then glances at Connor. "Dangerous, sure," he says quietly. "But maybe it's the kind of fire we're going to need."
Inside his chamber, Feiyu sits on the edge of the stone bench, his head buried in his hands. The weight of the fight and his own inadequacy presses heavily on his shoulders. The voice of Sun Wukong echoes in his mind.
"Strength isn't just about power, Feiyu. It's about control. You have the heart of a warrior, but if you let your emotions rule you, you'll destroy yourself before the enemy ever gets the chance."
Feiyu grits his teeth, slamming his fist against the wall. "Control," he mutters bitterly. "Easy for you to say."
Meanwhile, Connor sits in his own chamber, leaning back against the cold wall. Blood seeps through the torn seams of his armor, but he doesn't seem to notice. His thoughts are elsewhere—on the boy, on the fight, and on the words Morrigan whispered to him during the battle.
"This is just the beginning, my dear. The battlefield is not the only place where battles are fought."
Connor smirks faintly, closing his eyes as exhaustion takes over. "Never a dull moment, eh?" he mutters to himself.
Back in the stands, the All Mighty watches the arena with a thoughtful expression, his ever-present grin slightly subdued. Beside him, a shadowy figure leans in closer.
"The seeds of rebellion are beginning to take root," the figure whispers.
The All Mighty chuckles softly, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Good. Let them grow. After all, what is chaos without a spark to light the flame?"
The shadowy figure leans closer, their voice barely above a whisper. "The boy and his sister have arrived in the heavens, currently being treated in the infirmary. However, the infection is beyond the point of healing... but you already knew that, didn't you?"
The All Mighty's grin fades, and a heavy silence falls over the coliseum. Slowly, he turns his head toward the shadowy figure, his piercing gaze cutting through the dim light. His tone, now cold and commanding, echoes with authority.
"Send a message to the Valkyries," he orders. "Take the boy to the chambers beneath my throne room. Lock him up. I've already set my plans for him in motion."
The figure hesitates, their form wavering like smoke in the breeze. "And the sister?"
The All Mighty's expression darkens further, his voice low but menacing. "Tell her..." He pauses, a sinister glint in his eye as he relishes the weight of the words. "Tell her that her brother's body could not withstand the hell poison Lucifer injected into him. Tell her... he has passed away."
The shadow figure bows deeply, fading back into the darkness like a fleeting specter, leaving the All Mighty alone in his grim contemplation.
From his elevated seat overlooking the coliseum, the All Mighty glances downward, his expression unreadable. He murmurs to himself, his words barely audible over the crowd's cheers.
"Every piece must fall into place, no matter the cost. Even the pawns have their purpose."
The infirmary was dimly lit, the warm glow of enchanted lanterns casting soft shadows over rows of beds. Kirashi and Shigenori lay side by side, their faces pale and bodies still. The rhythmic hum of arcane machines monitoring their vitals was the only sound, save for the faint murmurs of Valkyries tending to the wounded.
Two Valkyries entered the room, their gleaming armor catching the faint light. They spoke in hushed tones with those already at work, their voices too low to hear. Kirashi, half-conscious, stirred weakly in her bed. Her eyelids fluttered, and her vision was a blur, shapes shifting like shadows through water.
She squinted, focusing on the movement. The Valkyries glanced her way, their piercing gazes cold and unreadable. Her heart, sluggish from the treatments and exhaustion, quickened as they turned their attention to Shigenori.
Through her hazy sight, Kirashi saw them approach her brother's bed. One of the Valkyries withdrew a vial and injected its contents into Shigenori's IV. Another draped a pristine white sheet over his still form, obscuring his face.
"No... no, please... no," Kirashi whispered, her voice faint and broken. Tears pooled in her blazing purple eyes, blurring her vision further.
The Valkyries moved in silence, their faces emotionless as they wheeled Shigenori's covered body away. Kirashi's trembling hand reached out weakly, but her body betrayed her, too frail to move.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as her voice failed her. "Please... don't..." Her words came as a fragile, choked whisper before her strength gave out, and she drifted back into unconsciousness.
The infirmary grew silent again, save for the soft hum of the machines, as the Valkyries disappeared with Shigenori into the shadows beyond the doors.
The faint glow of the infirmary lights fades into the cold darkness of the coliseum, now eerily silent under the night sky. The sounds of earlier battles were replaced by the hum of distant torches and the occasional shuffle of restless feet.
Inside the chambers beneath the coliseum, Raiden, Kaito, and Zohar sat in their separate cells. Though divided by thick stone walls, their voices carried through the cracks, allowing them to talk.
Raiden, lying on his back with sparks of electricity flickering between his fingers, broke the silence. "I keep thinking about Shigenori and Kirashi... We haven't heard a thing since they were taken." His tone wavered slightly, betraying the concern hidden behind his usual confident demeanor.
"Yeah," Kaito replied, his voice heavier than usual. "They were in bad shape when Lucifer got to them... You don't think—"
"Don't even say it," Zohar interrupted sharply. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His tone softened, though his frustration was evident. "They're alive. They have to be. Shigenori is too stubborn to let hell poison take him out, and Kirashi... she's tough as nails."
Raiden sat up, his split-colored hair catching the flickering light of his electricity as he fidgeted with his powers. "What if they're not? What if..." he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
"Stop," Zohar cut in again, firmer this time. "What's the point of tearing ourselves up with 'what ifs'? We don't know anything right now. All we can do is wait and be ready. When the time comes, we'll find out the truth ourselves."
Kaito let out a long breath, leaning his head back against the stone wall. "I hate this. Sitting here, waiting for some horn to tell us to fight like dogs. It feels like a sick game."
"Everything about this is a game to them," Raiden muttered bitterly, sparks flaring brighter as his frustration grew. "The gods, the all mighty, this whole coliseum. They think we're just their pawns."
"Pawns or not, we're still in this," Zohar replied. "We're chosen for a reason. If we start doubting ourselves now, we've already lost."
Kaito nodded slowly. "Zohar's right. Shigenori and Kirashi wouldn't want us sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves. They'd want us to keep fighting."
Raiden clenched his fist, snuffing out the electricity in his hand. "Then we fight. For them, for us, for everyone."
The three boys fell silent after that, their unspoken resolve filling the air. Though they couldn't see each other, the connection between them felt stronger than ever. Outside their chambers, the distant sound of footsteps echoed, signaling that the next round of battles was fast approaching.
Connor's Chamber
The dim torchlight flickered against the cold stone walls, casting long shadows across Connor's bruised and battered form. He sat on a wooden bench, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his chest rising and falling heavily. Blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow, mixing with sweat and dirt streaked across his face.
His armor lay scattered across the chamber floor, battered from his brutal clash with Feiyu. Connor's bare chest bore fresh bruises, and his knuckles were raw and swollen. Yet, despite the pain, his expression remained hard, determined.
He clenched his fists tightly, feeling the dull ache in his arms and the sharp sting from the cuts on his hands. "You can't look weak," he muttered to himself, his Irish accent rougher than usual. "Not now. Not here."
Connor winced as he sat up straighter, pressing a cloth to the cut above his eye. The room was silent except for the sound of his ragged breathing and the faint drip of water from somewhere in the chamber. He closed his eyes, trying to drown out the noise of the arena above, trying to steady his mind.
Morrigan's voice whispered in his thoughts.
"You fought well, my chosen, but the war has barely begun. You must endure. You must rise again."
"I know," he whispered back, though no one else was there to hear him. "But I can't keep taking hits like that, Morrigan. I'm not invincible."
The crow-like goddess didn't reply this time, but Connor felt her presence linger, a cold comfort in the otherwise oppressive room.
His gaze fell to his claws, still faintly stained with blood from his last fight. He flexed his fingers, watching as the sharp tips retracted back into his gauntlets. "They're watching," he murmured, glancing toward the stone ceiling as if he could see the gods above. "All of them are watching. You've got to keep going, Connor. Show them what you're made of."
With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet, every muscle in his body protesting the movement. He reached for his battered armor, piece by piece fastening it back onto his body. The Celtic runes shimmered faintly, a reminder of the power bestowed upon him. As the bear helmet rested in his hands, he hesitated for a moment, staring into the hollow eye sockets.
"Ma," he said softly, his voice barely audible. "You'd be proud, wouldn't ya?"
Connor shook his head and slid the helmet back into place, the metal fitting snugly over his face. He rolled his shoulders, standing tall despite the pain. No one could see him falter. Not the gods, not his fellow chosen, and certainly not his opponents.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself as the distant sound of the arena horn echoed through the chamber. The next round was coming. And so was he.
The horn blares, signaling the next match. Connor, still battered and bruised, watches the bars of his chamber rise. He steps out into the dimly lit coliseum, his armor adjusting to his form as his gauntlets lock into place. His eyes scan the gates as another chamber creaks open.
From the shadows steps a young man, his braided hair reflecting faint flashes of electricity. The crowd erupts as his name is announced.
"This next chosen is backed by Thor and Odin, the gods of thunder and wisdom! Zohar!"
Connor narrows his eyes, sizing him up. "Thunder and wisdom, huh? Let's see what you're made of."
Zohar steps into the arena, his calm demeanor a sharp contrast to the energy flickering off his body. Though unfamiliar with Connor, his focus remains unbroken, his voice steady as he mutters to himself, "One step at a time. This is just another trial."
The two warriors stand across the sandy battlefield, the crowd roaring in anticipation. Then the all mighty raises his hand.
"Begin!"