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Chapter 49: Demon and The Splitter - Part I
A blur of black. A gust of wind.
He landed hard on the arena floor, crouched in a crater of cracked stone. Slowly, he stood, cloak billowing behind him, gray eyes fixed like daggers on the colossus across from him.
The crowd was silent for one, perfect moment.
Then chaos.
The Arena Games had begun.
And death was watching.
———
The sun dipped behind the towering walls of the Coliseum, the blood streaked sand were painted molten amber.
Shadows stretched long across the Arena, a perfect stage set for slaughter.
From the noble stand reserved for House Elarin, Eli leaned forward with arms crossed, golden eyes locked on the center ring. Behind him, Velrosa’s expression remained unreadable, her silver hair catching the dying light like a veil of moonlight draped in sorrow.
The tension was like a tightening noose, threaded with anticipation and dread.
Down below, the announcer’s voice rang out like a clarion call, echoing across stone and blood.
"Next battle in the League of Champions—by order of the Games! The rising underdog, the Demon Blade, champion of House Elarin, challenger of fate: Ian!"
The crowd burst into a symphony of noise.
Boos, gasps, laughter, curses. It was a sound like crashing waves—chaotic, unruly, and hungry.
"And facing him...the undefeated butcher of twenty-seven arena kills, the mauler of limbs, the one who split three men in half with a single swing—Torkas the Splitter of House Lugard!"
Torkas stomped around like a beast from a war legend, dragging behind him a colossal axe that left furrows in the sand.
The blade was so broad it seemed forged to cleave fortresses, not men.
His armor? Almost nonexistent—his bare chest laced with scars, each a brutal story told in flesh. Blood-stained bracers wrapped his forearms, and a single metal pauldron gleamed with the sigil of House Lugard: a lion devouring a crown.
Ian stood still, calm, daggers already summoned in both hands.
Vowbreaker’s bone-carved edge glowed faintly in dusk light.
Torkas squinted and gave a toothy grin, cracked lips peeling back.
"You’re smaller than I thought. Hope your bones crack loud."
Ian said nothing.
Just breathed once—and stepped forward.
---
Up in the stands, murmurs spread like a sickness.
"Is that him? The one who used demon magic to summon that thing?"
"They say it swallowed Varn whole..."
"No way he wins again. Varn was just the gate. This is the League now."
"Torkas has killed nobles. Real fighters. Not pit rats."
A drunken noble from House Thellin leaned toward his companion. "How long you think he lasts?"
"Two minutes. Maybe three if he runs."
Another scoffed. "One hit. That’s all Torkas needs."
---
A horn blared.
And then—chaos.
Torkas surged forward like a living avalanche.
His axe came down in a thunderous arc meant to cleave Ian in two. Ian spun aside, the blade missing him by inches as it slammed into the ground, erupting sand and shards of stone.
Ian moved like he were a whisper on the wind—precise, cold. His daggers flashed, slicing across Torkas’ thigh.
Barely a graze.
The flesh didn’t yield.
It was like striking cured leather wrapped around iron.
Torkas roared and swung horizontally.
Ian ducked under the blow, narrowly avoiding decapitation. He darted in, aimed for the ribs—but Torkas caught the blade with his gauntlet and punched.
The blow landed square on Ian’s chest.
He flew backward, tumbling across the arena floor in a blur of dust and pain.
A noble somewhere laughed. "Heh. There it is. Back to the dirt where he came from."
But Velrosa remained still, her gaze unblinking, her hands folded in her lap like a queen awaiting judgment.
---
Ian rose, ribs throbbing.
He coughed blood into the sand.
Iron on his tongue. Fire in his chest.
Not unexpected.
Torkas wasn’t fast, but every blow was a siege engine. Ian couldn’t match him in strength—only in strategy, precision, and something else the crowd didn’t yet see.
Torkas gave him no reprieve. He came again, dragging his axe like it was weightless.
Ian tried to flank.
Torkas stepped into the dodge, faster than he looked, and swung.
CRACK.
The haft of the axe slammed into Ian’s shoulder. The world tilted. Pain screamed through his nerves.
His knees gave out.
Sand. Blood. Distant jeering.
---
"Is he even trying?"
"Thought the demon had teeth. All I see is a mutt getting beaten."
"No tricks this time. No shadow beast. Just muscle and steel now."
---
Torkas raised his axe overhead.
"I thought this would be a fight," he growled, voice like grinding stone.
Ian forced himself up, limbs trembling but healing. Blood trickled from his temple.
"Fine," he rasped.
He brought a dagger across his palm.
Blood welled in a dark crimson line.
Then—he ignited it.
The blood curled upward, catching flame—not orange, not gold. A twisting flame of scarlet and void.
Bloodflame.
The crowd fell silent for a breath.
Then erupted.
"Wait—what the hell is that?!"
"That’s Varn’s magic! That’s bloodflame!"
"Impossible! How can he possess it!"
"No. He... absorbed it. Gods help us—he’s using forbidden arts."
In the noble stands, a lord leaned forward. "That’s no trick. That’s real magic."
Eli smirked, his golden eyes glinting. "Not too fast... Ian."
---
Torkas blinked.
"Adorable fire. Let’s see if it stops this."
They collided again.
Ian ducked the swing, and with a blur of motion, slashed across Torkas’ ribs.
The bloodflame hissed.
Torkas staggered—only a step, but enough.
He looked down, brow furrowed. The wound didn’t close. It smoldered.
Ian pressed forward. He struck again, burning a line across Torkas’ arm.
The flame left a trail of dark, smoking flesh.
Torkas snarled and kicked, but Ian caught the motion and rolled, skidding to his feet, eyes burning with purpose.
"Good," Ian muttered, wiping blood from his mouth. "It hurts you."
---
Torkas growled, voice edged with frustration now. "You’ve got tricks. But tricks run out."
He raised the axe again and charged, fury replacing confidence.
Ian rose to meet him—daggers in hand, flames dancing along the bone-carved blades.
The shadows seemed to draw toward him.
The Arena was still unsure who would be it’s next sacrifice.
