Chapter 3
The figure seated there was tall and draped in sleek, dark garb, laced with silver bands and purple runes that flickered across the fabric like venomous whispers. His skin was midnight-black, smooth yet eerie, and from around his neck coiled two colossal serpents—one scaled in obsidian, the other in venomous green. They hissed silently, fangs glistening, each breath radiating death.
His eyes—slitted and glowing a dull jade—swept across the crowd, and Jared felt his breath catch in his throat. Those eyes... they didn't just see. They sought. And Jared felt like prey.
> "I-I... present to you," the announcer stammered, regaining composure quickly,
"Lord Hiva, the God of Venom!
The Serpent King, He Who Corrupts with a Whisper.
He does not strike with rage, but with certainty.
His poisons have silenced gods and decayed realms—no cure, no antidote.
Those who survive his venom are never the same... if they survive at all."
Lord Hiva remained still, the serpents shifting only slightly as the crowd recoiled, murmurs of fear and awe rippling below.
But then came a shift again—gentle, calming. Like a breeze after a storm.
The announcer floated toward the sixth throne, and Jared instinctively exhaled, his mind momentarily eased.
The goddess who sat there looked human—almost too human—but with an ethereal quality that made her presence feel... sacred. Her long black hair flowed like a river of silk, cascading over her graceful shoulders. Her expression was calm, serene, with soft eyes that held no judgment—only understanding.
Unlike the others, she did not seek attention. Her aura invited peace. Her smile made even the most battle-hardened warriors lower their weapons.
The announcer's voice brightened, laced with rare enthusiasm and joy:
> "With all reverence, I present to you Goddess Seril, the Deity of Peace and Love.
She, who calms the storms of gods.
She, whose embrace can soothe fury and restore hearts shattered by war.
Called the 'Mother of Harmony' by mortals, and the 'Silent Light' by gods.
Where she walks, flowers bloom. Where she speaks, conflict fades.
But be warned—her love is not weakness. To harm the innocent in her gaze... is to welcome divine retribution."
Jared felt an ache in his chest, like he wanted to speak to her—or just listen to her voice. She radiated something so rare in this terrifying world... peace.
But the warmth was fleeting.
The announcer's buoyant tone fell once again as he moved—somewhat reluctantly—toward the second-to-last figure.
This one... was different.
Very different.
There were no grand robes or gleaming armor. No glowing eyes or divine radiance. The figure sat motionless in a simple ash-colored robe, the fabric dull and lifeless. Short black hair topped the head, and a dark, expressionless mask covered the face—so dark, in fact, that it seemed to drink in the light around it, like a hole in reality.
He did not move. He did not speak. He barely even existed.
> "And here..." the announcer began, hesitating, "...stands the enigmatic God of Dust."
He paused. Awkward silence followed.
> "He... has no known name. No kingdom. No followers. Not even a confirmed origin.
Yet his place among the Sovereigns is unquestioned.
None dare challenge his seat, for reasons we do not fully understand.
He is dust... and yet, something more."
The crowd remained dead silent.
Jared stared harder. But the more he looked, the more uncertain he became.
There was nothing to see. No divinity. No malice. No warmth. Just... a blank presence.
The announcer, unsure of what else to say, moved on.
And that was when Jared felt it.
A pressure. A pulling sensation.
It was the final figure. One who seemed to be both noticed and unnoticed at the same time.
Standing atop the central booth—elevated above the other six like a sun among stars—was a figure so radiant, so engulfed in purity, that most couldn't look directly at him.
Light bled from his form in shimmering waves, a brilliance so intense it blanketed the entire colossal arena like a second sky. It wasn't harsh, nor blinding—it was majestic, perfect, and omnipresent. His silhouette was barely visible within that divine glow, and yet, every soul in the colosseum felt him. His presence alone soothed the hearts of millions and made even gods tread lightly.
It was easy to mistake him for light itself.
But that would be a grave mistake.
This was no mere luminescence—this was power, sentience, divinity. This was the strongest among Sovereigns.
The announcer, now floating high above the stage, dared not fly too close. His eyes squinted, body trembling ever so slightly as he raised one hand in reverence and spoke in a hushed, awed tone that was still carried across the entire arena.
> "There, at the pinnacle of radiance, behold the one whose brilliance humbles the stars—
Lord Lucis, the Supreme God of Light!
His luminance spreads across the infinite cosmos, seeping into the very essence of life.
It is his light that nurtures planets, banishes voids, and gives warmth to forgotten souls.
He is the First Flame, the Guiding Dawn, and the Illumination that shields all from eternal darkness.
Through him, order exists. Without him... even gods would lose their way."
And for a moment—just a moment—the arena felt still, reverent, quiet in awe.
Then the roar came.
A thunderous explosion of cheers erupted from the billions in the stands. Clapping, shouting, and chanting echoed like a cosmic drumbeat of worship. The people bowed, waved banners, and lit radiant glyphs into the air in honor of the Sovereign of Light.
One by one, the Sovereigns took their seats.
The announcer continued speaking, now filled with exaggerated grandeur, clearly trying to earn favor from these celestial entities.
> "These Sovereigns! Pillars of our world! Guardians of balance, beauty, and might! May we bask in their presence and forever remain loyal to—"
"Enough of your ramblings," came a voice—deep, sharp, and laced with fiery annoyance.
It was Kraven, the Red God, his eyes half-lidded with boredom, but glowing with mild irritation.
The announcer flinched mid-sentence and immediately shut his mouth, nodding rapidly like a terrified bird.
"Get the show started already," Kraven said again, resting his cheek on one hand, looking as though he were doing the world a favor just by being here.
"Y-Yes! Of course! R-right away!" the announcer stammered, shooting into motion with frantic energy as he floated back to the center stage.
Raising both hands toward the giant gate on the far end of the colosseum, his voice boomed:
> "Let us begin!
Witness now the first warrior of today's match—a champion of ancient bloodline and brutal strength!
From the battlefield of shattered worlds, I present to you...
Torac of the Titanic Gnor!"
The entire colosseum shook with tremors.
A low, guttural rumble echoed beneath the stone flooring, and then—
BOOM!
The massive entry gate burst open with a deafening crack. Dust and debris flew as heavy footsteps thundered across the ground, each step like a war drum announcing death.
Emerging from the smoke was a beast of war.
Torac stood five times the height of a man, his body layered in jagged obsidian-black scales, each plate harder than steel and marked with ancient battle scars. Muscles rippled beneath the scaled armor, and in his monstrous hands he gripped a greatblade nearly as long as a carriage—serrated, cruel, and pulsing with raw kinetic force.
Twin tusks curved upward from his jaw, and his yellow eyes gleamed with primal fury.
He did not roar. He didn't need to.
His presence alone screamed of annihilation.
The crowd went feral. Cheers, gasps, and wild chants filled the air. The Titanic Gnor, a race bred for war, were famed for their raw might and brutal honor. To see one fight here was a promise of chaos, of carnage, of a battle that legends would whisper for years to come.
Above, Kraven leaned forward in his booth. His expression shifted—not fully interested, but... close.
> "Make this fun, rats," he muttered with a wicked grin, his eyes narrowing like a predator watching prey step into a killing field.
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To be continued...