The underground roared long after Boulder's corpse was removed. As the battles continued, endlessly.
Hans was grinning ear to ear. "Tomorrow night," he whispered urgently as he hurried alongside them, "the crowd wants you back tomorrow. They whole gore at the end, was magic. They're already chanting your name!"
Azrael leaned against the damp corridor wall, gauntlets still slick with blood. His breathing was rough, but his voice steady. "By tomorrow, I'll be ready." The black blood had changed him, his body healed faster than others.
Hans beamed. "Perfect." And returned to collect their winnings before they left.
Azrael thought briefly of the fight, how good it had felt to grind a man's life into silence, how much he loved the screams of the crowd while he did it. He grinned. He'd already mastered the gauntlets. But the chain… the chain was sloppy. He needed more practice.
They slipped back into the academy under cover of night. Morning light son cut across their dormitory when they finally woke. He was still tired from last night so he skipped classes. Surprisingly Hans had come and join him and Liyana, he liked the guy so he said nothing.
The three of them, Azrael, Liyana, and Hans trained together in the far courtyard. Liyana didn't use any weapons and focused on training her reflexes and martial arts, Hans used a stiletto dagger formed from shadows it's blade was needle-like, according to him it was designed for thrusting, Azrael on the other hand used a chain and gauntlet he'd gotten from the school weaponry. The weight was different which reduced the training effect but he made do.
From across the grounds, Malik watched. His brow furrowed. Recently, He and Azrael had not seen eye to eye and he didn't want to make things weird. So he left.
That night, they crept out again, cloaks drawn tight. The ring's manager welcomed them with a grin of gold teeth. " Hans my boy, Crimson, and you little lady come, come, the crowd has been waiting." He tossed them a key. " that's your waiting room. You'll be called up soon."
The room was little more than a stone box, stale straw, cracked walls, the smell of damp and sweat.
Hans didn't mind. He leaned in close. "Your opponent Tonight goes by Stain. Ten matches. Eight kills. Two he survived. You know what that means."
Azrael tilted his head. "Harder prey."
"Mad prey," Hans corrected, lowering his voice. "He's eccentric. Sadistic. The crowd loves him because he toys with people. He carries a walking stick."
When Azrael's name was called, he stood up. The crimson oni mask, gleamed with a quiet menace. He wore plain black wool overalls, sleeves rolled past the forearms, and black boots that struck the floor. His hair, tied into two thick cornrows, jutted back from his head, lending the mask the illusion of twisted horns.
The crowd bellowed. Opposite him stood Stain. The man was tall and thin, with a goatee, he looked like wind could blow him away, his green suit straining over his limbs. A hat with a feather tipped low over his brow. In his hand, a simple walking stick. His smile stretched too wide.
" You're the one that killed that fool Boulder?" Stain cackled, twirling his stick. " I'd have to thank you, that brute was far too loud for my liking. I would have killed him myself but he wasn't worth the effort"
Azrael smiled behind the mask,"Don't bother I'll send you to go meet him. Then you can kill him again."
Kraken cackled, "Ballsy."
The announcer's voice rang: "Crimson versus Stain!"
The moment the match began, Azrael moved first, chain unfurling from thin air in a black coil, the fang at the end glinting under the dim light. Stain slammed his cane to the ground. From it, shadowy tendrils snapped out like eels, slick and writhing. Each lash of his conjured spectral limbs, grasping, choking, tripping.
Azrael dodged narrowly, the chain snapping back around his wrist. His gauntlet caught one of the black ink tendrils and ripped it apart, the splash coated his arm and chest. He didn't care. He advanced with brutal efficiency gauntlet for close crushes, chain lashing out to rip the cane wide.
But Stain was fast. He laughed as he danced back, the stick spinning. The tendrils lashed out, but it was clear they lacked the intent to kill and seemed to be focused on delaying, and frustrating, to make Azrael bleed small cuts and waste strength.
Tricky bastard, Azrael thought, whipping the chain across the arena. The fang pierced Kraken's sleeve. With a savage pull, he dragged him off balance, only for the man to slither free, cackling. His apparent lack of care annoyed Azrael. It was like he was taunting him. He clenched his jaw. I can't keep both weapons active for long. I need to end it fast.
Stain struck first. He darted in, cane aiming low toward Azrael's knees, fist aiming high for his skull. Azrael blocked the first with his gauntlet, sparks skidding across the stone, but the second came faster he tilted his body backwards, spine bending until the fist barely skimmed his mask.
In the same motion he kicked off the ground, somersaulting through the air. His legs whipped around in a full arc, as his heel smashed into Kraken's jaw, snapping the man's head to the side and sending him staggering back.
The crowd roared, at the display. "Oh, you've got skills, boy. Let's see how long before the venom rots you hollow!"
Azrael's steps faltered. His chest burned. His breath hitched. The places that the ink had touched became heavier. Hotter. He blinked. His muscles dragged against his will, every movement sluggish.
Poison.
His eyes narrowed behind the oni mask. So that's your game.
High in the stands, two cloaked figures whispered to one another.
"Do you think Stain will win? I heard his opponent is a Duke's student."
If Azrael heard this he would've been shocked, no ordinary person could know this and he wore a mask that hid his face.
"Duke, Marquis, Viscount. Soon they'll all fall by our hands. Killing that kid will motivate the Head to attack, I'm tired of waiting."
The voices faded into the roar of the crowd as Az staggered forward. He lashed the chain again, aiming for Kraken, but his arm locked up mid-swing. The chain fell to the ground. He stumbled to his knees. His body had betrayed him.
Stain's laughter filled the underground arena as the black tendrils of ink hoisted Azrael high into the air. Azrael's body was dripping with streaks of that same ink, his gauntlets and chain coated in it. He'd been fast, brutal even, but the poison was beginning to take hold. Heat swelled through his chest, his limbs felt heavier by the second, and when he tried to force his chain to strike again, his arm locked up in agony.
The crowd screamed, some jeering, some cheering. Kraken spun, displaying Azrael's paralyzed body for all to see.
From the edge of the ring, Liyana shot forward but Hans caught her by the wrist, yanking her back hard. "Don't," he hissed. His fingers pointed to the guards stationed near the ring, blades already drawn. "You step in, before the match is over, they'll cut you down before you reach him."
Her eyes burned, teeth clenched. "He'll die!"
Hans held firm. "Trust him. If you don't… then he's already lost."
In the ring, Azrael dangled, his mask tilted toward the crowd. His vision swam, his breath ragged, body heavy as stone. His hand twitched as it did the chain on the ground seemed to rattle.
Stain leaned close, grinning. "You're finished, Crimson. Just another carcass to feed the ring."
Then, with a flourish, Stain tossed his hat aside and drew a slim knife. He raised the knife, brushing the flat edge across Azrael's cheek, making the boy flinch. "I think I'll keep your ear as a souvenir."
Azrael's breath came in harsh rasps, his vision tunneling. He seemed frozen, helpless. Kraken leaned close, savoring the fear.
Then Azrael smiled.
Kraken froze, confused. A sudden metallic clink rang out. He glanced down, too late. The chain that had fallen from Azrael's grasp now slithered across the ground like a living serpent, wrapping tightly around his ankle. With a violent snap, it yanked him off his feet, dragging him hard against the arena floor.
The crowd roared in shock.
Before Stain could scramble free, the chain coiled tighter, winding up his legs, tieing his arms together and finally curling around his throat. He choked, eyes bulging as he thrashed,all over the ring, tendrils of ink lashing wildly but the chain persisted. Azrael dropped from their grasp, crashing to the ground, his body still stiff from the poison. Yet his fingers barely twitching against the dirt guided the chain with ruthless precision.
Stain gasped, struggling for air. "H-how? How are you doing this? How many Arcanum do you have?!"
Azrael's voice was calm, and steady. His lips twisted behind the mask. "One, My gauntlet just lets me use a weak form of gravitational force." His eyes gleamed red behind the mask. "And now, I'll be sending you on your way."
The chain shifted, twisting higher like a serpent preparing to strike. The fang at its end rose above Stain's throat, then plunged downward, piercing the space between his eyebrows. The sound of tearing flesh was drowned by the explosion of cheers. His body convulsed, blood spilling from his seven orfices, mixed with the ink spraying across the ring.
Azrael lay on the ground, partially paralyzed, his chest heaving. His chain vanished, disintegrating into thin air along with the gaunlet.
The crowd went berserk. "CRIMSON! CRIMSON! CRIMSON!"
Liyana and Hans rushed forward, pulling Azrael's limp body from the arena floor. They carried him into the dim waiting room, sweat and worry heavy on their faces.
Hans muttered as he set down the gauntlets and chain, "He won again… but he won't survive many more like this."
Liyana brushed ink from Azrael's cheek, her jaw tight, her eyes fierce. "He will."