The night sky over the fairy lands was alive with shimmering starlight, as if the heavens themselves wanted to witness the next stage of Zygar's journey. He and his companions had just saved a nobleman from certain death, only to discover that this noble, Lord Elyan, was not who he first appeared to be. After the feast and celebration, as the group sat quietly in the manor's grand hall, Lord Elyan finally revealed his truth.
"You are… a human," Elyan whispered, his eyes fixed on Zygar.
Zygar removed the faint magical glamour that veiled his presence and answered firmly. "Yes. I am human."
Elyan's breath caught in his throat. "Then fate is cruel indeed. For I too am of human lineage, though not in the way you think. My bloodline is ancient, descended from the earliest humans. Yet, I am not fully human. My family was created long ago by one of your kind, but now we are bound here, living as shadows among demons and fae. No one knows the truth… not even my own people."
Zygar narrowed his eyes. "You don't look like a human. Not even close."
Lord Elyan stood, bowing deeply in a gesture that felt both desperate and sincere. "I beg you… take me with you. I will serve you, obey you, even if you demand me to be your slave. All I ask is that you allow me to walk at your side."
"Why?" Zygar asked sharply.
Elyan's expression hardened. "Because the woman I loved was slain. Slain by Prince Azaroth, son of Queen Lilith. Since then, I've been forced to live as this family's heir, bound by duty, powerless to seek vengeance. I want revenge, Zygar. I want justice."
The room went still. Selia frowned, but said nothing. She could feel Elyan's rage, heavy like a storm.
Zygar's voice was cold. "Then why didn't you act before?"
"Because," Elyan whispered, "one of the Five Great Demons resides in Azaroth's palace. He is my personal 'guardian,' though in truth he is my jailer. Without strength, I would only die before I ever reached Azaroth."
Zygar studied him for a long moment. Finally, he said, "Fine. But listen carefully. If you betray me, I will sever your head without hesitation."
Elyan lowered his gaze and nodded. "I swear. I will be useful. You'll see."
---
The Road to the Hero's Country
The next morning, Zygar and his companions set out. But fate is never merciful. Elyan's guardian—one of the Five Great Demons—had sensed the betrayal and began weaving his own cruel game.
Their journey led them into a small yet infamous territory within the fairy lands: The Country of Heroes. Unlike other provinces, this land lived in constant bloodshed. For centuries, it was declared separate by the Fairy King himself, for every hundred years, a single champion would rise. This champion would be chosen through a brutal contest of a thousand warriors—where only one would emerge alive.
The air reeked of sweat and steel as they approached. All around, warriors of every race trained, sharpened weapons, or boasted of their glory. The streets were loud with clashing blades, laughter, and the promises of eternal fame.
Elyan lowered his hood and whispered, "Do not speak your true names here. If anyone learns, you'll be dragged into the tournament. And once you enter, there's no leaving alive unless you win."
But before they could slip through unnoticed, betrayal struck. A group of mercenaries, bribed by Elyan's unseen guardian, ambushed them. One by one, Zygar's companions fell unconscious, drugged by enchanted darts.
When Zygar awoke, he found himself chained. His wrists and ankles were bound with enchanted iron, glowing faintly with suppressing sigils. His companions were beside him, equally shackled. Before them, on a golden throne, sat a figure cloaked in shadow and arrogance—King Aldebran, ruler of the Hero's Country.
"You trespassers," the king said coldly. His voice was sharp, echoing across the chamber. "You entered my land without permission. That is punishable by death."
Zygar clenched his fists. "What must we do to avoid execution?"
The king smirked. "Simple. Enter the tournament. One of you must fight among the thousand. If your champion falls, all of you will die. If he wins… you may leave."
The group exchanged grim glances. It was no real choice at all. At last, they turned to Zygar. His power, his strange bond with the pen, his resilience—it had to be him.
The king ordered the chains unlocked, but not without a cruel precaution. Around Zygar's neck—and the necks of his companions—he placed enchanted crystal collars. "Run, and the crystals will detonate. Betray the rules, and your heads will fly."
---
The Tournament of a Thousand
The arena roared like thunder as Zygar was led inside. A massive coliseum stretched into the heavens, filled with thousands of spectators who craved nothing but blood. Warriors from every corner of the continent stood ready: armored giants, sorcerers with glowing eyes, beastmen snarling with hunger.
When the horn sounded, chaos erupted. Steel clashed, magic burned the air, and screams echoed as blood painted the sand crimson.
Zygar closed his eyes for a heartbeat. Then he whispered to his pen.
"Let's do this."
With a flick of his wrist, shadows bled into the air. He summoned one hundred spectral knights—the Moonlight Legion—each clad in gleaming armor of silver fire. His form shifted as he merged with the spirits of the Dragon Lord and the Knight Lord. His body grew stronger, his aura heavier, his eyes burning like molten steel.
The crowd gasped as Zygar's army charged. With a single strike of his blade, he cut down scores of enemies. Yet, among the thousand, there were champions not so easily felled.
From the far side of the arena strode a warrior clad in golden armor, carrying a blade forged from the bones of a dragon. His presence silenced the chaos, his very footsteps shaking the ground. His name was whispered with dread: Darius the Dragon-Slayer, a half-demon warlord who had claimed hundreds of victories across battlefields.
"You," Darius said, pointing his massive sword at Zygar. "You're my opponent."
When their blades clashed, the air itself screamed. Sparks like lightning burst across the sky. Darius's strikes were monstrous, each one powerful enough to crush stone walls. Zygar fought back fiercely, but soon blood dripped from his wounds.
"You're weak," Darius sneered. "This ends here."
But Zygar refused to yield. He whispered to the pen, his breaths ragged. "What do I do? He's too strong."
The pen's voice echoed inside his mind. "Fuse with me. Not as master and tool… but as one."
Zygar's eyes widened. "You never told me that was possible."
"It is the only way. Now do it—cut your hand and let me in."
With no time left, Zygar slashed his palm. The pen dissolved into shadow and poured into his veins. His body shuddered as darkness enveloped him. Black flames erupted from his form, his skin etched with glowing runes. In his hand appeared a weapon unlike any other: a Scythe of Death, cold and hungry.
The crowd roared as Zygar's aura transformed into something terrifying.
Darius grinned, raising his dragonbone blade. "Good. Now you're worthy of me."
---
Clash of Titans
The duel raged like a storm. Zygar's scythe carved arcs of shadow, while Darius's sword split the earth itself. Every clash shattered stone, every strike sent shockwaves through the arena.
One by one, the remaining contestants fell, their corpses littering the blood-soaked sand, until only Zygar and Darius remained.
"You can't win," Darius growled. He unleashed his ultimate form, golden wings tearing from his back, his aura blazing like a sun.
Zygar's chest heaved, but he only smirked. "Then watch me."
He surged forward, scythe spinning in a dance of death. With one devastating strike, he cleaved Darius's sword in half, then slammed him into the ground.
But Darius wasn't done. Roaring in fury, he unleashed all his power, creating an explosion of golden fire that shook the heavens. The arena trembled, the crowd screamed, and for a moment, it seemed Zygar would be obliterated.
Yet from the smoke, the figure of Zygar emerged—his scythe dripping with shadowfire. His voice was cold as death. "Too weak."
With a single slash, he split Darius from shoulder to waist. The half-demon screamed, body trying desperately to regenerate, but Zygar's darkness consumed him. This time, there would be no return.
The battlefield went silent. Dust cleared, and only Zygar remained standing. His scythe faded, his body trembling, and then he collapsed, unconscious, into the bloodstained sand.
The crowd erupted in madness. Some cheered, others wept. Even King Aldebran himself rose from his throne, stunned at the sight of such power.
From the shadows of the coliseum, a new presence appeared. A figure clad in black armor, his aura suffocating. One of the Five Great Demons, Elyan's guardian, had arrived.
The game was far from over.
---
End of Chapter 7