The arena was still.
Kairo knelt in the sand, his breath ragged, his skin slick with sweat and blood. The shards of illusion had vanished, but their sting lingered in his skull. Every heartbeat echoed like a hammer, threatening to split him apart from the inside.
The faceless crowd remained silent. Even they seemed shaken, as if what they had just witnessed had unsettled something older than their hunger.
From his throne, Hades lowered his hand. His voice, calm and heavy, rolled across the pit:
"You endured. Again. But each chain has a limit, Kairo… and when yours snaps, it will not be your choice."
Kairo lifted his head slowly. His crimson eyes glowed faintly, silver still pulsing at their edges. He said nothing. He could not.
From the gallery above, movement stirred.
A figure shifted from the shadows — towering, armored, his presence suffocating even before his name was spoken. His helm was etched with symbols of fire and ruin, his cloak dragging like smoke. His eyes, molten gold, fixed on Kairo as if weighing the cost of his existence.
"Interesting…" The word was soft, but it carried through the silence like a spark. "A mortal who does not break where gods demand it."
The faceless crowd hissed and recoiled, bowing their heads without thought. They knew the name. They feared it.
Baalvrix. One of Hades' generals. A warlord bound in chains of oath and curse, forbidden to move unless his master allowed it.
Igron glanced sideways at him, lips twitching with something between disdain and amusement.
"You were waiting," he said.
"I was watching," Baalvrix corrected, his voice like grinding stone. His eyes never left Kairo. "This one… he bleeds differently."
Hades' tone hardened.
"Stay your hand, Baalvrix. He is not yours."
The general inclined his head slightly — not in obedience, but in acknowledgment of the leash around his neck.
"Not yet," he murmured.
The silence thickened. Kairo could feel the weight of Baalvrix's gaze pressing down on him, heavier than the illusions had been. It was not the cruelty of the Threads, nor the mocking of Igron. It was something else — interest, raw and unhidden.
And then it was gone. Baalvrix stepped back into the shadows, his molten eyes fading, leaving the air colder for his absence.
Hades raised his hand once more. The gates of the arena shuddered, groaning as they began to open.
"Enough distraction. Round Four is not finished."
The faceless crowd screamed again, their hunger rekindled.
Kairo pushed himself upright, chains rattling against the blood-soaked sand. His body trembled, but his eyes burned steady. He could feel it — the next punishment was already stepping through those gates.
And Baalvrix's gaze lingered in his mind, heavy as a curse.