Kaelen lay in the sand his chest heaving also his ears ringing.
The crowd's voice reached him, but not the way it used to.
No cheers. No chants of his name.
Only whispers.
Gasps.
Disbelief.
He forced himself up on one elbow. Pain flared in his ribs, hot and sharp. His lip was split. His eyes burned from sweat and blood dripping into them.
When he managed to focus on the stands, what he saw crushed him harder than Azrael's blows.
Pity.
Shock.
Disgust.
They looked at him the way you'd look at a fallen idol.
The prodigy. The strongest, Kaelen Valerius, reduced to a boy beaten bloody in front of them all.
His stomach turned. His shame was worse than the pain in his body.
And standing above him was Azrael, lips stretched in a blood-stained grin.
The weakling.
The no-name.
The one he had mocked and humiliated, the one he had dismissed as worthless.
And now he was the one smiling down.
