The arena floor was sand crusted with layers of gore, each stain a ghost of fallen fools.
Jona stepped into the light. The roar hit him like a physical thing. Hundreds of spectators packed the stands above, a mix of Houseless fighters and wealthy watchers slumming it for entertainment. Gas lamps cast harsh shadows across the pit. Twenty yards across. Circular. Iron spikes jutted from the walls at intervals. One scattered obstacles: broken pillars, overturned crates, old weapons embedded in the sand.
Krell entered from the opposite tunnel.
Up close, he was worse. Muscles like knotted rope. Scars crisscrossing every visible inch of skin. Eyes that didn't look quite human anymore, pupils dilated, veins pulsing in his temples. He carried a massive two-handed axe that should have required both hands but he swung it one-handed like a toy.
The official stood between them. "Standard rules. Fight until surrender, knockout, or death. Begin on my mark."
Jona drew his sword. His mouth was dry. Heart hammering.
Krell grinned and cracked his neck.
"Mark!"
The official vanished from the pit.
Krell charged.
No technique. No strategy. Just raw aggression, the axe swinging in a wide arc meant to split Jona in half. Jona dove sideways, hitting the sand hard. The axe missed by inches, throwing up a spray of grit.
He rolled to his feet. Krell was already turning, moving faster than someone that size had any right to.
[Combat Initiated]
[Warning: Opponent damage threshold increasing - Recommend evasion]
Thanks for the obvious advice, Jona thought.
He backed up, circling, trying to create distance. Krell pursued like a landslide. Another swing. Jona used Shadow Slip.
The world went dark for three heartbeats.
He phased through the axe blade, reformed behind Krell, and slashed at the big man's back. His sword bit deep, drawing blood.
Krell roared.
Not pain. Pleasure.
The Bloodlust master spun, faster now, and backhanded Jona across the face. The impact sent him flying. He crashed into the arena wall, stars exploding across his vision.
[Health: 85%]
[Warning: Bloodlust activation detected - Opponent strength increased 15%]
Jona spat blood and pushed himself up. Krell was laughing, the wound on his back already forgotten. The veins in his arms bulged darker. His eyes burned red.
"Good!" Krell bellowed. "You made me bleed! Now I'm awake!"
He charged again.
Jona scrambled behind a broken pillar. The axe smashed into stone, shattering it. Chunks flew everywhere. One struck Jona's shoulder, sending pain lancing down his arm.
Can't win directly. He gets stronger with damage. Need to end this fast but I'm not strong enough to match him.
Think. What did Renna say? Don't let him hit you. End it fast.
But how do you end a berserker fast when every wound makes him more dangerous?
Jona's eyes swept the arena. Spikes on the walls. Embedded weapons. The sand itself was uneven, hiding divots and traps from previous matches. And there, half-buried near the center: a rusty chain attached to something beneath the sand.
An idea sparked.
Krell circled the pillar wreckage. "Come out, shadow-boy! Make me work for it!"
Jona pulled shadows around himself, activating Shadow Shroud. Not invisible, but harder to track in the chaotic arena lighting. He moved along the wall, quiet as Marcus had taught him.
Krell's head swiveled, trying to locate him. "Hiding? Coward!"
Jona picked up a chunk of broken stone and threw it to his left.
Krell spun toward the sound and charged. His axe obliterated the space where nothing stood.
Jona dropped the shroud and ran for the center of the arena. His boots hit the chain. He grabbed it and pulled.
A section of sand collapsed, revealing a pit trap. Spiked bottom. Old blood crusted on rusted metal. Tournament organizers loved their death traps. Good for drama.
"Hey!" Jona shouted.
Krell turned.
Jona stood at the edge of the pit, sword drawn, grinning like a maniac despite the fear clawing at his guts. "Bloodlust makes you strong. But does it make you smart?"
Krell snarled and charged straight at him.
Jona waited. Three seconds. Two. One.
He used Shadow Slip.
Disappeared into darkness. Krell's momentum carried him forward, right over the spot where Jona had stood. His foot hit empty air.
He fell.
But Bloodlust reflexes were no joke. Krell twisted midair, catching the pit's edge with one hand. His axe clattered to the bottom. He hung there, muscles straining, beginning to pull himself up.
Jona reformed beside him.
[Shadow Slip - Cooldown: 30 seconds]
"Nothing personal," Jona said.
He brought his sword down on Krell's hand.
Shadows wrapped the blade, deepening the cut. Steel and darkness combined, biting through flesh and bone. Krell's fingers separated from his palm.
He fell.
The impact was sickening. Wet. Final.
Krell landed on the spikes, body jerking once before going still. Blood pooled in the sand below, spreading like spilled wine.
The crowd went wild. Cheering. Screaming. Stamping their feet so hard the arena shook.
Jona stared down at the corpse. His hands trembled. Second kill. Second life ended by his choices. He told himself Krell would have done the same. That this was survival, not murder. But the hollow feeling burned, fueling a darker fire: revenge for Mozzeri, for every underdog crushed.
[Combat Complete]
[Victory: Jona Mozzeri]
[XP Gained: 150]
[Level Up: Underworld Mastery progress 45%]
[Achievement Unlocked: Giant Slayer]
[Bonus: +10% Damage vs Larger Opponents]
[Quest Progress: Prove Your Worth 1/3]
[Shadow Grind Progress: 2/5]
The official reappeared, raising Jona's arm. "Winner: Jona Mozzeri!"
Jona barely heard them. His ears rang. His body ached. That backhand from Krell had nearly broken his jaw.
But he was alive.
Krell wasn't.
"Exit the arena," the official said quietly. "Healers are available if you can pay."
Jona limped toward the tunnel. Each step felt like walking through mud. Adrenaline was crashing hard, leaving him shaky and nauseous.
Renna met him in the preparation area, grinning wide. "You beautiful, crazy bastard! Pit trap! I didn't even see you set that up!"
"Neither did he," Jona managed. His voice sounded distant.
"Drink this." Marcus appeared with a flask. "Dulls the pain. Tastes like shit."
Jona drank. Marcus wasn't lying. It tasted like someone had strained it through old boots. But warmth spread through him, taking the edge off.
"Two more wins," Renna said. "You're seeded low, so your next match will be against someone weaker. Tournament organizers like drama, not quick stomps. You've got maybe four hours before they call you again."
"Great," Jona muttered.
He found a corner and sat, letting his head fall back against the wall. Around him, other fighters prepared for their matches. Lomenol was somewhere in the bracket, probably crushing someone with his metal fists. The tournament ground on, match after match, blood after blood.
This was the world now. Kill or be killed. Climb or die trying.
His mother's voice echoed in his memory. House Mozzeri protects its own. We're not strong alone, but together, we're unbreakable.
Except they hadn't been unbreakable. The Great Houses had shattered them like glass.
I'll rebuild, Jona thought. Somehow. But first, I need to survive.
[Status Update: Fatigued][Recommend rest before next match]
He closed his eyes, just for a moment.
A presence made him look up.
A figure stood at the preparation area entrance, backlit by corridor lamps. Slender. Blonde braid. Armor that caught the light. She watched the arena floor where workers were hauling Krell's corpse away, her expression unreadable.
Then her gaze shifted to Jona.
Kiarra Priolo.
Their eyes met across the space. Hers burned with cold fury and something else. Curiosity? Respect? Impossible to tell. She tilted her head slightly, like studying a puzzle.
She didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched him with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
Then she turned and vanished into the crowd.
"That's not good," Marcus said softly. He'd followed Jona's gaze. "She's not supposed to be in Fennec territory. Tournament's neutral ground, but her being here..."
"She's hunting me," Jona said. "Waiting for me to leave Boss Ren's protection."
"Or waiting to see what you're capable of." Marcus's dark eyes were thoughtful. "House Priolo doesn't send captains to watch street trash. She sees you as a threat. Maybe she's trying to understand why."
Jona thought about Jin's arrogance. His cruelty. The casual way he'd crushed Jona like an insect.
And then he thought about Kiarra's eyes. Not arrogant. Calculating.
Jin had been a bully playing at power.
Kiarra was a hunter.
"Two more wins," Jona said quietly. "Then permanent sanctuary. After that..."
"After that, you're still a target," Renna finished. "Fifty thousand gold doesn't expire. But at least you'll have allies. Fennec doesn't abandon its own."
The announcement echoed through the preparation area. "Next match: Marcus Veil versus Gren Blackthorn!"
Marcus stood, adjusting his gloves. "Wish me luck."
"Don't die," Jona said.
"Wasn't planning on it." Marcus's lips quirked. Almost a smile. Then he walked toward the tunnel, daggers gleaming.
Jona watched him go, then closed his eyes again.
Two more matches. Two more fights.
Two more chances to prove he belonged in this world of blood and shadows.
Or die trying.