Lucius Vance leaned closer to Lord Vutagon Mondanza. "I don't think so. From the stories I heard when I was a boy, this Ghost Beast is something out of this world. A true death sentence." His smirk deepened.
"As I told you, they have to vanish completely." Mondanza's chuckle started low in his throat. "Just know—your wish has been granted."
Cipher's mind raced. Fury. Fear. Determination. The ropes cut into her wrists, the hemp fibers rough and sticky with old blood. The crowd's roar crashed against her eardrums—thousands of voices blending into a single animal howl. She clenched her jaw.
Forced herself to breathe. She would not tremble. This pit would not break her. Not yet. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears as she scanned the chaos, searching for an opening, a flaw, anything.
A slow exhale. She pushed the panic down. If this is the end, she'll meet it with her head high. But if there was even the smallest crack in this fortress, she would break through it. Cipher did not fear death. She feared wasting her only chance.
'Cipher, are you alright?' Zane's voice crackled through her mind.
'Not really,' she admitted. 'But I'm working on it. Trying to control my emotions. It's hard. You can't just ignore how you feel.'
Zane's tone softened but stayed firm. 'True—you can't control your emotions. But you can channel them into something greater. That is how you master them.'
Cipher let those words settle. 'Okay. Let me try that.'
Zane continued, steady and instructive. 'If you want to see an opportunity, your mind must be free from all distractions. Right now, your brain is in Beta waves—high-frequency, hyper-focused, problem-solving, active thinking. Useful for sharp decision-making, but also prone to stress and anxiety.'
'You need to bring them down to Theta waves—a slower rhythm, about 4–8 Hz. Linked to creativity, meditation, learning, and intuition. This is where instinct thrives. Where memory sharpens. Where clarity forms.'
Cipher swallowed.
'I'd advise a quick meditation.' Zane added.
She nodded. 'Alright, Zane. Thanks.' Cipher shut her eyes. She leaned inside herself. Into the stillness.
The tension in the Dark Pit Arena had reached its peak. The lady who had walked out with a fortune the previous night stood frozen at the betting window. Her eyes darted toward Asher, Ren, and Nova. Despite their victory yesterday, doubt clawed at her.
"What is it, lady?" The man beside her raised a brow. "Having trouble placing your bet?"
She frowned. "And what's your problem?"
"Your heroes today are three against one." He shrugged. "The odds are fairer than before. If I were you, I'd bet on them again."
She shot him a sharp look. "Did I ask for your opinion?" She shoved past him.
The man chuckled. "Time is ticking. Linger too long, and you'll have come here for nothing." He strolled back to his seat, tossing a smirk over his shoulder.
"Bastard!" she hissed. Another gambler nearby scoffed. "Lady, give way to others. You've been standing here forever."
She clenched her fists.
Lord Vutagon Mondanza rose from his throne, immediately silencing the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," he bellowed, "summarize your bets. Five more minutes!" His sharp eyes swept over the audience. "Tonight's fight will last for an hour. Reset the sand clock."
His men rushed to obey.
"Alright, everyone—all betting pools are closed." He watched as his men adjusted the sand clock.
Movement from the back of the arena. Heavy chains clanked against steel—the sound echoing off stone walls. The Ghost Beast was wheeled in, locked within a massive steel cage so thick no one could see through it. The cage was lowered onto the battlefield. The wooden stage groaned beneath its weight, planks creaking and splitting.
Lord Vutagon Mondanza smirked, nodding in approval. He stepped forward. "Ladies and gentlemen," his voice deepened. "The feast we have all been waiting for. A feast that will separate two realms—the Earth and the Heavens!"
The crowd erupted.
"The poor and the rich!" The arena trembled beneath their howls. "The separation of the wolves and the sheep!" He paused, eyes gleaming. His voice rose in its final declaration:
"I—Lord Vutagon Mondanza—give you… THE GHOST BEAST!"
The locks clicked open.
The handlers fled, stumbling over each other in blind panic. A hush fell—thousands of throats strangled into silence.
Its cry tore through the arena, rattling bone, silencing thought.
The crowd gasped as one. A gambler dropped his coin. A child clutched her mother's sleeve. Mondanza's grin carved deeper into his face.
From the shadows, a colossal figure moved. A huge humanoid hand gripped the door, pulling it wide with a force that made the hinges groan. The steel screeched. The audience rose to their feet, stretching their necks, desperate for their first glimpse of the legendary Ghost Beast. For many, this was the first time they had ever seen it—before now, it was only whispered about.
The once deafening arena fell into hushed anticipation. Every spectator strained forward, peering into the thick shadows of the steel cage. They saw nothing. Only darkness.
A whooping sound—like air snapping apart, like a bullet tearing through space. Something flashed out of the cage. It landed onto the wooden stage with earth-shattering force.
The entire platform shook, dust exploding upward. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Standing on the stage was a monstrous humanoid figure. It had long, unnatural arms stretched like a chimpanzee's, but the nails were sharpened claws, glinting under the dim lights. Its body was wrapped in woven, tattered cloth that reeked of rot and mildew, but its true flesh remained unseen.
Its hair was long and tangled, stretching all the way to its knees, obscuring any glimpse of its face. Its legs were elongated, sinewy, its feet clawed like an animal built for the hunt. A screeching sound erupted from it—a horrific cry that rattled through bone.
The Ghost Beast's gaze dropped, shifting to the creatures lurking in the canal. The alligators stirred, their tails slapping murky water.
The Ghost Beast lunged. Its movements were unearthly, leaping into the canal like a shadow streaking through the air. A beat passed.
It exploded back onto the wooden stage. Clutched in its grip was a massive alligator, its body thrashing weakly, scales scraping against wood.
The Beast ripped into it. Its jaws sank into the flesh, tearing it apart with teeth and claws, devouring it with savage hunger. The wet sound of ripping meat and cracking bone filled the arena.
The stench of blood and torn intestines hit the front rows. The crowd remained paralyzed. Only one voice dared break the silence. "Wow…" It was a whisper—barely a breath. The only sound in the entire arena apart from the sickening ripping of flesh. The Ghost Beast had arrived.