Zane moved swiftly, sending Cipher's final plea into the Ghost Beast's mind with all the urgency and emotion he could muster.
The creature froze. For one fleeting moment, it hesitated—caught between the chains of loyalty and the truth it had never considered before.
Its massive hands trembled. Its breathing became ragged, wet, labored. The creature's eyes—those hollow, burning pits—flickered between the throne and the warriors before it.
Then—
Its gaze locked onto the grand throne. Lord Vutagon Mondanza. Lucius Vance. The true captors. The ones who had fed it scraps and called it family while keeping it in chains. The ones who had made it fight and kill for their amusement.
Its burning eyes darted to Ren, Nova, and Asher, still holding their battle stance, muscles coiled, weapons ready, unsure of what was happening. Confusion and wariness played across their bloodied faces.
And then—
The Ghost Beast moved.
But not in any ordinary way. It SPRINTED—its speed invisible, inhuman, a streak of force tearing across the arena. The wooden planks beneath its feet exploded into splinters with each step, the sound like rapid-fire gunshots.
The air itself seemed to part before the creature, creating a wake of displaced atmosphere that sent dust and blood spray swirling in its path.
Ren, Nova, and Asher instinctively moved aside, their bodies reacting before their minds could process, assuming the creature was attacking them.
They dove, rolled, scrambled—anything to get out of the path of that unstoppable force. The wind of the Beast's passage tore at their clothes, their hair, nearly knocking them off their feet.
But—it didn't attack them.
Instead—it halted at the far end of the battlefield and turned, its massive body pivoting with impossible grace, facing the throne.
Dust settled around it like a shroud. The creature's chest heaved, its breath coming in great, steaming exhalations that misted in the torchlit air.
A single breath passed. The entire arena seemed to freeze, every eye locked on the Ghost Beast, every heart suspended between beats.
Then—
The Ghost Beast looked like lightning incarnate, a force of nature given flesh, a shadow of destruction made manifest.
As it reached the far edge of the wooden stage, it LEAPT. The planks beneath its feet shattered completely, sending shards of wood flying in all directions.
The creature's body arced through the air, impossibly high, impossibly fast, its claws extended, its mouth open in a roar that shook the very foundations of the arena.
The crowd gasped—a collective inhalation of thousands of throats, the sound like a wave crashing against shore.
'Zane, come out! Free me—SAVE me!' Cipher's words shot through her mind, her urgency a pulse of desperation that bordered on panic.
The last grain of sand was falling. Her legs gave out. She felt herself tipping forward, toward the canal, toward the waiting jaws below.
Zane knew the weight of the moment. Knew that every second counted. Without hesitation, he ripped free from Cipher's consciousness, the separation like tearing fabric, painful and disorienting.
He manifested into the world in a burst of crimson light, his form solidifying from pure energy into physical reality. The air around him crackled and popped, the smell of ozone sharp and acrid.
He flew—racing toward the end of the arena, his wings beating with powerful strokes that created gusts of wind strong enough to extinguish nearby torches—then spun, making a U-turn so sharp it defied physics.
---
The Ghost Beast lunged, its claws tearing through the air with a sound like ripping silk, aiming directly at Lord Vutagon Mondanza.
The creature's eyes were locked on its target, burning with newfound purpose, with rage finally given direction.
At the last possible second, Mondanza dodged, his body twisting with a speed that belied his apparent age and bulk.
His robes swirled around him like smoke. The Ghost Beast's claws passed within inches of his throat, close enough that Mondanza felt the displaced air, felt the heat radiating from the creature's body.
His eyes widened—the first crack in his impassive facade—and something like fear flickered across his features.
The arena shattered into madness.
The arena erupted into chaos. Screams of horror and panic filled the air as spectators scrambled for the exits, pushing past one another, trampling those who fell, their survival instincts overpowering their bloodlust.
The carefully maintained order dissolved in seconds. Bodies pressed against bodies. Children cried. Women shrieked. Men cursed and shoved. The smell of fear—sharp, acrid, like ammonia—filled the air, mixing with sweat and blood and smoke.
The Ghost Beast's momentum carried it past Mondanza, but the creature was already pivoting, already adjusting. Its left claw swept in a wide arc, and this time—
This time it found its mark.
The Ghost Beast's left claw pierced deep into Lucius Vance's right chest, the talons punching through silk, through flesh, through bone, with a wet, crunching sound that carried even over the screaming crowd.
Lucius gasped—the pain was instant, unforgiving, a white-hot spike driven through his body.
His eyes went wide with shock, his mouth opening and closing like a fish pulled from water. Blood spilled onto the stage in thick, pulsing gouts, the crimson spreading across the polished wood in an ever-widening pool. The metallic smell of it was overwhelming, coppery and hot.
Part of the crowd who had not yet made the move froze, many unable to process what was happening.
Their minds couldn't reconcile what their eyes were seeing—the untouchable lords, the masters of life and death, brought low by the very creature they had enslaved.
---
In the same instant, Zane streaked through the air, his presence like a crimson comet, shooting toward Cipher's restrained form.
His eyes—glowing with inner fire—locked onto the ropes binding her wrists. He opened his mouth, and a beam of concentrated infrared energy lanced out, so hot the air around it shimmered and warped.
The ropes burned away, disintegrated by his blazing red infrared beam. The fibers didn't just burn—they vaporized, turning to ash and smoke in a fraction of a second. The smell of burning hemp filled Cipher's nostrils, acrid and choking.
Cipher's body lurched forward, thrown off balance by the sudden release. Her legs, numb from standing so long, buckled beneath her.
She tumbled dangerously toward the canal, her arms windmilling uselessly, her stomach dropping as gravity took hold. Below, the alligators surged forward, their jaws snapping, their eyes reflecting the torchlight like demonic mirrors.
Then—Zane caught her.
His clawed grip tightened around her waist, the talons careful not to pierce but firm enough to arrest her fall.
He pulled her back to safety just in time, her feet dangling mere inches above the water's surface. She could feel the heat radiating from the alligators' bodies, could hear their frustrated hisses as their meal was snatched away.
Cipher panted, her heartbeat wild in her chest—*thudthudthudthudthud*—so fast and hard it felt like her ribs might crack.
Her entire body was shaking, adrenaline flooding her system in a dizzying rush. Her hands were numb, her wrists bleeding where the ropes had cut deep. But she was alive. *Alive.*
Zane set her down on solid ground, away from the canal's edge. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, and she saw concern there, and relief, and something else—pride, perhaps, or respect.
The battle was shifting. The impossible was happening. The prisoners were becoming the hunters.
And then—
The security personnel for Lord Vutagon Mondanza suddenly awoke to the reality of their master's predicament. The shock that had frozen them shattered like glass. Hands flew to weapons. Bodies moved into formation. Training overrode disbelief.
"KILL THAT GHOST BEAST!" Ludaman roared, his voice raw with desperation, with fear, with rage.
His face was purple, veins standing out on his forehead and neck. Spittle flew from his lips. His hand shook as he pointed at the creature, at the thing that had dared to strike at the untouchable.
Weapons were drawn—swords sliding from scabbards with metallic whispers, crossbows being cranked and loaded with mechanical clicks, spears being leveled with the scrape of wood on leather.
The sound of dozens of soldiers mobilizing filled the arena, a symphony of violence preparing to crescendo.
Soldiers charged, their boots thundering on the wooden planks, their war cries rising to join the screaming of the crowd. The smell of oil and steel and leather filled the air.
Torchlight glinted off armor and blades. The arena, already soaked in blood, was about to become a true battlefield.
Across the arena, Ren, Nova, and Asher exchanged glances—confusion giving way to understanding, understanding giving way to determination.
They didn't know exactly what had happened, but they knew an opportunity when they saw one.
The Ghost Beast stood over Lucius Vance's fallen form, its claws still embedded in the man's chest, its head turning slowly to regard the approaching soldiers. Its eyes burned with an intensity that made the torchlight seem dim by comparison.
And in that moment, as the soldiers closed in, as the crowd screamed and fled, as blood pooled on the stage.
The real battle began.