The minutes passed slow, heavy, almost unbearable.
It wasn't normal time. It was that kind of time that drags, that digs under your skin and makes every breath weigh double.
A time that doesn't move forward, but threatens. Behind the two enormous doors, the two warriors destined to fight waited in silence, separated only by walls that would soon stop existing as a border between life and defeat.
The darkness wrapped the place like an oppressive, thick, almost conscious mantle.
It was barely broken by the faint light filtering through the cracks of the doors, thin lines that looked like luminous scars on the ancient stone.
The air was loaded with tension, so dense it was hard to inhale normally, as if even the walls knew something irreversible was about to happen.
On the left side, Agnitus remained motionless.
Arms crossed over his chest, head slightly tilted forward, like a patient beast that doesn't need to move to intimidate.
His breathing was deep, slow, perfectly controlled.
Each exhalation seemed to push the air outward, marking his territory. His body emanated a suffocating pressure, a primitive sensation that didn't come from magic or visible aura, but from something older: pure contained violence.
It was Wrath in its purest state.
On the other side, Kairou clenched his teeth.
His hands trembled slightly.
Not from fear—not completely—but from the brutal mix of adrenaline, nerves and expectation.
He felt his heartbeat in his ears, pounding hard, as if it wanted to escape from his chest.
He knew where he was. He knew who he was going to fight. Every story, every rumor, every warning crossed his mind like a hammer.
And still, he didn't back down.
He didn't take a step back. He didn't look for excuses. He didn't beg for mercy.
The doors began to open slowly.
The sound of stone sliding echoed through the entire arena like an ancient lament.
A deep, grave creak that announced the start of the show.
Sunlight burst in violently, cutting through the darkness like a sharp blade, forcing both to squint.
The murmur of the crowd began to seep inside, first as a distant whisper, then growing, feeding on the expectation, rising with every centimeter the doors opened.
Shouts. Bets. Mockery. Hungry anticipation.
Finally, both took the first step.
They stepped out of the shadow into the lit arena, walking toward each other.
Each step took them further from the refuge of darkness and exposed them to the judgment of thousands of eyes.
The sand burned under the sun, and the air vibrated with the energy of the coliseum. They stopped when they were just a few meters apart.
The contrast between them was obvious.
Agnitus clenched his right arm hard, making the muscles crack under his skin.
The veins stood out like tense cables, and the leather of his gauntlets creaked slightly.
His gaze ran over his opponent from top to bottom, without hurry, evaluating him like prey that had already been sentenced.
—Is that all? —he thought—. Just a regular person?
Kairou, even though he was a demon, barely showed distinctive features.
A pair of horns sticking out from his dark hair, nothing more. No magical aura rippling around him.
No visible weapons. No sword, no spear, no shield. Nothing that indicated he could survive more than a few seconds against one of the Seven Deadly Sins.
Agnitus smiled barely.
Not a happy smile. It was a brief grimace, loaded with disdain.
Meanwhile Agnitus always wore his gauntlets: heavy, reinforced, marked by countless battles. Every dent told a story. Every scratch was a memory of broken bones and fallen enemies.
There was no warning.
There was no countdown.
With one explosive step, Agnitus launched a direct punch, driven with all his strength, straight to Kairou's stomach.
The impact was brutal.
The sound of the collision echoed like a dry thunder.
Kairou barely had time to cross his arms to block. The blow went through his guard like a wild charge, and his body was thrown several meters back.
His feet left the ground, and for an instant he hung in the air before falling and rolling violently across the sand.
The crowd screamed.
Some from excitement. Others from mockery. Others already celebrating the end.
Kairou stopped with one knee on the ground. His breathing was irregular, heavy.
His arms burned as if they'd been dipped in fire. The skin was red, numb from the impact. The pain was intense, lacerating… but not unbearable.
Not yet.
Agnitus advanced with firm, slow, sure steps.
He didn't run. He wasn't in a hurry.
Each footstep seemed to echo louder than the previous one, setting the rhythm of an announced execution. The sand sank slightly under his weight, and his shadow stretched in front of him like a claw.
Kairou stood up with difficulty, breathing hard.
He shook his arms, trying to bring back the feeling.
He did small jumps in place, keeping his body moving, covering his face with an improvised guard.
His eyes never left Agnitus, attentive, alert, as if he were about to attack at any moment.
Agnitus frowned.
He saw something in his stance.
Something that didn't fit.
Determination.
Not the fake bravery of the ignorant. Not suicidal pride. It was a worked determination, polished by blows, forged in daily effort.
And that irritated him.
With surprising speed, Agnitus advanced and threw a direct punch to the face. The fist cut the air violently, leaving a threatening whistle behind.
But Kairou reacted.
He moved his head at the last second, dodging the attack by centimeters.
He felt the wind of the blow brush his cheek, tearing out a lock of hair. The missed impact kicked up sand beside him.
Without losing rhythm, Kairou countered.
Taking advantage of the movement, he twisted his torso and threw a direct punch to Agnitus's abdomen. It wasn't a desperate blow. It was precise, calculated, aimed at a specific point.
The impact was solid.
But Agnitus stopped it immediately with his other arm, blocking it easily, as if he had anticipated the attack from the beginning.
Kairou didn't stop.
With a quick movement, he delivered a strong headbutt straight to Agnitus's face.
The blow surprised the Sin.
Agnitus took a step back, touching his forehead. He wasn't bleeding, but his expression showed something new: genuine surprise. Silence took over the coliseum for an uncomfortable instant.
—Interesting… —Agnitus murmured.
His eyes locked onto Kairou, this time with real attention, with that dangerous glint that appears when the prey stops being boring.
—You're clever. And you know how to fight hand-to-hand, from what I see —he said in a deep voice—. But even so, you're not strong enough to beat me. Tell me something… why are you fighting, knight named Kairou?
Kairou took a deep breath.
The pain was still there. The fatigue too. But he didn't lower his gaze.
—I… I'm just fighting to prove that I can be a knight as strong as the others. To prove that I can serve on the battlefield.
Agnitus narrowed his eyes.
—Just for that? For nothing more you threw yourself today to fight one of the Seven Deadly Sins?
Kairou clenched his fists. His knuckles cracked.
—Yes. Even if you see me as a damn useless… even if they see me as someone weak… I'm not. I'm someone who every day makes an effort. Physically. Mentally. To improve. To fight alongside others. To serve my companions… and not be a burden.
His words echoed louder than any blow.
And then, Kairou attacked.
He charged toward Agnitus with a series of precise, fast blows, aimed at vulnerable points. Every movement carried hours of solitary training, falls, failures, early mornings without rest. There was no perfect technique, but there was clear intention.
Agnitus responded.
His blows were faster. Heavier. More violent. Every impact was a contained explosion, a reminder of the abysmal difference between them.
Fist against fist.
Arm against arm.
Blow after blow.
The sound of flesh colliding filled the arena. Sweat began to mix with the sand under their feet. Pain accumulated in every muscle.
There were no skills. There was no magic. Just bodies crashing, sweat, pain and will.
But then, Agnitus began to notice it.
Kairou was learning.
He was adapting.
Every blocked attack was a lesson burned in. Every received blow, an immediate adjustment. His rhythm changed, his guard improved, his dodges became more precise. His eyes no longer hesitated: they analyzed.
The seconds passed.
And Agnitus, for the first time, had to increase his speed.
The spectators watched in absolute silence.
They couldn't believe what they were seeing.
Someone without talent…
someone without power…
was adapting to the fighting style of a Deadly Sin.
The battle became more and more even.
Even blows. Constant exchanges. Determination against contained fury.
And no one in the arena could look away.