The Swarm drifted to the next match, observing from the shadowed apex of the dome as the second ordeal commenced.

  The vast bowl of the Arena of Unarmed Brawling sprawled beneath, a colossal pit of cracked and scarred stone encircled by ascending tiers of benches, with dust motes hanging in the air, the scent of old blood lingered from previous bouts.

  Ninety-eight warlords filled the seats, the remainder of the Swarm's hundred minus Rinja and the warlord reserved for the third trial. Their howls and grunts hushed to anticipatory silence as the combatants appeared on the fighting floor.

  The War King, Ongora, brooded among those in the stands, his anger almost palpable. Brother to the slain Marauder Chief Otha, he yearned to exact vengeance with his own hands, to rend this mortal to shreds in retribution.

  But the Swarm's rules were ironclad, ancient and inviolable. Ongora could rage in silence, his fury and desires as futile as a damned soul's pleas before Heaven’s gates.

  Angar, a heavily bulked mortal of coiled muscle and scarred skin, its shaven head shadowed by stubble, eyes burning with unyielding focus, stood in a fighter's pose, mechanical feet planted firmly on the cold ground, bereft of weapon, armor, and items.

  As the bout failed to ignite at once, its brows furrowed as it scanned the arena, no doubt puzzling over the absence of dark whispers that should be slithering into its mind, the corruption that proximity to such a host of warlords ought to unleash like an unholy tide.

  The Swarm harbored no appetite for converting mortals into husks or Hell’s minions.

  His dominion was the clash of true and honorable combat, the beautiful purity of physical contest, untainted by mind-trickery or deceitfulness.

  The Swarm felt it trying to utilize a psychic power. Those could be employed in a few trials, but not purely physical ones such as this.

  The mortal's hands, when it entered this domain, had caught the Swarm's scrutiny, warped by something like the Underworld’s infernal influence, but different, strange.

  The digits contained retractable claws. As they weren’t natural, the Swarm had to deem them weapons, having the digits sheathed in caps, rendering them impotent.

  The mechanical augmentations, both the lower legs and those woven into eyes and body, couldn’t be stripped away, but the talons on the feet were similarly bound.

  Angar tested them briefly, its fingers flexing in futile effort against the seals, trying to remove them, then giving up, resuming its guard, probably wondering why its opponent was allowed armor.

  Opposite the mortal stood Undead Warlord Rinja, fresh from his match against the mortal Simo, slight trickles of dark ichor oozing from a few shrapnel wounds, souvenirs from that bout.

  Unlike the decaying husks of most undead, Rinja retained a wild mane of hair framing a skull-like face devoid of the majority of its skin and muscle. Even so, his face twisted into a sneer.

  He dismissed the crimson shroud and armor to his ethereal cache, revealing a beastly physique of hardened, undead muscle bulging beneath pallid gray skin, his body etched with intricate unholy sigils that snaked across his broad chest and arms.

  The mortal had been held in stasis upon crossing its door’s threshold. It probably believed it faced Ongora, the promised avenger, oblivious to its companion’s defeat or the substitution.

  That mattered little. Regardless of opponent, quick death awaited this one, an inexorable truth.

  The arena almost throbbed with bloody anticipation, the forging of glory from agony, as the two warriors waited, eyes locked.

  The bell tolled and Rinja erupted into motion without prelude, a surge of violence propelling him across the scarred floor.

  His fist arced in a ferocious haymaker, knuckles of knotted bone cleaving through the air with a crackling whoosh, aimed to pulp Angar's skull in a brutal proclamation of complete dominance.

  But Angar shifted aside with flowing grace, its body twisting just enough to let the blow blaze past its ear.

  Immediately, without a hint of hesitation, it retaliated, throwing a sharp, snapping punch that cracked against Rinja's jaw, followed by a second, heavier strike that thudded solidly into the warlord’s eye, drawing a thin line of ichor from a decrepit patch of split skin.

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  A thrill of profane delight stirred within the Swarm's chest, a rare spark of genuine surprise in an eternity too devoid of that emotion.

  This mortal, not even ascended to what its kind termed the second Realm, had some game, possessing some mettle.

  The Swarm had dismissed Otha's defeat as the failing of a newly promoted and weak Marauder Chief. It seemed he might be wrong.

  Angar pressed forward without mercy, blurring into a relentless torrent of blows. Fists, elbows, knees, and mechanical feet wove in seamless, flowing strikes that hammered against Rinja's upraised guard.

  Each blow landed with surprising force, chipping away at its enemy’s defense, overwhelming the warlord’s arms and legs, forcing him back a grudging step, his features snarling under the relentless assault.

  The crowd stilled, watching on as the sharp crack of flesh against flesh filled the arena, the overhead lights casting long, jagged shadows across the scarred stone where the two warriors clashed.

  And the Swarm watched with interest as this weakling showed some skill in deflection and redirection, brushing a few incoming attacks aside.

  Then Rinja staggered under a new barrage, his guard fracturing like ancient stone as Angar's metal foot slammed into his ribs with a loud thud, forcing stale air from the warlord's decayed lungs.

  The mortal didn't relent, blocking jabs with its strange forearms, pivoting on its mechanical tripod-toes to drive a knee upward, targeting the open midriff with tremendous impact.

  Gray flesh rippled like a rock thrown in still water, but Rinja had twisted and maneuvered, absorbing some of the force, throwing a sweeping hook of his own, one that almost landed on Angar's temple, grazing the forehead instead, still opening a gash and drawing a thin line of blood.

  The mortal ducked low, bobbing as it unleashed a flurry of uppercuts, the last pummeling into Rinja's chin, snapping the warlord's head back with a sharp crack resounding through the arena.

  The punch landed hard enough that ichor sprayed in fine mist, staining the stone, and Rinja's eyes burned with unholy fire.

  He threw a brutal palm strike at Angar's chest, the blow landing like a gong, shoving the mortal back three paces, its breath exploding in a painful gasp.

  The crowd's silence shattered into croaking cheers as Angar immediately charged in again, feinting left before hooking a fist into Rinja's cheek with a crunch.

  Bone shifted under the hit, but the warlord grinned through rotted, jagged teeth, grabbing Angar's extended arm in a vise of cold fingers.

  With a savage twist, he wrenched the limb, eliciting a muffled grunt from the mortal as joints protested.

  Before real damage could be done, Angar lashed out with its metal foot, aiming to shatter a knee, but Rinja lifted his leg, taking the hit on the shin. The warlord barely flinched, his leg as unyielding as petrified wood.

  Immediately, showing great skill and instincts, its arm still braced, it lunged forward while its opponent’s leg was raised, driving its body against undead flesh, forcing the warlord off-balance and stumbling back, releasing his hold on the mortal to prevent himself from toppling.

  They circled then for a bit, Angar’s living breath filling the tense air, until it exploded forward in another feint, slipping a jab, then throwing a spinning backfist that thudded against the back of Rinja's head.

  The warlord unleashed a double-fisted hammer smash that Angar barely evaded, the force of the blow cutting through the air like a seismic wave.

  Step by step, Angar pressed, fists blurring in a storm of fury, while Rinja endured, the smaller, weaker mortal giving a great showing, deserving of honor.

  As the mortal advanced, with a sudden, explosive twist, Rinja lashed out with a massive strike that connected with its midsection like a battering ram, lifting the smaller opponent clean off its feet, hurling it backward to skid across the pitted floor, sending dust billowing in its wake.

  The perceptive observer would’ve noticed Rinja had absorbed the flurries of blows without so much as a wince or grunt, his body like forged iron.

  Impacts rippled across his skin, but they'd failed to buckle his stance. The unholy resilience bred into warlords made them unbreakable.

  He had chosen to endure the hits, either to elevate the battle in the eyes of the audience, or merely to grant his prey a fleeting measure of glory, some face and honor before its defeat and death.

  The warlord closed in swiftly and without mercy, driving a titanic punch into the mortal before it could recover and regain its footing.

  The strike connected with ruthless impact, flinging it across the stone in a welter of sprayed blood, crashing across the arena in a wild tumult.

  Upon the tumble's end, Angar struggled to get its feet, but Rinja loomed over its sprawled body like a Demon Lord’s shadow.

  His muscles bunched as he lunged down with unnatural swiftness, fingers clasping around the back of the mortal's neck in a grip that could crush stone.

  With a brutal yank, he hauled Angar upward. Its body dangled limp for a split moment before Rinja drove it downward with great might and speed, slamming its face into the unyielding stone with a sickening crack.

  The hit reverberated through the arena, splintering the ground in a web of fractures like shattered glass, sending stone fragments clanking into the barriers.

  Warm and viscous blood splattered in crimson blotches, covering Rinja's arms like freckles and pooling in the new crater as he lifted the mortal again.

  Angar twisted and strained, its instincts firing in desperate attempts to slip away and break the hold.

  But the sheer, overwhelming might of Rinja crushed through every attempt, rendering its efforts useless, like trying to light a candle in a hurricane.

  A thunderous impact resounded once more, and the mortal's limbs flailed about in futile resistance against this unstoppable force treating it like a hollow puppet.

  The third smash ended the thrashing with finality.

  Rinja relinquished his broken prey, croaking out, "It’s been an honor," before retreating several steps, prepared to render the customary bow to the vanquished.

  Where once the encircling crowd watched with bated breath, they completely lost interest, the inevitable outcome having arrived, their murmurs rising into the usual howls as the Swarm readied to accompany the yet undefeated Rinja into the final crucible.