This defeat had been unavoidable. The mortal, Angar, had never stood a chance.

  The Swarm tasted its death before it happened, before the bout even began.

  He had seen the same countless times before, from much stronger contestants.

  The body broken, life fleeing as the eyes glazed over, the rattle of breath leaving lungs that would never fill again as the death blow was delivered by the Undead Warlord.

  Rinja had battled adequately, honorably, but this opponent was only first Realm, and gave a worthy fight, earning a quick and respectful death as a mercy.

  The ninety-eight warlords completely lost interest, eager for the victory bell and the next event, the next carcass.

  The Swarm allowed a spectral tendril of his essence to drift outward, into the shadowed bounds of the mortal realm, tasting the ether for the relentless hunters that dogged him with a vengeance.

  Seraphs attempted to close a noose around his form, seeking to ensnare him with a trapping ritual.

  He relocated his position, not yet wanting that interruption.

  He’d deal with them soon enough.

  Then, where it lay sprawled in the cracked ring, blood pooling beneath its smashed head, seeping into the crater made by its skull, the carcass moved.

  A twitch.

  A mechanical leg grinding against stone.

  Rinja froze mid-bow, his sneer faltering.

  Ninety-eight warlords froze with him, howls hushing with astonishment and renewed interest.

  The Swarm’s ancient heart gave one slow, thunderous beat.

  With a roar that tore from its throat, spraying out spittle and blood, crimson phlegm gushing from its shattered mess of a nose, the mortal heaved, pushing itself off the ground.

  And it rose.

  Not with grace.

  Not with hope.

  It rose the way a mountain rises when the earth decides it’s not finished being tall.

  The Swarm’s chest swelled with pride and glory.

  And there Angar stood, blood streaming down the pulverized wreck of bone and flesh that had been its face, one eye swollen, flushed red with ruptured vessels.

  That bloodshot orb blazed with unquenchable hate from a face contorted in both ruin and rage, veins pumping warm life standing out across its neck and arms, bulging beneath sweaty, bloody flesh.

  "I’m God’s fucking hammer!” it screamed in a spray of crimson spittle.

  Then it exploded forward, closing the distance in a blur, moving like a vicious and wild predator, unleashing a barrage of crushing blows.

  And the Swarm felt it.

  That old, profane joy flooding through every bandaged limb.

  Fists and feet hammered into Rinja with explosive impact, each hit cracking like muffled detonations, driving the undead warrior back on his heels, reversing the flow of dominance.

  For the moment.

  Blood flecked the air, splattering from the mortal’s destroyed face as Rinja weathered the onslaught, meeting the bombardment with a dismissive sneer.

  Then the warlord went on the offensive, matching it head-on with his own fury.

  Angar rose to the occasion, refusing to be dominated again, the two trading blows like titans.

  The confrontation ascended into a frenzy of savagery, the two warriors locked in a whirlwind of destruction, punches landing with the force of battering rams.

  How could one of the first-Realm endure this, defy such limits?

  Each thudding impact cracked the air, rattling the arena, grapples warping into powerful holds that twisted joints and hurled bodies against the reinforced walls, causing jagged lines to snake outward like prophecies of doom.

  And the crowd howled with approval of flesh and stone yielding to unrelenting violence.

  Angar's overtaxed body was pushed beyond mortal limits.

  But Rinja had the resilience and vitality of a powerful undead.

  The mortal's wrath broke upon the warlord like the surf unto an ancient cliff.

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  As always, the tide inevitably turned.

  Rinja pressed in with unchecked dominance, his fists and elbows raining down in a storm of pulverizing strikes that battered both Angar's guard and body, each blow landing with the weight of inevitability, driving the mortal across the dusty ground in a relentless barrage of unholy might tempered in the unforgiving forge of the infernal abyss.

  The ruckus of the crowd surged in a wave of primal hunger, the croaking roars and stamping feet reverberating through the arena's vaulted dome.

  The overhead lamps cast a harsh glow, sending elongating shadows dancing across the scarred battlefield, slick with blood trails and scattered debris that crunched underfoot like the remnants of ancient skeletons.

  And the pattern of the bout repeated itself, mirroring the brutal rhythm of its opening salvo, with the mortal's fleeting resurgence crumbling beneath the warlord's unstoppable might.

  As Angar staggered under relentless assault, its guard fracturing like brittle clay, Rinja unleashed a monstrous haymaker that slammed into its shoulder with a sickening crack, the impact booming like a firearm’s report.

  The force sent the mortal flying across the ring once again, its body tumbling end over end like a ragdoll, sweeping a furrow through the stone before skidding to a halt in a cloud of silt.

  It rose again, slowly, painfully, blood streaming from its pulverized face, one arm hanging limp.

  But it rose all the same, swaying on shaky legs, six metal toes grinding into the floor.

  Rinja barreled forward in an overwhelming charge, every hardened, corded muscle in his undead frame propelling him in a tempest of primordial savagery, the ground quaking under each stride.

  As its doom inexorably approached, the mortal neither retreated nor attempted to evade.

  Instead, it planted its mechanical feet wide in a low side stance, knees bent.

  Storming forward, Rinja’s massive arm blasted out like an avalanche, the giant fist hurtling toward the mortal's skull.

  Angar pivoted sharply on its supporting foot, the maneuver causing its torso to lean back just enough for the blow to blaze past overhead with a thunderous whoosh that blew dust off the arena floor.

  In that same instance, its leading leg whipped outward in a vicious sidekick, driving forward like a piston in perfect linear trajectory, its power surging from hips through core in an explosive chain of force.

  Metal drove into a kneecap, the impact amplified by the warlord’s own unstoppable momentum, the strike landing with a crack like steel sundering.

  An involuntary grunt of pain, nearly an agonized cry, escaped Rinja’s throat as the joint buckled inward, ligaments and bone giving way in a ruinous instant, dark ichor seeping from the fresh break.

  Instead of steamrolling over his opponent, his massive frame crashed into the mortal like a toppling monolith, the collision still brutal, the force still tremendous.

  They tumbled together across the cold stone in a tangle of thrashing limbs, undead bulk smashing against the mortal's fragile frame, the limp arm crushed anew, the roll sending dust billowing in their wake.

  Rinja’s ruined leg flopped uselessly, robbing him of leverage.

  And Angar, though battered near to breaking, had braced for the sacrifice.

  Stubborn will drove the mortal onward, untangling first from the heap, scrambling upward, swaying unsteadily, blood frothing at its lips.

  The warlord scrabbled to rise on his one good leg, growling as he hauled himself to a knee.

  But the mortal was relentless, allowing no respite, and spun into a roundhouse, the mechanical foot blurring through the air.

  Rinja raised his forearm in a desperate guard, but the strike plowed through, the metal shin smashing the blocking arm against his own skull as the foot cracked into his temple.

  The impact drove the warlord downward like a rocket, slamming head-first into the stone with a boom, his ruined knee folding beneath him.

  Angar followed instantly with a brutal stomp to the skull, splattering ichor in a dark spray.

  Rinja rolled away thrashing blindly, but the mortal pounced atop his back like a wild beast.

  It seized one of the warlord’s arms in its sole functional grip, its mechanical shin pinning the other wrist.

  Its knee dug into Rinja's upper back for leverage, then heaved with titanic effort, binding the warlord in a torturous hold.

  Rinja raged impotently, his struggles futile against the mortal's unyielding bar.

  Veins bulged like snakes swarming under Angar's skin, its muscles straining to their utter limit as it wrenched the arm backward with unrelenting force.

  Time stretched in the agony of the contest, slipping away into eternity, but at last, a loud crack sounded as the arm dislocated at the shoulder.

  Releasing it, Angar twisted, snatching the other limb as it maneuvered over the thrashing warlord, and redoubled its assault.

  Moments later, another loud, cracking snap signaled that arm's ruin.

  The crowd fell into a stunned hush, their bloodlust silenced by the spectacle of a half-dead mortal clawing victory from the abyss of certain defeat.

  One of the first Realm, no less.

  Releasing that arm, it swiftly scrambled around on Rinja's back and clutched a fistful of his wild mane.

  It yanked the head up, then drove it downward, smashing the skull into the hard stone with a loud bang.

  Then again.

  And again.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  The sick impacts resounded like a drum, over and over, until the cranium fractured with a wet crunch, black blood and pulped brain oozing forth in a foul paste.

  The Swarm tolled the victory bell, but the mortal persisted, its fury unquenched, slamming the shattered head down again.

  And it didn’t stop.

  The Swarm let it continue long past when protocol demanded he end the trial. He wanted to see how much rage this mortal held.

  It was a lot.

  He ended the match with a ripple of necrotic sorcery, the trial resetting in an instant.

  Angar stood on one side of the arena, swaying on its metal feet, blood cascading from what remained of its face, one arm hanging useless at its side.

  It looked up, meeting the Swarm’s eyes across the vastness of the pit.

  And smiled.

  A broken, bloody, but defiant smile.

  The Swarm felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Admiration.

  This mortal, this bleeding, half-dead, first-Realm weakling, had won.

  And remained unbowed still, fearless.

  It spat a mouthful of blood and phlegm onto the stone, and took up a stance, signaling it was ready for more.

  Ninety-eight warlords held their breath.

  The Swarm did as well.

  Ancient, undying, unconquered, he wanted nothing more than to witness another impossible victory.

  And though he hadn’t prayed to anything in forgotten millennia, he desperately prayed that this fire would not go out.

  Though he knew it would.

  Ongora, the War King, appeared on the other side of the ring, massive and radiating vengeful hatred, his desiccated lips peeling back in a greedy, grim smile.

  The mortal shook its ravaged head, flinging droplets of blood in a crimson splatter.

  Already a broken vessel of accumulated torment, it locked eyes with this new, far larger foe.

  And the bleak truth dawned.

  Even if whole, it had no hope of winning against this opponent.

  It realized, too, this additional match could mean only one thing.

  Its companion, Simo, had fallen in its own trial.

  Fury blazed forth from its swollen eye, an inferno of rage that promised, despite the injuries, despite the odds, there'd be no surrender, nor mercy.