“FIGHT!” “KILL!” “FIGHT!!” “KILL!!” “FIGHT!!!” “KILL!!!” “FIGHT!!!!” “KILL!!!!”

  “OKAY! OKAY! CALM DOWN, YOU HUNGRY ANIMALS!” The commentator raised his hand to calm the roaring audience, and even then, Aizrah could tell it was a half-hearted effort. After all, he needed their approval if he wanted his sadistic pleasure to go uncontested by the masters. “YOU'LL GET YOUR BATTLE SOON, YOU BLOOD THIRSTY SACKS OF FLESH!”

  Aizrah’s lips tightened and he glanced up to where the masters watched from high up on their floating castles. He could not make a sight of them and it didn't surprise him at all. Of course, they would not taint themselves with the same atmosphere as the dirty, malnourished audiences and the corpse-looking slaves.

  Beside him, Nuzz shivered, his hand seemingly questing for Aizrah's. He let him, extending his left hand for his friend to grab, who soon calmed, his heavy beating chest stilling into a gentle rhythm.

  “FOR TODAY, THE ROLL MASTERS HAVE PREPARED SOMETHING WONDERFUL FOR YOU ALL!” he chuckled, and Aizrah could swear he could feel the malice pour out of him in waves. “I CALL IT… THE UNDERDOG AGAINST THE INEVITABLE!”

  “That was bad,” Nuzz commented, murmuring just loud enough for Aizrah to catch. “He really needs to take some lessons in catchy name crafting.”

  Aizrah fought to hold back his chuckle, but even then he couldn't stop the smile that crept up his lips.

  “TODAY, WE'LL PIT AN UNDERDOG AGAINST A POWERFUL FOE, FAR MORE THAN THEY CAN HANDLE. THEY'LL DIE, THAT MUCH IS OBVIOUS. BUT YOU, MY DEAR WATCHERS, WILL GET TO ENJOY THE SPECTACLE OF SEEING SOMEONE FIGHT AGAINST THE INSURMOUNTABLE.” At the last part, the commentator glanced at the floating castles, and a chill went down Aizrah's spine when he understood the undertone of what was really happening.

  “It's me, isn't it?” Nuzz murmured, body beginning to shiver. “I'm going to be the underdog. They… they'll execute me for… for their pleasure.”

  “It's not you, Nuzz,” Aizrah murmured comfortingly, squeezing his bestfriend’s hand.

  “How can you tell? Look down our roll, we're the youngest, and I'm the weakest.”

  Aizrah did, and true enough, of the ten bodies standing in a row in the center of the sand-packed colosseum, he and Aizrah were the youngest, and not by a small margin either. The person before them looked well into forty and radiated the aura of a Monarch.

  He turned back his focus to the commentator, lips tightening. “It's not you, I promise.”

  His friend clearly didn't believe him, but he remained quiet.

  “BEFORE I CALL OUT TODAY'S FIGHTERS, I WOULD LIKE TO RAISE A STANDING OVATION FOR OUR SPECIAL GUESTS!”

  On a small floating island, bare of anything save for the rock itself, two beings emerged, their forms cresting the edge of the floating rock to glance down at masses below.

  One was a female elf in flowing golden dress. Her eyes were a slate of deep gold as she gazed down at them, a contrast to her shining silver hair. Her aura was tightly contained, so much so that Aizrah failed to get a wisp off her. He knew she was powerful, though, just not how much.

  Beside her stood a… weird human, one Aizrah had never seen nor heard off. His skin was entirely golden, and not a faint gold. His eyes were a storm of whirling energies, hard and pitiless as he gazed down at everything with visible contempt. Like his counterpart, Aizrah could get nothing from him, and this bothered him more than the former because this man looked like he didn't want to be here.

  “IT HAS BEEN OVER A MILLENNIUM SINCE THE CELESTIAL SCHISM ENDED, DUSKING AT THE COSMIC ASCENSION OF KARMA, WHO ROSE TO THE EXALTED RANK OF A GRAND CELESTIAL.” The crowd cheered as they rose into applause, throwing whistles and screams.

  “MANY OF YOU WERE BUT WEE LITTLE BABIES THEN, BUT I BET SOME OF YOU YOU COULD STILL REMEMBER THE DARK AGES THEN! THE TURMOIL AND THE BLOOD!

  "HAD NOT KARMA RISEN FROM OBSCURITY TO BRING PEACE BETWEEN THE GRAND CELESTIALS, MANY OF US WOULD NOT BE STANDING HERE!”

  The cheers and applause rose to a whole new degree. Beside him, Nuzz froze, body tensed as he stared up at those beings with hope. Aizrah could tell what he was thinking. He could see the hope bleeding into his eyes. He shook his head, unwilling to be the one to break it to him.

  “THE BEAUTIFUL ELF YOU SEE HERE IS A HERALD OF ORDER, THE COSMIC PROTECTOR. WITHOUT ORDER, I SHUDDER THE KIND OF EVIL ACTS THAT WOULD FESTER WITHIN THIS BEAUTIFUL COSMOS WE CALL HOME,” He smirked, and Aizrah's hatred for the man flared up. He tamped it down quickly, leashing it before it caused him more trouble than he was in. “AND THE GOLDEN, RADIANT MAN TO HER SIDE IS A KERLANI, THE NEWEST RACE TO JOIN US IN THIS BIG, WIDE, WELCOMING COSMOS! WELCOME HIM, ALL, FOR HE IS NOT JUST A HERALD OF KARMA, HE IS A DIRECT CREATION OF THE CELESTIAL, A BEING BORN FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF CARRYING OUT COSMIC BALANCE, ALL BY THE WILL OF THE JURY!”

  Beside him, Nuzz pulled his arm and Aizrah fought back a grimace.

  “Aizrah, Aizrah, look, look, they're here. I told you Order will come save us. We're freeee, take that, slav—”

  “I think that's enough,” Aizrah said as he cupped his right hand over his friend's mouth. “Don't draw more attention than we need.”

  “But we're free,” Nuzz said after Aizrah pulled back his hand, thankfully in a murmur. “We're free. Can't you see? Order and Karma will save us. They won't let anything happen to us.”

  Aizrah grimaced and surrendered. He moved to explain what was actually happening but was fortunately beaten to the task.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “IN CASE YOU ALL WERE WONDERING, BOTH HERALDS HAVE BEEN STATIONED HERE TO PROTECT US AGAINST THE GROWING INFESTATION OF DARK CREATURES THAT HAS RISEN OUT FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE ABYSS TO CONSUME US,” The commentator said. “YOU DO NOT NEED TO FEAR, HOWEVER, FOR AS LONG AS ORDER AND KARMA STAND WITH US, NOTHING SHALL BEFALL US!”

  The crowd roared, a thundering sound that sent dull echoes of pain ringing down Aizrah's ears.

  Beside him, Nuzz was entirely still, body frozen as the blood seemed to drain from his face. Aizrah grimaced in sadness as he watched the realization sink into his friend.

  “It's not all that bad, Nuzz,” he said, squeezing his friend's hand in a bid to comfort him. “We're still alive, right? Everything will work out, we just need to be patient. Wh—who knows, maybe both Heralds have a plan to rescue us.”

  “No,” his best friend whispered. “They aren't going to help us, are they? No one is coming to help us.” He paused. “We're alone.”

  “WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, I WOULD LIKE TO CALL FORTH OUR… CONTESTANTS FOR TODAY,” The commentator’s voice halted what Aizrah had been about to say to Nuzz, stilling everyone as tension spread through. “PRISONER NUMBER 322 AND PRISONER NUMBER 423, COME ON OUT!”

  Aizrah could see the moment whatever blood was left on Nuzz’s face was washed away. From the other end of the line walked out a brute of a man.

  Aizrah had come across many animals in his short years of life. Many of those had been little creatures with small frames that were built for agility and easy passage through spaces that should have normally been impossible to go through.

  Likewise, he'd also encountered few animals that were more terrifying than cute. Absolute monsters that should have no place in the physical world, remaining entirely in nightmares. He called them beasts.

  Animals were not the only ones deserving to be called beasts, however; people also needed a place on that table.

  The man who walked out of the long line of prisoners was more beast than man. He was human, barely. His skin looked like a cloth that had gone through more bladed designs than the number of stitches on the material. His arms were beyond thick, each limb two feet wide and framing a body that made a grown man look like a newborn babe in comparison.

  His bald head was scarred so badly that Aizrah feared the Abyssal Dragon must have been squirming heavily in the underworld from how many times the man had escaped death.

  His eyes… oh celestials, were mad and without soul. The whites had been reduced to a mesh of black and red stripes, and the pupils reflected more madness than sanity.

  Aizrah swallowed as he turned to Nuzz, meeting the other boy's widened eyes as he stared at him in horror.

  Tears dripped from his eyes as he seemingly fought for words that would not come. “Ai… Ai, plea—”

  Aizrah smiled reassuringly, placing a hand on his best friend's shoulders. “Don't fear, Nuzz, I'll be fine.”

  “Yo–you can't Aiz, you'll die!”

  “I promise I won't,” Aizrah forced his smile to widen. “i'll prevail.”

  “Bu—”

  “PRISONER NUMBER 322, YOU'RE KEEPING US WAITING! DO YOU INTEND TO FORFEIT THIS MATCH?” The commentator cried, cutting through what Nuzz had been about to say. The crowd booed in response, jeers and screamed insults thrown at Aizrah.

  Nuzz's face twisted, wrath never seen before surfacing to the fore. He turned to speak but Aizrah pressed down on his shoulder, tightening his grip. He stared into the eyes of his friend and shook his head. It wasn't worth it. Anything he did was more likely than not to give the sadistic commentator an excuse to sate his abominable desires.

  Mustering confidence he didn't know he had, Aizrah walked out into the field, moving to stand opposite his monstrous opponent.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I GIVE YOU; THE DOG VS THE BEAST!”

  The combined roar from the crowd shook the sands beneath his feet, sending grains flying into the air.

  “WE ALL KNOW WHO WILL WIN THIS!” He chuckled. “QUESTION IS... HOW LONG WILL OUR DOG LAST BEFORE HE'S RIPPED APART?! I BELIEVE YOU KNOW WHERE TO BASE YOUR BETS, PEOPLE! CONTESTANTS, PICK YOUR WEAPONS!”

  Aizrah crouched and lifted a spear from beneath the sand. He'd considered a sword at first, but the scars across his opponent’s body told him that the man was probably somewhat immune to blades at this point. In his opinion, the only way to take down such an opponent wasn't death by a thousand cuts. It was one simple stroke of luck, a strike that would fell a giant in a single instant.

  A bow or any projectile weapon would have been his preferred choice, but he needed to keep ahead of the brute while he took aim. He wasn't so skilled with the bow to HAVEN'T any chance at success. The spear, however, was a middle ground.

  Looking at it, the shaft was already rotted, likewise the metal tip that looked more brown than silver.

  He sighed as he raised his eyes to meet his opponent's, who held no weapon. The man had chosen to forfeit one for a chance at brutalizing Aizrah with his bare hands.

  He couldn't help himself, he swallowed.

  “OH OHH!!, I SEE OUR BEAST IS GOING FOR MAXIMUM BRUTALITY! VERY… BEASTLY OF HIM!” A chuckle. “YOU GET IT? BEAST, BEASTLY? UGH, YOU ALL CAN'T TAKE A JOKE.”

  Aizrah's hand tightened on the grip of his weapon. He could feel sweat building up his brows and back, whether from the distant sun or his anxiety, he didn't care. And it was with an immense amount of willpower that he kept away from glancing at Nuzz. He needed to focus.

  “WHAT, YOU NEED MY PERMISSION? FIGHT ALREADY, YOU DIMWITS!”

  The words had barely left his mouth when Aizrah's opponent charged, much to the instant roar of approval from the crowd. His half shattered, half rotten teeths, were bared in a feral grin, and his cracked, dark brown, nails—more like claws—were spread wide to tear Aizrah to pieces.

  “QUICK WARNING, PRISONER NUMBER 322; THE BEAST EATS HIS OPPONENTS ALIVE, SAYS HE ENJOYS THE SOUNDS OF THEIR SCREAMS! GOOD LUCK, HEHE!”

  Aizrah swallowed and glanced up at the Heralds, meeting the eyes of the Kerlanian, who stared back with an impassive expression, a tone down from the utter disdain with which he had regarded them with a few minutes ago.

  Like he had thought, there was no hope there. Nuzz had said it; they were on their own.

  Aizrah glanced down at his opponent, who'd crossed half the distance in the split second he'd looked away. His lips pressed thin and he forced his body to calm, stilling his blood and washing away the cold with a surge of heat.

  His grip on his weapon slackened just slight enough, and he narrowed his eyes as his vision narrowed into a tunnel.

  Aizrah tapped into the Meridian resting at the center of his back, just opposite the center of his chest, and Lord strength flooded his veins. He tapped into two more, one resting on his abdomen while the other on the base of his spine, igniting his body with the full power of his Peak tier Lord Realm stage.

  His opponent was a Monarch—early tier, but still a Monarch nonetheless— and like the commentator had said, which should have made this battle completely impossible for him.

  Aizrah poured all the energy he could into a single technique, and his thinned lips stretched into a wicked smile when his vision doubled, future and present playing simultaneously.

  His opponent reached him just as his technique ignited—as had been foretold—and he slid just underneath the reaching great limbs of annihilation, dodging with a hair's breadth. He came up from behind the man, turning around to catch his opponent attempting a forceful stop of momentum.

  He succeeded, but never turned around.

  Aizrah's spear took him at the back of his skull, rusted tip crossing the intervening distance to reach into the head, do its work, and then come out through the front. His opponent collapsed with a heavy thud.

  The battle had barely taken a minute.

  He turned around, chest beating heavily, to regard the speechless witnesses that watched with stunned comprehension. Above, the Kerlanian let out a little smirk before retreating. But before he could look into that, his technique, having been pushed to the brim, snapped shut as his energy dwindled to nothing, leaving him a lashing migraine that sent him reeling.

  “Well…” Aizrah smiled through blooded lips. “That was awfully close.”