The arena erupted into chaos.
Five hundred adventurers scattered across the massive colosseum floor like startled insects. Some formed instant alliances. Others struck out alone. Within seconds, the first tags shattered, and bodies began teleporting out in flashes of blue light.
Damien leaned back in his elevated seat, surrounded by the most powerful figures in Orario. Loki sprawled beside him, legs crossed. Hestia perched on the edge of her chair, hands gripping the armrests. Freya sat gracefully to Damien's right, her golden eyes sweeping the battlefield below.
Behind them stood legends. Ottar, massive and silent, his arms crossed. Ais, her golden gaze fixed on the chaos with clinical precision. Finn, his spear resting against his shoulder, watching with the eye of a tactician.
"Five hundred down to fifty in one round," Finn murmured. "Brutal."
"Effective," Loki countered. "We need the best. Not the luckiest."
Below, a group of adventurers had formed a defensive circle, their tags hidden somewhere on their bodies. A mage in the center was already chanting, flames gathering at his fingertips.
"Ais," Damien said without turning. "What do you see?"
Ais's voice was quiet, analytical. "The circle will hold for three minutes. Then the wolves will tear it apart. The mage is their only advantage, but he is chanting too slowly."
As if on cue, a rogue adventurer sprinted across the arena floor, slid between two defenders, and ripped a tag from a man's belt. The tag shattered. The man vanished.
The circle broke.
Hestia winced. "Is anyone going to get hurt? Really hurt?"
Damien shook his head. "Healers are on standby. Riveria organized it herself." He pointed to a section at the edge of the arena where a makeshift medical station had been set up. "She brought in the best."
Loki squinted. "Are those the girls from the Hostess?"
"Chloe, Lunoire, and Anya," Damien confirmed. "They may serve drinks now, but don't let that fool you. Chloe was a Level Four assassin before she retired. Lunoire's spatial magic is still some of the best I've ever seen. And Anya..." He smiled. "Anya was a frontline fighter for Freya before she left."
Freya nodded. "She was one of my finest. Her departure was... regrettable."
Below, a fighter went down hard, clutching their leg. Before the teleportation could activate, Chloe was already there, dragging them to the edge of the arena, her movements too fast to track.
"She hasn't lost a step," Finn observed.
"Some skills never fade," Damien replied.
..
The arena floor shifted as the weaker contestants were weeded out. Now only the strong remained, and the real battle began.
A pillar of fire erupted near the center of the arena.
Damien leaned forward. "Who is that?"
A tall man in crimson robes stood at the heart of the flames, his hands weaving complex patterns in the air. Fire spiraled around him like a living serpent, keeping three would-be attackers at bay.
Freya's eyes gleamed with recognition. "Royland. He is human, but he was trained by elves."
Loki raised an eyebrow. "Trained by elves? A human?"
"His adoptive mother was a elven mage of considerable power. She taught him everything she knew." Freya watched as Royland unleashed a cone of fire that sent two adventurers scrambling. "He has a talent for magic that hasn't been seen in humans for generations. Most humans can barely manage two or three spells before running dry. Royland has cast seven already and shows no signs of slowing."
"His control is exceptional," Riveria's voice came through a magic crystal beside them. "I have been watching him. His spell rotation is... efficient."
Damien nodded. "Efficient enough to win?"
"He lacks close-quarters experience," Ais observed. "If someone gets inside his range, he falls."
As if to prove her point, a rogue darted past Royland's flame wall. Royland panicked, his next spell going wide. The rogue grabbed his tag—
Royland grabbed the rogue's wrist. His eyes blazed. A point-blank fireball sent the rogue flying.
"Or not," Finn said, a hint of approval in his voice.
..
Across the arena, a different kind of fighter caught Loki's attention.
A man in eastern armor moved like water. His katana flashed, never quite connecting, always pulling back at the last moment. He wasn't trying to hurt anyone—just disarm, disorient, and move on.
"Now that is interesting," Loki said, sitting up. "A samurai who uses magic."
Damien followed her gaze. "I don't see any spellcasting."
"Look at his feet."
Damien watched. The samurai's steps left faint trails of light—barely visible, easily missed.
"He's enhancing himself," Loki explained. "Speed, strength, reflexes. It's an eastern technique, but it's frowned upon there. They believe magic corrupts the purity of the blade."
"Does it?" Hestia asked.
Loki shrugged. "Depends on the wielder. This one seems to know what he's doing."
The samurai sheathed his katana. For a moment, he was still. Then he moved—too fast to track. Three adventurers lost their tags before they realized what had happened.
"Impressive," Finn admitted.
"He'll make the fifty," Ais said. "But he's hiding something. He hasn't drawn his blade fully once."
..
"Who are those two?" Spoke Ais
Two women fought back-to-back near the eastern wall. One moved with quick, darting strikes—daggers flashing, body twisting. The other stood behind her, a bow in her hands, arrows flying with surgical precision.
Ais studied them. "They are good. Coordinated. They have fought together before."
Hestia smiled. "That's Daphne Lauros and Cassandra Ilion. They used to be in the Apollo Familia."
Damien raised an eyebrow. "Apollo? The one I sent packing?"
"The same." Hestia's smile faltered. "They've been looking for a new home since the wargame. No one would take them because they were associated with Apollo. But they're good people, Damien. Really good."
Daphne ducked under a swing, spun, and drove her dagger into an attacker's belt—severing his tag. Cassandra loosed two arrows in rapid succession, pinning another fighter's sleeve to the wall, buying Daphne time to close the distance.
"Daphne is fast," Finn observed. "Not the strongest, but she doesn't need to be. She finds the opening and takes it."
"And Cassandra?" Hestia asked.
Ais tilted her head. "She is not just an archer. Watch."
An adventurer broke past Daphne's guard, charging straight at Cassandra. The archer didn't flinch. She dropped her bow, placed her hands on the man's chest, and whispered something. A soft glow emanated from her palms.
The man stumbled back, disoriented. Daphne was there in an instant, tearing away his tag.
"Healing magic," Riveria's voice came through the crystal. "She used it to disrupt his sense of balance. Clever."
"Very clever indeed" Damien agreed.
..
But it was the hooded figure in the corner that drew everyone's attention.
The woman had done nothing remarkable all match. She dodged when she needed to. Pushed when she had to. Never drew her weapon. Never seemed to break a sweat.
And yet, she hadn't lost her tag.
Ottar's voice rumbled from behind them. "That one."
Everyone turned.
Ottar's eyes were fixed on the hooded woman. "She has considerable skill."
Damien narrowed his eyes. He studied her movements. The way she shifted her weight. The way her eyes tracked every fighter within twenty meters.
He laughed.
Everyone looked at him.
"She has more skill and combat sense than I do," Damien said.
The booth went silent.
Freya's golden eyes widened. Loki's jaw dropped. Hestia choked on her drink.
"What?" Finn stepped forward. "Damien, that's—"
"She is weaker than me," Damien continued, ignoring him. "But far stronger than anyone I have ever seen in Orario." He looked at them, his expression serious. "Are you all sure you do not know who she might be?"
Loki recovered first. "Are you sure about that? You are saying she is stronger than Ottar? Than Finn?"
Damien nodded. "Yes. And she is not even being serious."
He turned back to the arena. The hooded woman had just sidestepped an attack without looking. Her hood shifted, revealing a flash of red hair.
Damien grinned.
"Watch this."
He focused. His killing intent—condensed, targeted, absolute—shot toward the woman like a lance.
She reacted.
Her body tensed. Her head snapped up. For the first time all match, she looked genuinely alarmed. She backpedaled, her hands coming up—
And ripped off her hood.
The arena seemed to hold its breath.
She was tall. Muscular, but lean. Her upper body was covered in scars—some old, some new, all telling stories of battles fought and survived. A red top covered only her breasts, leaving her toned stomach and scarred arms bare. Below, she wore simple pants, easy for movement. Strapped to her back was a sword.
Not just any sword.
A massive blade. Longer than Ottar's Supreme Black Sword. Wider too. It should have been unwieldy, impossible to use effectively.
She drew it in one smooth motion.
The air cracked. A wave of force erupted from the blade, sending twenty adventurers flying in all directions. They crashed into walls, into each other, into the ground.
"SHOW YOURSELF!"
Her voice echoed across the arena. Her eyes...red as fire....scanned the battlefield, the stands, the shadows.
Then she looked up.
Directly at Damien.
He grinned at her.
She smiled and nodded. Her sword rose high above her head. For a moment, she held it there, poised, silent.
Then she dropped it.
The blade slammed into the center of the arena. A wave of magic and force exploded outward...not sharp, not cutting, but crushing. The pressure hit every contestant like a physical wall. Some braced themselves and held their ground. Most could not.
Eighty bodies teleported out of the arena in a single flash of blue light.
The survivors.....stood scattered across the colosseum floor, breathing hard, eyes wide. The mage Royland had planted his staff and weathered the blast. The samurai had dug his heels in and refused to move. Chloe, Lunoire, and Anya had formed a small triangle, bracing each other. Daphne had grabbed Cassandra and pulled her behind a broken pillar.
They had survived.
Everyone else had failed.
The Woman looked up at Damien again.
"Was that impressive enough?"
Damien stood and moved to the edge of the booth. His voice filled the arena, amplified by magic.
"Thirty-two remaining. It was supposed to be fifty, but you ruined the entire structure... did you not?"
She smiled. "Sorry, sir. But they were simply too weak."
Damien looked out over the remaining fighters then his gaze returned to the red-headed woman below.
"What is your name?"
She smiled.
"My name is Alcides. Or Alcy, for short." She paused. "However, my father decided to change my name"
"I am Heracles."
The booth went silent.
Loki's cup stopped halfway to her lips. Freya's golden eyes widened. Hestia grabbed Damien's arm. Behind them, Ottar shifted his weight. Finn's hand tightened on his spear.
Even Damien's composure cracked....just for a moment.
Then he smiled.
"Heracles... Is that so?" He looked down at her. "Win. And I will grant you your wish."
Heracles raised her massive sword and rested it against her shoulder.
"And so it shall be."
Damien turned and walked back to his seat.
No one asked what her wish was.
But Damien had seen it on her face.
She was here for him.
To fight him.
/*\
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