"WE MUST FIGHT. WE AREN'T WEAK!"
The humans began to look at each other, their eyes darting around, searching for someone—anyone—who could embody the promise that man had just made. They looked for a leader, a savior who could survive the crushing weight of the Orcs. But what they saw instead was pure horror.
Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam.
"JU KI! KJU KI!"
The Orc was celebrating, jumping rhythmically on every inch of the man's broken body. With every heavy stomp, the martyr's organs were flattened against the stone. His intestines burst from his side like a popped bag of chips under pressure, painting the arena floor in a messy, wet spray of off-white and crimson.
Hah, look at that, Kerium thought, his mind a toxic whirlpool. This was the "hero" who said humans aren't weak. But look at him now. Just a corpse being tenderized, making the stone hold his weight. How could you say those words when you were so pathetic yourself?
But a small part of Kerium's mind whispered back. Right... he was weak. But I didn't see a single tear. What would I have done?
Kerium gritted his teeth. He knew exactly what he would have done. He would have run. He would have screamed. He would have wailed at the crowd for not saving him. He would have cursed their families and their very existence before dying a meaningless death. His words would have vanished into the air, unremembered.
What's wrong with that? Why is it bad to just want to rest? Why should it be me who has to fight? Why do these humans have to go against everything I stand for?
"You!"
Kerium's spiraling thoughts were cut short by the Orc's barked commands.
The matches continued. It was a slaughterhouse. But something had changed. The humans didn't cower as they had before; they fought with everything they had. They used their teeth, their nails, their very lives to show that they were worth fighting for. But in the end, they still died. Bones were crushed to dust. Heads were bitten into until brains were exposed. They were trampled, ripped limb from limb, and had their eyes gouged out while they were still screaming.
In the end, all that fighting means nothing, Kerium hissed internally. Your fight always ends in the dirt.
"You!" The Orc pointed at another human.
This man walked onto the stage without a hint of fear, matching the resolve of those who came before him. Hah, so you'll fight and end it as fast as you can, huh? Kerium scoffed.
So fucking pitiful—
Kerium stopped. The man had locked eyes with him. It was as if he knew exactly what Kerium was about to say. His eyes were a piercing, vibrant yellow—like the sun itself. They cut through Kerium's cynicism and pierced his very soul.
A familiar, cold sensation bubbled up from Kerium's stomach. Fear. Once again , he felt true fear coming from another human.
The man broke eye contact and walked to the center of the arena. He looked to be in his early twenties, with long black hair that matted against his pale skin.
The match began. The Orc charged, but this time, the monster carried weapons: two massive, sickle-shaped blades. This Orc was faster and more surgical than the rest. As soon as it entered range, it swung a sickle toward the man's neck.
Right before the blade connected, something strange happened. A burst of brilliant light erupted, blinding the Orc.
It wasn't a world-ending power, but because the man was right in the Orc's face, the flash was devastating. The Orc, having never felt such a sensation, instinctively loosened its grip.
The man seized the moment. He delivered a brutal kick to the Orc's wrist, forcing it to drop one of the sickles. He snatched the weapon out of the air before the Orc could regain its sight.
The stadium went silent. A mere human had disarmed a god.
The Orc roared in utter fury, going berserk. Its remaining sickle blurred through the air like a gunshot. The man reacted instantly, raising the captured blade to block. If he had been a millisecond slower, he would have been decapitated.
But even though he blocked it, his human frame couldn't negate the sheer kinetic force. His body was sent flying across the arena.
CRASH. His body finally stopped against the stone wall. He was bleeding heavily from his head, but he stood up.
He was alive. His yellow eyes remained unbroken, his will uncrumbled even after feeling the true strength of an Orc.
"ROUHS!" The Orc let out a terrifying battle cry. It was insulted that a "bug" had blocked its blow. It lunged again, swinging vertically, not giving the man a second to breathe.
Again, that blinding light erupted.
BOOM.
Everyone assumed the man had been cleaved in two. But as the smoke cleared, they saw the Orc clutching its face, eyes squeezed shut, with dark blood oozing from a missing ear.
The crowd was in shock. No one knew how it had happened; they only knew that a human had made an Orc bleed.
"Huff... huff..." The man stood a few feet away,
gasping for air.
He was bleeding from a scrape on his arm and the wound on his head, but there were no fatal injuries. Yet, he was panting as if he had run for miles.
He shouldn't be that tired yet, some thought.
"I will... huff... show you the power of the humans you enslaved," the man wheezed.
The Orc didn't care about the speech. It was enraged that a "maggot" had survived two attacks. It charged again, its arm striking out with the speed of a shotgun blast. But every time the Orc swung, it was met with a flash of light and a new wound. The man was keeping his distance, but he was gasping for air, his lungs burning. He had to fight. If he didn't, he would die just like the rest.
Gritting his teeth, he stood straight. The Orc before him was covered in cuts—face, arms, chest. The man had tried to go for the throat, but the Orc was becoming accustomed to the flashes.
"RAAA!" The Orc screamed, charging with a horizontal swing. The man knew his light wouldn't matter here; he would be cut in half regardless. He took a calculated step back, but his foot landed on a loose stone.
He skidded, falling into an accidental split. In that second, his eyes widened. He knew he had messed up.
BOOM. A body went flying once more. It should have been a headless corpse, but the man had managed to raise the sickle at the last moment. He couldn't brace for the power because his feet weren't stable. His own weapon was driven back into his own forehead by the Orc's strength.
Blood gushed like a fountain, covering his right eye and blinding him. When he tried to stand, his leg buckled—it had been twisted and snapped by the force of the impact and the awkward fall.
Thump. Thump. Thump. The Orc charged, almost as bloody as the human. It swung vertically, intending to cleave him from crown to groin. Every eye in the stadium was on the man—the human who had lasted longer and fought harder than anyone in history.
BOOM.
Dust lifted from the ground, obscuring the view. Everyone held their breath. Was he dead? Was he finally silenced? Even Kerium leaned forward, his heart racing. No one thought the man had killed the Orc. But for the first time, they all bear witness to the first Orc that was killed by human hands . Standing over a green corpse was a human that would be the light.