The Arena of the Immortals vibrated with a toxic energy. It wasn't the excitement of a sport, but the hunger of a coliseum. In the center, Vespera Obsidian shed her silk cloak, revealing armor of black dragon scales that seemed to absorb the sunlight. In her hands were not ordinary daggers, but the "Widow's Tears": two chain whips ending in barbed hooks, coated in a poison that caused an agony capable of driving an immortal mad.
"Are you ready to bleed, little elf?" Vespera hissed. Her eyes were bloodshot with hatred. "I'm going to cut that perfect face of yours until not even Karan can recognize the corpse he called his wife."
The duel began, and Vespera showed no mercy. The whips slashed through the air with a sonic crack. Adara, using her fighting staff, managed to deflect the first blow, but the second hook caught on her shoulder, tearing through the silk and skin.
The crowd at House Obsidian erupted in cheers. Vespera yanked the chain viciously, dragging Adara across the arena.
"Look at her!" Vespera shouted to the box. "She's a rag doll! Karan's brought a pet that can't even scream!"
Vespera began toying with her prey. She wasn't looking for the killing blow; she was looking for a thousand cuts. Every time Adara tried to get up, a whip struck her, leaving red welts on her back and legs. Karan's face in the box was a statue of restrained agony; his knuckles were white from gripping the stone railing.
Vespera approached the fallen Adara and placed her boot on her neck, pressing it down into the sand.
"You know what's the funniest thing?" she whispered so only Adara could hear. "When Karan begged me not to leave him 500 years ago, he cried like a dog. He was just as disgusting as he is now, groveling with a filthy elf. Now he'll cry while I bury you in a mass grave. You're a stain on his bloodline, a cheap elf only good for warming a bed that will soon be mine again."
That was a lie—because Adara knew Karan would never beg for someone like her—and even knowing that, this was the last straw.