The metallic gates of the arena slammed shut with a dull thud, muffling the still-echoing screams of the small crowd.
Darius, his shield stained with blood and blade still dripping, walked in silence beside Rygar through the cold corridors of the facility.
Armed guards watched with indifference — lives here were worth only the price paid to see them taken.
They were taken back to the containment sector — a subterranean complex of electrified bars, cells, and cameras — and locked up once again.
Minutes later, a group of arena organizers entered a glass room.
They spoke loudly, confident the prisoners didn't matter enough to understand — or survive long enough to care.
"This kid… took down the Devourer in under two minutes. No abilities used, no Essentia, no Ruvek or Zerith."
"He's different."
"With a performance like that, he could be promoted to the Bronze League in record time."
"Not so fast," warned another. "He's still in the Iron League. Needs five wins to move up. But if he keeps this pace, he'll be there in a week."
"If he survives that long," one added, with a cynical smile.
Darius, with his heightened senses, heard everything. Each fight brought him closer to his goal — and to the Empire he wanted to burn and rebuild.
On the other side of the cell, Rygar approached.
He cleaned the dust from his spear while watching Darius with a mix of admiration and caution.
"I've never seen anyone take down a beast like that so easily. That thing's killed men twice your size, kid. In arenas like this one. Where the hell did you come from?"
Darius sat on the ground, resting his back against the cold wall.
"I was trained for this. Since I was a child."
Rygar raised an eyebrow. "Trained? Where? By who?"
Darius glanced at him, eyes steady.
"At home. By my father."
"Hmm." Rygar was thoughtful, then spoke again. "You've got a strange vibe… It's not just strength — your stance, your confidence. Were you some noble trained to be a soldier?"
"Something like that."
Darius closed his eyes.
Rygar was silent for a second, as if weighing something.
Then he sat on the other side of the cell, his voice lower.
"I was a commander of a star patrol. A mercenary hired by the Solarii Empire to protect trade routes on the Outer Rim. I used to fight all the time, hunt pirates, make sure noble money arrived on time."
He paused, eyes lost in the bars.
"Until one of those nobles refused to pay. Said my crew and I were 'expendable.' They killed everyone. I survived, wounded… and got sold as a slave shortly after."
Darius looked him in the eye for the first time.
He didn't say anything, but in that moment, he almost respected the man.
Rygar kept talking.
He spoke of dirty contracts, off-the-record battles, silent deaths in the vacuum.
Darius listened in silence, eyes fixed on the dusty cell floor.
That's when ZERUS, ever inconvenient, echoed in his mind with a sarcastic comment:
"Commanders becoming slaves, merchants becoming masters. Funny how the universe loves to swap roles, huh?"
Darius kept his expression stoic, but ZERUS didn't stop.
"And you… well, let's just say you've stood on far grander stages than this. Now here you are, sharing a cell with a former merc and eating thin synthetic protein soup. The irony, your grace."
Darius narrowed his eyes slowly.
"Don't call me that."
"Of course, of course… Just a term of endearment."
Darius didn't reply.
He didn't need to — just closed his eyes for a moment, as if breathing in memories better left buried.
Silence fell like a blanket.
Then he finally spoke.
"How do I get to the Coliseum?"
Darius's question cut through the silence like a blade.
Rygar, sitting in the corner of the cell, raised an eyebrow and let out a dry laugh full of disbelief.
"The Coliseum? That's where you want to go?" He shook his head slowly, like someone hearing a joke too good to be serious.
"Listen, man… nothing against you, really, but kid… at the Coliseum, only the powered make it. Zerions, Essentaris, Hunters, Mages, Awakened… real warriors. Not some nobody with no record, no clan, no faction. You're just another lucky rookie."
Darius remained still, staring at him.
"So forget that dr—"
Before Rygar could finish, a sharp snap cut through the air.
His spear, which he had been absentmindedly cleaning, was torn from his hands as if it had a will of its own.
In a blink, it flew across the cell and landed firmly in Darius's outstretched palm.
The impact was dry, precise — no tremble, no hesitation, just mastery.
Rygar's jaw dropped.
Darius looked up, steady.
His fingers closed calmly around the metal shaft.
"Does that answer your question?"
Rygar's mouth stayed open for a full second.
He blinked slowly, as if trying to process what had just happened.
"You little bastard…" he muttered, then burst into a raspy laugh, almost incredulous. "So that's where all that damn confidence comes from — you're a fucking Zerion."
Darius said nothing — he just spun the spear with a smooth motion and tossed it lightly back to Rygar, who caught it midair, still laughing and shaking his head.
"Now it all makes sense. And here I thought you were just another suicidal nut with a hero complex."
He leaned against the cell's metal bars and let out a sigh, still wearing a half-smile.
"Alright. Since you want to reach the Coliseum, I'll tell you how it works."
Darius sat, attentive.
"The fights here are organized by leagues — four total. We're in the lowest one: the Iron League."
"Where all the screwed ones play — new slaves, prisoners, death row folks, and the generally unlucky."
"After that comes the Bronze League. To move up, you need five wins. You've already got one."
"After Bronze is Silver. That's when things change — they start putting you against people with real power. Essentaris, Hunters…" Rygar paused, crossing his arms.
"And at the top… the Gold League, the Main Coliseum of Arkhan. That's where legends are born. Where death becomes a spectacle. Five wins in each league to rise, and five more in the Coliseum to become the champion."
Darius was quiet for a moment.
His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes grew sharper.
"The champion of the Coliseum has the right to freedom, don't they?"
Rygar smiled, but there was no joy in it — only weariness.
"That's what they say."