The sun hung high above the Coliseum of Valor, its golden rays illuminating the bloodstained sands. Today, the air was heavier than before, not with excitement, but with something colder. Anticipation. Fear. The weight of survival pressing down on every competitor’s shoulders. Alyc stood among them, her hands flexing at her sides, Firefang strapped to her back. The roar of the crowd was distant, muffled by her own thoughts. The trials were not just battles; they were executions in disguise. No mercy, no second chances. At the highest platform, the Divine Council stood like statues of fate, watching, waiting. The Lifebringer, her luminous form almost too bright to look at, clasped her hands together as though in silent mourning. The Harbinger, draped in robes as dark as the abyss, remained still, his skeletal fingers curled around the hilt of his ceremonial blade. The Seer stepped forward, her voice ringing clear across the arena. “The next trial stands before you. A test of strength. A test of endurance. A test of wit. Those who fall today do not rise again.” Alyc exhaled slowly. No second chances. The Seer lifted her hand. The arena groaned as massive iron gates slid open, dust and sand billowing into the air. From the shadows, the beasts emerged living legends, horrors of fang and claw, nightmares crafted by the gods themselves. The trial had begun.
The first competitor was Kaelen Frostveil. The Selenian warrior stepped forward, rolling his shoulders, his twin blades glinting under the sunlight. His opponent slithered from the shadows a Void Serpent, its obsidian scales rippling like liquid darkness. Kaelen wasted no time, launching forward with a series of precise, practiced strikes. His blades found their mark, but they did nothing. The serpent's body twisted unnaturally, Kaelen's twin blades sliced through the serpent’s body, but the creature did not react. Instead, its form rippled, bending in unnatural ways, absorbing the strikes like a shadow given flesh. Obsidian scales glimmered in the shifting light, each movement of the beast as fluid as water yet as deadly as a coiled trap. Kaelen snarled, adjusting his stance. He launched into another flurry of attacks, faster, stronger. His movements were precise every strike aimed at a vital point. Yet every time his blades met the serpent; they passed through as if cutting smoke. Then the Void Serpent retaliated. It moved with inhuman speed, its body flickering in and out of reality, shifting through the air like a ghost. One second, it was before Kaelen. The next, it was behind him. Alyc’s stomach twisted as the serpent’s fangs sank deep into Kaelen’s shoulder. He let out a strangled gasp, his grip on his blades faltering. The serpent’s body constricted, wrapping around him like a living noose, its coils tightening with unnatural force. Kaelen struggled, muscles bulging, his body twisting violently as he tried to break free. His teeth clenched, veins standing out in his neck as he fought against the inevitable. But it was too late. A sickening crack echoed through the coliseum. Then silence. The Void Serpent uncoiled, slithering back into the shadows, leaving behind the lifeless body of Kaelen Frostveil, his once sharp eyes now empty.
Alyc exhaled through her nose, staring at the corpse. The trial was cruel, but there was no room for hesitation. No room for mourning.
Kaelen was gone. Ilyra Duskbane stepped forward with effortless grace, her sleek black armor catching the flickering torchlight. She did not acknowledge Kaelen’s broken body, nor did she cast even a glance at the crowd. Her focus was singular, razor-sharp. Beyond the iron gates, her opponent emerged. A Duskfang Wyvern. The creature slithered into the arena on taloned feet, its massive wings unfurling with a snap. Its obsidian-black scales shimmered like polished stone, and its glowing amber eyes locked onto Ilyra with predatory hunger. Rows of serrated fangs lined its narrow maw, each one dripping with venom potent enough to dissolve steel.
The wyvern screeched, its tail whipping through the air, knocking dust and debris skyward. The crowd roared, but Ilyra remained still.
She watched. Calculated. Waited. The wyvern struck first, lunging with terrifying speed. Its maw snapped shut where she had stood a second before, but Ilyra was already gone. She moved like liquid shadow, a blur against the sand, her rapier a silver streak in the air.
A flick of her wrist. A shallow cut along the wyvern’s flank. The beast shrieked, spinning, wings beating furiously, but Ilyra was untouchable. She sidestepped its lunging bite, slid beneath a sweeping tail, her every movement flowing like a dancer’s step.
The wyvern grew frustrated, its strikes turning erratic. That was what she wanted. The Duskfang Wyvern lashed out, its venom-dripping fangs snapping inches from her face, but Ilyra was already gone, pivoting on the balls of her feet, her rapier flashing in the dim light. She didn’t need brute strength she needed patience, precision. Another strike. A calculated wound along the wyvern’s wing joint. It screeched, its flight faltering as one wing sagged slightly, blood dripping into the sand. Ilyra smirked. She had crippled its greatest advantage. The beast roared, throwing itself at her with reckless abandon. Its wings flapped wildly, its claws raking at the ground in desperate attempts to catch her. The crowd gasped as the wyvern coiled its powerful body, preparing for one final, deadly lunge. Ilyra’s eyes flicked to the beast’s exposed throat. Now. As the wyvern struck, she ducked low, sliding beneath its massive frame. Her rapier traced a deadly arc, slicing cleanly across its throat.
The wyvern landed heavily, its body convulsing. A wet, gurgling sound escaped its maw as it clawed at the wound, blood pooling beneath it. Its golden eyes dimmed, its struggles slowing. Then, stillness. Ilyra stood, flicking the blood from her blade before sheathing it in one fluid motion. She turned away before the creature had drawn its final breath. She did not bow. Did not revel in victory. Her work was done. The Lifebringer nodded solemnly from her place above the battlefield. The Harbinger remained motionless, watching as the Duskfang Wyvern released its final, ragged breath.
Ilyra took her place at the edge of the arena, standing like a statue, unreadable. She had won. And she had barely broken a sweat. Alyc stepped forward next, her boots crunching against the sand. The energy in the coliseum shifted subtle, but noticeable. There was no roar of anticipation, no thundering cheers for Emberfall or Selenia. The audience watched, waiting, as if unsure whether to hope for her victory or her demise. She could feel their eyes Desmond Alistar, Erik, Vienna Hast, even the Divine Council. But she ignored them all.
Her focus was on one thing. The iron gates groaned open, and the earth trembled as her opponent stepped into the arena. The Titanwolf. A low, rumbling growl reverberated through the coliseum as the beast emerged. It was enormous, towering over Alyc on four massive limbs, its body thick with muscle and fur like tempered steel. Its golden eyes gleamed, not with the wild hunger of a mindless predator, but with intelligence. A hunter’s patience. A warrior’s instincts. Alyc exhaled slowly. This was no ordinary beast.
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It knew exactly what she was. And it was not afraid. The Titanwolf lowered its massive head, its powerful shoulders rolling as it stalked toward her, each step deliberate. It was testing her. She would not give it the chance. The First Strike Alyc moved first, breaking into a sprint, Firefang gleaming in her grip. The Titanwolf’s ears flicked back it expected a direct attack. Instead, Alyc dived sideways, rolling into the sand as the beast lunged, its fangs snapping where she had stood an instant before. She sprang to her feet and slashed, aiming for its exposed flank. Firefang struck true but it did nothing. The Titanwolf’s hide was too thick. The beast barely flinched. Instead, it twisted, its claws raking toward her throat. Alyc barely ducked in time, feeling the wind of the near-miss against her cheek. She rolled away, landing on one knee, heart pounding. Brute force won’t work. She knew that now. She had to be smarter. The Titanwolf’s Mistake The Titanwolf prowled around her in a slow, steady circle. Its ears flicked forward, tracking her every breath, every shift of her weight. It was watching learning. It would not fall for the same trick twice. But Alyc wasn’t looking to trick it. She was looking to end this. She shifted her stance, her breathing slowing. She relaxed her grip on Firefang not as an act of submission, but as bait. The Titanwolf noticed. Its muscles tensed Then, like a coiled spring, the Titanwolf exploded forward. Its claws tore into the sand, kicking up a cloud of dust as it lunged, golden eyes locked onto its prey. Alyc stood still. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but she did not flinch. The Titanwolf closed the distance in a single breath.
Fangs like daggers lunged for her throat. And at the last possible moment, Alyc moved. She twisted her body, pivoting just enough to let the Titanwolf’s momentum carry it past her. The beast barreled forward, unable to stop itself, its massive form crashing toward the unforgiving stone wall. A sickening crack rang out. The Titanwolf staggered, its skull fractured, blood streaking down its silvered fur. Its ears flattened, a low, pained growl escaping its throat as it tried to regain its balance. Alyc didn’t hesitate. Now. She lunged, Firefang glinting in the sunlight. With a swift, precise strike, she drove the blade deep into the Titanwolf’s exposed wound. The beast released a single, shuddering breath. Then it collapsed. A cloud of dust rose around them as its massive body hit the ground. Alyc yanked Firefang free, her breath ragged. Blood dripped from the blade, staining the sand beneath her boots. And then, silence. For the first time since the trials began, the coliseum did not erupt into cheers.
The crowd simply stared. Alyc turned, scanning the faces in the royal box. Erik Alistar watched with cold calculation, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Vienna Hast sat stiffly beside him, her expression unreadable. And at the highest seat, High King Desmond Alistar. He leaned forward; his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers. Alyc met his gaze. Unflinching. Unbroken. Then she turned away. She had no time for him, yet. There was still one more fight left. The gates thundered open, the metal groaning as though reluctant to release the final beast. Valen Draymoor stepped forward, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the bloodstained arena. His obsidian-black armor gleamed in the sunlight, the two-handed sword in his grip as steady as the mountains of Emberfall. Alyc watched carefully from the competitor’s box, gripping Firefang tighter. Valen was not reckless. He was dangerous. The ground rumbled beneath their feet. And then, the Abyssal Behemoth emerged. A hulking mass of stone and sinew, its body covered in jagged, obsidian-like plates that pulsed with faint, eerie light. Its four muscular limbs dug into the sand, each claw the size of a greatsword. Deep-set crimson eyes glowed beneath its plated skull, filled with hunger. Valen did not hesitate. He charged. His great sword whistled through the air, striking true against the beast’s armored hide, only for the blade to bounce off. The crowd gasped. Alyc’s breath stilled. No. Not even a dent? The Abyssal Behemoth barely reacted, its thick hide absorbing the blow. Then it moved, faster than anything that large should be able to move. It swung a massive claw. Valen barely dodged in time, rolling beneath the strike. He shifted his grip on his sword, pivoted, and drove the blade toward the creature’s underbelly. The Behemoth’s tail whipped out. A blur of darkness. The impact sent Valen flying. He crashed hard into the arena floor, skidding across the bloodstained sand. For a moment, he did not move. The crowd fell silent. Then, Valen gritted his teeth, forcing himself up to one knee. He spat blood, wiping it from his mouth. Unshaken. Unyielding. The Abyssal Behemoth charged. The ground shook beneath its weight.
Valen braced himself. At the last second, he stepped aside, blade arcing in a clean, controlled strike. Alyc’s eyes narrowed. He was aiming for, The Behemoth’s joints. A strategy. A way to exploit its bulk. The blade struck true, slicing deep between the Behemoth’s plated armor at the bend of its massive limb. A spray of thick, black blood splattered the ground. The beast shrieked in rage, stumbling slightly. The crowd roared. But Alyc knew better. That was not enough. Valen pivoted to strike again, But the Abyssal Behemoth was faster. A sudden burst of movement, unnatural speed for something so massive. It rammed into Valen full force. Bone crunched. Valen’s body was lifted off the ground, thrown like a broken doll. His form slammed against the stone wall of the arena.
And this time, he did not rise. The coliseum fell silent. For a moment, the only sound was the heavy, ragged breathing of the Abyssal Behemoth. Then, The Lifebringer stepped forward, her golden robes catching the light as she raised a hand. The moment was heavy, the weight of finality settling over the arena. The Abyssal Behemoth let out a final huff of breath, its crimson eyes flickering before it lumbered back toward the iron gates, its trial complete. Alyc watched without expression. The Lifebringer’s gaze swept across the battlefield before falling upon Valen Draymoor’s unmoving body. A solemn silence followed as she extended a hand, her fingertips glowing with celestial radiance. A faint pulse of light surged toward him a gesture of mercy, of recognition. But no breath returned to his chest. The judgment was clear. With a voice that carried across the hushed coliseum, the Lifebringer spoke, "Valen Draymoor has fallen. Emberfall has lost another warrior. The trials move forward." A murmur swept through the crowd, but it was subdued, more uncertainty than celebration. Valen had been strong.
And still, he had lost. Alyc exhaled slowly, the tension in her muscles refusing to ease. Four remained. Her gaze flicked to the others, Cassia Rivenholme, the Emberfall warrior standing tall, her expression unreadable, but her fingers twitched against the hilts of her twin daggers. Torren Valehart, arms crossed, his massive Warhammer resting against the ground. He barely seemed fazed by the bloodshed. Ilyra Duskbane, the other competitor from Emberfall, stood with her arms loosely folded, a quiet, knowing smirk playing at her lips. Alyc met her gaze, but Ilyra looked past her, to the arena floor where Valen still lay. Then, she turned away.
A hush fell over the coliseum as the Seer stepped forward, her violet robes trailing behind her like mist. Her voice was calm, absolute,
"The Beast Trial is over. Tomorrow, the storm begins.” Alyc’s fingers tightened around Firefang’s hilt. She was ready. Let the storm come.
