The Dragon Arena remembered the first High Kings of the Underworld.

  Tessarion was the fifth among those who had managed to bring all rulers of the underworld under his dominion, and he had no intention of stepping down. Despite his old age — hair as gray as ash reaching his knees and skin weathered by time, hard as stone — he still stood at the very peak of the lands where the sun never shines.

  “When does it start, little sister?” Queen Kiro said mockingly, lying on a silk bed, turning to Queen Dalaris, who merely ground her teeth, restraining herself from killing her. “My tiny, delicate little sister is celebrating her 3,773rd birthday! It would be a shame to ruin such a special day with delays…”

  The one they called the Stone Dragon cast them a look of irritation, shook his head, and returned to sipping white wine. They all sat in the royal lodge, from which the view of the arena sands was the best. Kiro and Dalaris were only two of the five rulers of the underworld who had come for the second day of celebrating the Black Dragon’s birthday. Seydo and his followers, as well as four rulers from the far west and one from the distant north, had not come — overwhelmed by their own matters.

  “Be quiet, you horned pest! Only five minutes separate us. We are practically the same age!” argued the black-haired twin of the slender Kiro, whose light violet hair was straight as strings. “Why did you even come? To show off again? Do you think beating that one-eyed idiot will impress anyone? Pf!”

  While the powerful dragonesses, each ruling their own kingdoms, argued endlessly, the remaining three kings — Lumeris, called the Moon Bat, Zarek the Colossus, who even now in humanoid form stood four meters tall, and Velhor of the demonic race — enjoyed the riches of the Black Dragon’s Kingdom. They feasted, conversed among themselves and other powerful figures, and plotted future plans…

  Above them all stood the Stone Dragon Tessarion, who remembered the fall of Varmtheim fifteen thousand years ago. Though he looked like a stone monument of past ages and had long since lost much of his sight and vitality, the aura within him — even suppressed by the vast amount of Cursed Death Stone upon which the city was built — filled those present with unease. Not without reason had he brought millions of beings lurking in the deep places of the world under his rule.

  “Your hospitality, little Dala, always puts me in a good mood,” he said. “Your mother and father must be very proud of you. Give them my regards when you meet them.”

  Both grew quieter, as if imagining those two figures from the very peak of power watching and judging their childish behavior. At the mere thought of their mother, a chill ran down their spines…

  “Yes, High King… We will be sure to mention how well you treat us…” they said, trembling with fear.

  Tessarion smiled faintly, watching their confidence evaporate faster than smoke from incense. Fear truly lay deep within them. Even he shuddered at the memory of that mad woman who had given birth to them…

  He raised his goblet and slowly let his gaze sweep across the lodge.

  Gold. Obsidian. Black and purple. Splendor and wealth.

  The wall behind them had been carved from a single, enormous block of Cursed Death Stone — black as the abyss, gleaming like wet blood. Within its surface, trapped souls seemed to pulse, quietly moaning and weeping. From the ceiling hung crystalline stalactites, within which bound aura swirled, casting trembling, unnatural light upon everything. If nothing suppressed them, they would illuminate half the city…

  Soft couches were upholstered with the hide of a beast that had once devoured entire armies. Silver platters bent under the weight of meat — still warm, still steaming. The air was filled with the scent of spices, blood, and incense that dulled the senses and lulled the minds of the dozens present. Music thundered, singers performed a cheerful song.

  A perfect place to forget.

  And that was exactly what irritated him.

  “Finally. I thought it would never begin,” he muttered, setting aside his goblet. “We have much to discuss after all this… Matters that require consideration await.”

  There was calm and the experience of hundreds of generations in his voice.

  Yet he was hiding something. Something very important.

  All five of them could feel it, and the atmosphere thickened with every passing moment.

  Fortunately, the heavy toll of a bell interrupted those thoughts. At last, it began. Sixteen gates leading into the arena opened. Sixteen groups of ten beings each, bound by leashes and slave collars, were led in — each group controlled by a single golem.

  “What kind of idea is this? Why are they tied to golems?” Zarek snorted heavily, and the stone slab beneath his forearms creaked under the pressure of his strength. “Let them kill each other fairly instead of turning them into a pack of dogs, you cruel woman!”

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  Dalaris snorted, laughing as she took a drink from her jug.

  “This is the underworld, Zarek. Here, even the air tries to kill you if you’re too weak! Let them deal with it or die. I won’t shed a tear for them.”

  Kiro nodded and added:

  “Oh my, Zarek is so big and yet so kind. How impressive… how touching! I’d give you my virginity if I still had it.”

  The whole group burst into laughter, and even the human cultist of the God of the Sword standing beside the colossus in human form blushed, struggling not to laugh. Zarek only waited for a moment to strike him so hard he would be drenched in blood and smash that empty head against the wall.

  “Now, now, children. Don’t torment Zarek… you’ll hurt his feelings,” said the Stone Dragon. “Besides, there is some truth in his words. Your father might not mind, but your mother, I dare say, would not approve of such entertainment…”

  One group of warriors stood out among the others. A massive lizardman crushed a giant man-eating worm with his bare fists that had blocked their path. First, they had to defeat enormous worms before reaching the stone labyrinth and then face one another to the death at the center of the arena. For now, all sixteen groups were doing reasonably well. The crowd cheered as a young forest minotaur took one of the enormous worms — its body covered in tiny spikes — on his horns and trampled it to pieces.

  “Oh! Is that the hydra you hunted recently?” Kiro asked, still focusing mainly on her jug, which a servant kept refilling.

  The creature, resembling a catastrophe incarnate, seemed only to hinder the rest. Other groups of ten lizardmen, orcs, and minotaurs managed better over time. Eventually, the first groups reached the central sands and began to struggle against one another, though they were reluctant. Many of them knew each other, but the golems sent cruel pulses of aura through the leashes, activating the runes on their collars, while worms attacked from the sides — and against them, they fought with full force.

  “They’re in no hurry to entertain us,” Kiro said, annoyed. “Maybe they need some encouragement, don’t you think?”

  Dalaris laughed, slapped a human slave who quickly handed her a scroll filled with aura. She focused her power, strengthened herself with the scroll, and a massive surge of her aura flowed into the arena.

  A gigantic worm was born among them and began devouring them one by one. It stretched like a worm a hundred meters long and ten meters tall — black, with many mouth-like openings along its body and spikes. The beast transmitted to the fighters that only one group would leave alive, and under the pressure of the golems’ aura and the terror of the creature, they began slaughtering each other. Only the lizardmen resisted.

  “You’ve lost none of your talents, child,” Tessarion said, and Dalaris almost blushed. “Your abilities will soon be needed…”

  The Stone Dragon knew what he was saying, and every word had purpose. He had lived too long and seen too much to speak carelessly. Only he knew of the great plan that would begin soon.

  His arrival in the Black City was only the first step. Soon, the Holy Empire on the Central Continent Vallestria would be reminded of the terror that lurked in the depths — and beyond…

  “Old man…” the archdemon Velhor said quietly, but fell silent when Tessarion turned his stone-gray eyes toward him.

  The last invasion five hundred years ago had ended in disaster. Zod vanished shortly after. The Empire proclaimed victory, and they had licked their wounds for half a millennium.

  “Many archangels fell in the last invasion. The God of Light has not appeared in their Empire for hundreds of years… The war with the Empire of the Sword a decade ago drained their strength… My dear children, prepare your armies, stock your reserves…” he said calmly, using telekinesis so no unauthorized ear would hear.

  The archdemon Otra and his sister Kioti heard his words as well — and that was his intention. The atmosphere grew heavy, though the spectacle continued. Music played, food kept coming, and slaves continued to die in the arena.

  “Look!” Kiro shouted.

  Otra twisted his mouth in irritation, and Kioti nudged him with her elbow.

  “What a beast. How dare it!?” she said in a falsely angry tone.

  The hydra of catastrophic colors was writhing in convulsions. From its right side, a new, third head grew. It immediately tore off the necks of the other two, still bearing slave collars, and lunged toward a two-meter golem, knocking the leashes from its hands.

  Soon, the entire group attacked it, and the spectacle took an unexpected turn. They began, as one team, to attack the remaining golems one by one, freeing more and more of the unfortunate. Before long, all were free from the golems’ control, and together they subdued the giant worm, crushing it from all sides until it lost strength and died. Its insides spilled across the arena, and soon it seemed to melt away like a candle.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this! The audacity! I’ll kill it!” the Black Dragon shouted.

  Filled with fury, Dalaris leapt down into the very center of the arena. Even in human form, she could fly. A pair of black wings grew from her back, and she took on a form resembling a half-dark elf, half-dragon.

  Tessarion watched it all from a distance and laughed inwardly. He had not seen anything so amusing in a long time. He himself had several hydras in his army — some with four or five heads — but he had never seen one use evolution so cleverly, something he was witnessing for the first time in centuries.

  Young and audacious, Dalaris unleashed a true storm in the arena, threatening death to anyone who ruined her birthday games — but Tessarion rose from his seat and decided to do something unexpected.

  Everyone fell silent. No one dared sit when the High King stood. Soon, he himself took on a half-dragon form and leapt from the rulers’ lodge high above the arena. Massive stone constructs — like mirrors magnifying the view for the audience — focused on him.

  Then, taking advantage of the moment to display his power, he assumed his true form. Magic surged. His aura expanded, and even the suppressing mineral could not fully contain it. He became the Stone Dragon — his scales gray and hard as sacred rock. His wings stretched three hundred meters, covering half the arena. His body cast a shadow so immense that some believed the end of the world had come. Four horns — two forward, two backward — looked ready to strike. The crowd fell into panic; some bowed, others wept.

  The High King of the Underworld descended among the slaves and returned to the form of a weary old man, shorter than Dalaris’ neck.

  “Didn’t I tell you that you need good warriors?” he said.

  Dalaris knew that while no one dared answer her against her will, no one dared refuse him at all — or even think something he would not wish to hear…

  If she was an army, he was an entire empire.

  “Then I will give them a choice! Their fate will be entirely in their own hands,” she said with a smirk, as if trying to impress him with her cleverness. Being the daughter of two such powerful beings had clearly gone to her head…

  The Stone Dragon nodded.