The first battle set the stage on fire.
The crowd was on their feet, hyped, buzzing, waiting for the next group to enter the blood-soaked arena.
As the first group returned to the waiting room—victorious, bruised, and breathing hard—cheers and praise filled the air. Candidates high-fived them, patted shoulders, and called their names with pride. But not Gravier. He stood in silence, watching them with a burning glare. His grip tightened on his greatsword.
"Sick humans," he muttered. "They treat this sacred rite like a game. A toy for their amusement."
James sneered, "Oh, the son of AlSIN is scared now… Are you trembling after facing the Twisted?"
But the fear was clear in James' own eyes.
Eira stepped forward, her voice firm. "Well then, shall we? We'll prove them all wrong in this fight."
"Tsk! Both of you are a disgrace," James scoffed.
"Let's put on a show that everyone will enjoy, ha ha!" Hank from House Crimsonscales said with a relaxed grin.
Gravier brushed past them, his sword scraping the stone as he walked.
Then the voice of Head Councillor Arté boomed across the arena.
"Let us welcome our next group! Stepping into the ring are: Princess Eira of royal blood, Gravier—son of the King's brother—and noble heirs: Killian of House Asulfang, Eligant of Goldenwings, Hank of Crimsonscales…"
One by one, they stepped into the battleground. The stench of blood hit them first. The ground was muddy, soaked with the gore of the first fight.
"The smell stings," Eligant winced, holding his sleeve over his nose.
"Get used to it," Killian said, checking the edge of his axe. "This'll be our daily perfume once we become Dragonborn."
"Ugh. I never wanted to be a Dragonborn," Eligant muttered.
"You don't get to say that," James snapped. "This is our duty—we protect the kingdom."
"Blah blah blah," Eligant rolled his eyes.
"You little—!"
"Boys, shut your mouths," Eira cut in sharply. "It's coming."
The iron gate groaned open. From the dark beyond, bare feet stepped into the light. A little girl. She moved slowly, her tiny feet slipping in the bloodied mud. She was crying—loud, broken sobs that echoed through the arena.
"What the…?"
"Why is there a child?!"
"Is this a mistake?"
"Help me!" the girl sobbed. "Please… help…"
Hank stepped forward, concern on his face.
"Hey, are you lost? Are you—"
She looked up.
Her eyes were hollow. Dead. And then she twisted her head violently to the side—crack.
"HANK, LOOK OUT!" Eira screamed.
But it was too late.
A fountain of blood exploded from Hank's body.
The child contorted violently—bones cracking, flesh splitting. Her body twisted into a nightmarish form, limbs growing grotesquely long. A Twisted.
"This is what you get when you don't read," Eligant muttered. "Dumbass egghead."
Gravier charged. His greatsword dragged through the mud, then whipped upward in a clean strike—but the Twisted dodged, snapping its claw toward him. Gravier weaved back, countered again. Fast. Precise. Furious.
The spectators reacted in a surge of excitement.
Eira took the chance to drag Hank to safety. Eligant rushed over to help, and together they propped him up against the wall. Killian rushed in to assist Gravier.
Hank gasped, blood oozing from his stomach.
"Ha… got me good, huh?" he choked.
"You're pretty tough," Eira grunted, pressing a cloth against the bleeding. "Don't expect healing flames from me—just hold on."
"Heh… thank you."
Eligant shouted to the Dragonborn nearby at the top.
"Hey, you! Get him out of here and heal him!"
The Dragonborn did not respond.
"All of you deaf? He's bleeding out!" Eligant roared.
Eira didn't even look up. "Don't waste your breath. They won't respond. This is our trial. Intervention is forbidden."
Eligant clenched his jaw, fists shaking with frustration. "I—I know, but… damn it!"
Their exchange was cut short.
A sudden, sharp gasp rolled through the crowd.
A brutal slash—Killian was flung across the field by a clawed kick, coughing blood as he hit the ground.
Gravier locked blades with the creature, holding back its gnashing teeth with the width of his greatsword.
And then—a memory. A younger Gravier, wooden axe in hand. Another Twisted. The same fangs. The same desperation. His small arms trembling, failing.
The rage ignited.
A surge of power rushed through his limbs, and with a roar, Gravier ripped the jaw off the creature's face.
"ARGHHH!"
The Twisted reeled back, shrieking.
The crowd watched in silence, then a quiet murmur spread: "Wow... he's actually pretty strong, isn't he?"
One voice, sounding cynical, cut through the crowd. "It's just luck. That Twisted hasn't eaten in hundreds of years. It's weak."
James clicked his tongue as he saw the crowd's reaction with annoyance. "Idiots," he muttered quietly.
Eira quickly assisted, stabbing over and over, her spear a blur. But when she aimed for the chest, the spear stuck. It wouldn't pierce deeper.
"Damn, it's bracing its core!" she hissed, releasing the shaft and dodging a counter.
Gravier followed up with a crushing blow to its legs. The beast dropped to its knees.
The arena gasped—awed by their teamwork.
From his seat, Arté watched intently.
"Good teamwork," he murmured. "They learned from the first group…"
Eira reclaimed her spear and drove it through the Twisted's other leg, pinning it to the ground. Killian came back, limping, and cut off an arm. Gravier severed the other.
"They don't need us," Eligant smirked. "They're beasts!"
But then—a blur. One of the candidates rushed forward, uncalled.
"Ha? Wait, what—?" Eligant turned, confused.
"NOW!" Eira shouted. "FINISH IT!" Hunter yelled.
Gravier raised his greatsword, muscles tense, preparing to deliver the final blow—but the reckless candidate got there first.
James of House Silverspine. "You're dead in my hands, monster!" he shouted, rushing in.
He swung—desperate. The blade clanged off the Twisted's skull, barely scratching it.
Too weak. Too slow.
"What?"
The creature's eye lit up with wild fury. Its jaw cracked open, unnaturally wide. Then, in one quick, brutal lunge—
CRUNCH.
James's scream never even left his throat. His body dropped to the ground, headless. Blood fountained.
For a breathless second, the arena went silent. Then came the screams.
The Twisted convulsed, its flesh pulsing as it fed. James's blood poured into its veins—reviving it, empowering it. Limbs regrew. Bone snapped into place.
Its roar shattered the silence.
Eira, Hunter, and Gravier froze, the weight of the moment crashing down on them.
"No…" Eira whispered, her voice a mix of disbelief and horror.
In a single, furious motion, the Twisted struck.
"BRACE YOURSELVES—" Eira's shout was cut short.
With a sickening crack, it punched Eira in the gut, sending her hurtling across the field.
Hunter and Gravier were slammed into the ground with equal force.
The crowd screamed.
A single reckless move shattered their coordination. In an instant, a life was lost.
In the waiting room, Jack and Kai watched in frozen horror as the Twisted devoured their brother's head.
Jack screamed—a raw, broken sound that tore from his throat as tears streamed down his face. His body shook violently, fists clenched in helpless grief.
Kai couldn't breathe. His chest heaved. He staggered back, dropped to his knees—and vomited.
The first group of candidates stood in silence.
Some covered their mouths. Others looked away.
No one spoke. No one moved.
But Johnquis wanted to help; his fist clenched, revealing that one of his fingers had burned.
In the arena, the nightmare wasn't over.
Revived by blood and rage, the Twisted surged forward like a storm. Its body, once sluggish, now moved with terrifying speed. It rushed toward the frozen candidates—their minds still reeling from James's death.
One boy didn't even see it coming.
A grotesquely stretched arm lunged forward, aimed straight for Eligant's chest.
But before it could land—WHAM!
He was pushed aside, the Twisted's arm missing its mark and crashing into the stone wall.
It was Hank.
"I won't afford another life to be lost, ah!" Hank shouted, his voice gruff, before coughing up blood.
Bloody, pale, and barely standing, he had forced his broken body to move. One last act of courage—saving a comrade.
Eira's eyes flared as she saw the Twisted pinned. She screamed:
"EVERYONE—ATTACK THE TWISTED NOW!"
Her voice cracked like thunder—snapping the others from their fear.
Swords flashed. Spears struck. Terror turned into fury.
The nearest candidates charged—their blades hacking, their hearts pounding.
The Twisted writhed, trying to free its trapped arm—but it was stuck, impaled deep in the stone.
Eligant sprang forward, letting out a fierce battle cry. "HIYAAAH!"
He swung his blade with all his strength, aiming for the creature's feet.
The blade cut deep—but not deep enough.
"Tch!" Eligant hissed, frustration bubbling up. "He's regained his strength from just one body he consumed…"
Another sword followed—then another.
Slice. Crack. The legs snapped, and the beast buckled.
"JUST DIE!" a boy roared, swinging at its other arm—but too slow.
The Twisted caught him by the throat, lifted him—
"Not again!" Hunter shouted.
His Halberd swung in a wide arc—and the creature's hand dropped to the ground, severed.
FWIP!
Eira's spear flew, a blur of silver. It pierced the Twisted's remaining leg, pinning it to the earth.
The monster howled. Blood gushed. It writhed in pain, struggling to rise.
Eira staggered, coughing blood. Her knees buckled.
"He's all yours now, Gravier…" she said, voice hoarse.
Gravier's eyes glowed with fury. He sprinted.
One mighty leap—His broadsword raised high—The air trembled around him.
And then—
CRASH!
The blade came down like divine judgment—cleaving through the Twisted's skull, through its torso—splitting the creature in two.
A geyser of blood erupted. The body convulsed, then stilled.
Silence.
Then the crowd roared—Cheers, screams, applause.
The second trial was over. The Twisted was dead.
But the cost… was life.