The Devourer's Dominion

Aetheron stood among the gathered fighters, eyes scanning the large wooden board where names had been inked in bold strokes. The dim torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting wavering shadows over the eager crowd.

The air was thick with tension. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for—the first matchups of the tournament.

His gaze stopped when he saw his name.

Aetheron vs. Dain of the Iron Fangs.

A small hum of recognition passed through the gathered fighters.

"That's unlucky," Aria muttered beside him, arms crossed.

Aetheron glanced at her. "You know him?"

She sighed. "Dain's not just strong—he's dangerous. Former mercenary captain, fights like a rabid beast. He's won plenty of underground fights, and let's just say… he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty."

Aetheron raised an eyebrow. "Any weaknesses?"

Aria frowned, thinking. "He's fast for his size, but he overcommits. If you can dodge his initial rush, he leaves himself open. The problem is surviving that rush."

Aetheron nodded, taking in the information. Before he could reply, a heavy voice boomed across the room.

"Hah! So, you're my opponent?"

The crowd parted slightly as a towering figure strode forward. Dain was massive—broad shoulders, thick arms, and a presence that made even seasoned fighters tense. Twin axes hung from his belt, their polished edges gleaming in the dim light. His scarred face twisted into a grin as he cracked his knuckles.

"Hope you don't break too fast, kid. I like a good fight," Dain said, his grin widening.

Aetheron met his gaze, unreadable. "Guess we'll find out."

Dain let out a chuckle, rolling his shoulders before turning away.

Aria nudged Aetheron's arm. "You do realize he just looked at you like a meal, right?"

Aetheron smirked. "Then I guess I'll make sure he chokes."

The Crimson Arena – Match Day

The arena was alive with noise. Spectators packed the stands, some shouting bets, others simply eager to witness bloodshed. The sun hung high, casting long shadows over the battlefield—a circular stone pit with deep scars from past battles.

Aetheron took slow, measured steps into the arena, feeling the coarse grit beneath his boots. Across from him, Dain stood with his axes already drawn, twirling them in his hands with practiced ease.

The announcer's voice boomed through the coliseum.

"Next match—Aetheron, the unknown challenger, versus Dain of the Iron Fangs!"

The crowd roared as Dain raised a hand in acknowledgment. He shot Aetheron a cocky smirk.

"You should've quit while you had the chance," Dain said, adjusting his grip on his axes.

Aetheron exhaled, rolling his shoulders. His stance was loose, but his eyes were sharp, reading every shift in Dain's posture.

The announcer's hand rose.

"BEGIN!"

A single breath.

Then, Dain moved.

Like a landslide, he charged forward with terrifying speed, his right axe already swinging in a brutal horizontal arc.

Aetheron barely ducked, feeling the air split above his head. The force of the swing sent dust scattering in a wide arc.

Before he could counter, the second axe came down—fast, precise.

Aetheron twisted away at the last moment. The blade slammed into the ground, sending stone fragments flying.

The crowd erupted as Dain laughed. "Fast, huh? Good! Let's see how long you last!"

He lunged again, spinning his axes in a relentless flurry of strikes. Each swing was powerful, each movement pushing Aetheron closer to the edge of the arena.

Aetheron focused, his breathing steady. Dain was aggressive, but aggression created patterns.

Aetheron shifted his weight, slipping just outside of each attack's range. A sidestep. A pivot. A lean just far enough back to let the axe slice inches past his nose.

The crowd watched, mesmerized. Dain attacked again and again—yet not a single blow landed.

Dain's grin twitched.

"You—" He feinted left, then suddenly swung low, forcing Aetheron to leap—

—but that was what he wanted.

Midair, Aetheron was vulnerable.

Dain's knee shot forward.

Aetheron barely twisted in time, but the impact still clipped his ribs. A burst of pain. His landing was uneven, one knee hitting the ground.

Dain didn't waste time.

A brutal downward chop came for his skull.

Aetheron's body reacted before thought.

He threw himself to the side, the axe striking the ground inches from where he had been.

The force cracked the stone.

Aetheron rolled to his feet, his breath even. That was close.

Dain grinned, rolling his shoulders. "Not bad. But dodging alone won't win you this fight."

He lunged again, bringing both axes down in an overhead swing—

Aetheron sidestepped.

But instead of retreating, he stepped in.

Dain's eyes widened.

Aetheron twisted his body, slamming an elbow into Dain's ribs. A solid hit.

Dain staggered, but his instincts kicked in—he swung blindly.

Aetheron ducked under it, grabbed Dain's wrist, and—

RIP.

With a sharp movement, Aetheron wrenched the axe from Dain's grip.

The crowd gasped.

Dain blinked, registering the sudden loss of weight in his hand.

Aetheron flipped the stolen weapon in his grip.

Then, in one fluid motion—

He struck.

The blunt side of the axe slammed into Dain's jaw.

The impact was clean. A dull THUD echoed through the arena.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, Dain's legs wobbled. His body tilted. And with a heavy crash, he fell to one knee.

Silence.

Then, the announcer's voice cut through the air.

"Dain is unable to continue! The winner—Aetheron!"

The crowd exploded in cheers.

Aetheron exhaled, rolling his shoulder. His ribs still ached from the earlier hit, but it was manageable. He let the axe drop, stepping away as Dain groaned and rubbed his jaw.

Dain slowly looked up at him.

A long pause.

Then—

A grin.

"Didn't think you had it in you," Dain muttered.

Aetheron offered a hand.

Dain stared at it for a moment before smirking and taking it. His grip was strong, but not threatening. "Next time, I won't fall for that."

Aetheron smirked. "Next time, I'll make it quicker."

Dain barked a laugh, shaking his head as he walked away.

As Aetheron stepped off the battlefield, Aria was waiting, arms crossed.

"You really know how to make things harder than they need to be," she said.

Aetheron smirked. "Worked, didn't it?"

She sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Just… be careful. You're getting attention."

Aetheron followed her gaze up to the stands.

There, among the roaring crowd, sat Rael.

And next to him, a cloaked figure, still as stone, watching him with unsettling interest.

Aetheron's fingers curled slightly.

He didn't like being watched.