CHAPTER 587: RUINOV (III)

The tension in the air was palpable enough to be suffocating. For a moment, the only noise was from above, as jagged snakes of purple lightning roared in the clouds like howling beasts, their glow washing the arena in fleeting waves of violet.

The light faded, swallowed by a flash of darkness, before the pale orange light from the crystals reignited across the coliseum.

And in that brief void, a vast silhouette emerged at the left gate. A hulking shadow stepped forward, each stride carrying the weight of something monstrous.

The creature was on all fours, its massive form drowning in writhing darkness as if it were crawling out from the pond of dark flames itself. But before the audience could react to its presence, they were stunned into silence as the creature began to rise.

It slowly rose to its hind legs, rising from the pond of burning abyssal flames, its figure finally unveiled to the onlookers. There it stood, tall and unyielding beneath the crystal light, surrounded by a domain of black fire.

The creature was a beastkin, a Stygian lion; his appearance was noble as the starless sky or fierce and unknown like the abyss.

He stood 3.7 meters tall, a mountain of refined muscle hidden beneath his lusterless skin, his upper body crowned by a heavy mane that seemed like a massive flame set ablaze.

His predator’s face was a calm mask of death, and in its stillness, two eyes burned with such intensity that it felt as if they could ignited the world itself into the embrace of nothingness.

The only armor he wore was black leather bracers upon his forearms and a set of heavy war-tassets that draped from his waist.

The arena, which had gone silent, erupted with roars and the ringing of metal, a cacophony of voices and weapons pounding against shields in a savage rhythm.

The stands trembled as thousands of Orcs, human, orgers, and rest bellowed their battle cries, some chanting the names of the champion, others simply howling to the storm above.

"Brothers and sisters." The lanky Orc threw his back and roared atop his lungs.

"The wait is over! Standing before you is the challenger, CARVELL! The bearer of black flames... flames that not only scorch flesh, but sear the very soul itself."

"To face him is to fight while being burned alive, and worst of all, these abysmal flames are near-untouchable, having great resistance to almost all elements, so countering them is extremely difficult."

"Yet here is the cruel truth... the same flames that devour his enemies also burn Carvell as long as he uses them."

"But this great hunter... no, this monster...has long since tamed pain itself, so no wound, no agony, no suffering can slow him down."

"That is why, though he is but a Beast King like countless others, he stands apart, feared, respected, even left unchallenged by the Great Ruler, who respects him enough to claim his territory."

"So brace yourselves, because tonight, you are blessed to witness one of the finest warriors of our domain risk his life against an unknown terror who has come from the outside world." The announcer ended, his crazed eyes shifting to the other entrance.

The crowd only grew louder, a deafening roar shaking the very walls of the arena. Stomping feet and clashing weapons beat out a thunderous rhythm, echoing like war drums.

Some screamed Carvell’s name, others cursed it, but all eyes burned with the same feverish anticipation.

Above it all, the announcer raised his arms, drinking in the chaos like a priest at the altar of blood.

It was at this moment that the air turned frigidly cold; the already pale, orange light from the crystals turned a shade dimmer, darker, as if the arena was suddenly being enveloped in a bloody haze.

The source of the sudden pressure was the entrance on the right side.

The very air quivered, caught between the abyssal flames still smoldering at one entrance and the growing wild presence that gushed like an ocean from the other.

The few voices who were questioning the credibility of the terror turned silent, because in a single instant, every soul present knew they were about to witness history carved in blood and fire.

Everyone, including the towering behemoth of black flames, stared at the entrances shrouded in darkness.

By now, the rain poured in heavily, and the arena quaked beneath the rumbling sky, the raging roars of the crowd, the pounding of feet, and the crash of weapons striking stone.

The cacophony of chaos seemed to falter for a heartbeat as shadows stirred at the entrance. Every gaze locked, every breath held, until at last a lone figure stepped into the light.

Gasps spread through the stands, quickly drowned out by jeers and laughter.

After all, the one to step into the arena was just a man, and quite a miserable-looking one at that, nothing like the terror they expected.

The man stood tall for a human, nearly 2.5 meters in height, his physique hidden behind a tattered robe and leather pants, but it was clear he had refined muscles befitting a warrior.

He had long black hair, now messy and unkempt, strands falling over his face. His piercing blue eyes looked unfocused, his handsome features dulled into an expressionless mask, like a man walking among the dead.

Ruinov had a presence, but it was not anything special for those in attendance.

Sure, he appeared to have an overwhelming presence considering he was a tyrant, but it was still far from reaching the level of a king, let alone something past them.

Just like the outside world, the primal Beastland had a power system with nine ranks, each with its own. Beast Thrall, Warrior, Raider, Champion, Warlord, Tyrant, King, Overlord, and Beast Hegemon.

So a Beast Tyrant was a sixth rank individual, whereas a Beast King was equivalent to an Elemental Ruler, with control over a law domain.

The two ranks, while only divided by a single step, in reality, their strength was worlds apart, and that’s why few tyrants could boost the strength to challenge even a weak king.

Ruinov was supposed to be an anomaly, a demon, a terror unlike anything seen before, so seeing his ragged appearance, the hot-blooded crowd who paid for a thrilling show were quick to show their displeasure.

"Is this the demon of ruin we came to see?" An ogre barked, clutching his axe in anger, almost ready to throw it.

"I knew he looked like a human, but didn’t that change?" Another said, in confusion.

"A man? No, less than that, he looks half-dead already," A human mercenary spat.

"Hah! My grandmother’s tusks are sharper than him," an orc cackled, pounding the railing.

"Pitiful...These arena bastards must take us for fools, to think we wouldn’t realise that aura from before belonged to someone else," Hissed a lizardkin clad in expensive armor, his forked tongue flicking in anger.

"CARVELL, you better not drag this battle out," Another Orc roared, bashing his fist into the arena barrier.

While a few roared in anger, others cried out in dismay, having been scammed of their life-saving resources, but all these complaints soon turned silent because something no one expected to see today, even before Ruinov made his appearance, had just happened.

Carvel, the stygian lion, was on all four, but not as a beast prepared to lunge at his prey, but more like paying respect, if not outright showing submission.

With his head nearly touching the floor, the beast spoke, "You carry the Great One’s legacy without a shadow of a doubt, but do you have what it takes to succeed him?"

"Let’s find that out," Carvel growled as he rose to his feet, black abbyssa flames engulfing his being like a living armor.

The crowd, once thunderous, now stood frozen. Not even the brazen Orcs dared breathe too loud, too stunned to say anything.

Some understood the mentioned entity while others had no clue, so swiftly whispers rippled through the ranks of orcs and men alike.

The dark flames gushed forth from the towering lion like a tide of ocean, drowning the arena in their dreadful embrace, not even sparing the man on the other side.

Ruinov did not move even in the face of dark flames, his unfocused eyes staring ahead at Carvel only because he stood right before him.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the stands as the abyssal fire swallowed Ruinov whole. The atmosphere only grew louder, thick with disappointment, as the spectators saw no movement even as a full minute passed.

The arena quaked, though this time not from feet or weapons, but from the oppressive force that came from the arena.

"BOOOOOMMMMM"

"BOOOOOMMMMM"

Two identical booms thundered through the coliseum, shaking its very core.

On the right side of the arena, a massive slab of stone now jutted skyward, sealing off the entrance. At its base lay a deep crater, the very spot where Ruinov had once stood, and even the dark sea of flames had been ripped apart, cleaved cleanly in two.

The second impact came from the opposite side. There, the ground looked as though a meteor had slammed into it, ripping a long, jagged wound across the arena floor.

At the very end of that gash, in rubble and fading dark flames, lay the Stygian Lion, and where he previously stood was now occupied by a strange creature.

A towering behemoth who stood no shorter than the proud lionkin, his appearance as strange as it was terrifying, less man and more monstress.

A being cloaked in scales and feathers, a crown of horns upon his head, his face bore the likeness of a bleached, bony skull, with eyes set ablaze by dark flames.