The next three months were a brutal, unending cycle of agony and adaptation.
Each day was a fresh lesson in pain, sculpted by Numi's relentless demands. My world narrowed to the searing heat of the fire-track, the bone-jarring impact of the training dummies, and the crushing weight of demonic strength exercises. I learned to read the subtle shift in a dummy's stance before it struck. I learned to pace my breathing on the track, my body slowly learning to ignore the burn in my lungs and the scream in my muscles. I was learning to think, move, and fight like a demon.
The reward system was stark and effective. A day where I pushed past my limits, where I showed improvement in speed or technique, ended in that opulent elevator. I'd dine in the five-star restaurant, surrounded by high-ranking demons. In these halls, I learned something crucial about their culture. Status wasn't just inherited; it was proven. An "elite" demon was one who commanded respect through sheer strength, strategic wits, and unwavering will. They respected my progress not because of who I was, but because of the blood and sweat I spilled to earn a seat at their table.
A bad day, however, meant a return to the common cantina for a slop that was barely edible, a constant reminder of the consequences of failure.
After exactly three months, the rhythm broke. Numi entered my room, not to bark orders, but holding a garment bag.
"Your old suit is an eyesore," she stated, tossing the bag onto my cot. "Blue is the color of the winged pricks. We don't wear it."
Inside was a impeccably tailored black suit with a blood-red tie. It was sleek, professional, and looked deadly.
"It's time for the final test," Numi said, her pink eyes serious. "In one week, you will fight in the arena. Your task is to defeat fifty mid-ranking demons and one elite demon. In succession."
My blood ran cold. Fifty. And an elite.
"You are free until then," she continued. "No scheduled training. Do what you want."
The weight of the mission, of everything I'd endured, settled onto my shoulders. This was it. The proof of my training. I stood up from the cot, my body now moving with a fluid strength that felt foreign and earned. I turned to Numi, and I bowed deeply from the waist, a sincere, formal gesture of respect.
"Thank you," I said, my voice low but clear. "For teaching me all this way."
Numi snickered, a hint of that old amusement returning. "No problem, man. I'm interested in how you're going to do in your fight." She gestured to the suit. "There are more in the making, so don't worry about ruining that one."
As soon as she left, I changed into simple training gear and headed straight for the gym. I bypassed everything else and walked into the chamber of demonhide dummies.
The crimson orb floated over, pulsing softly. "YOU'RE NOT DONE YET, HUH?"
I looked at the waiting dummies, my fists clenching. "No. I need to train more," I said, my voice firm. "There will be a tournament to see if I am fit for the job... a test to see if I can survive. I can't lose now. I won't let Numi and Yoclesh down after everything." I met the orb's glowing surface. "So, give me your all."
The orb was silent for a moment, then its light glowed a shade warmer, its tone losing its usual mocking edge.
"YOU HAVE MY RESPECT, ASTRO."
The countdown began.
"TRAINING STARTS NOW."
The week flew by in a whirlwind of self-imposed punishment. Every day, I returned to the dummy chamber, pushing my Mimic's Grasp ability further. I wasn't just copying movements anymore; I was absorbing the flow of combat, predicting chains of attacks, and finding tiny, exploitable openings. The orb was a relentless partner, increasing the difficulty each day, but it never mocked me again. There was a silent, professional respect in its corrections.
The day before the match, I forced myself to stop. A rest day. The concept felt alien, but my body needed to heal and store every ounce of energy. I walked the less-traveled corridors of the citadel, watching the endless, chaotic industry of Hell. I saw forges that roared with eternal fire, libraries filled with scrolls of damned knowledge, and even a bizarre, fiery marketplace. I just watched and breathed, trying to quiet the storm of anticipation in my chest.
Then, it was the day.
The waiting room was a small, stark chamber of basalt, deep beneath the roaring cacophony of the arena. I could feel the vibration of thousands of stomping feet through the floor. I adjusted the cuffs of my black suit, the red tie feeling like a target against my chest.
Numi was there with me, a silent, towering presence.
"You ready for this, surface boy?" she finally asked, her voice uncharacteristically flat.
I turned to her. "As ready as I'll ever be." I held out my hand. "Whatever happens out there... thank you. For not going easy on me."
She looked at my hand, then grasped it in her own massive, clawed one. Her grip was firm, but controlled. "Don't thank me yet. Save it for when you're still breathing." She released my hand and leaned in closer. "One more thing. All those demons out there? They've been sentenced to death. This is their chance at a pardon. They will be fighting for their lives, so don't you dare hold back. They won't."
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. "Alright," I said, my voice steady. "I won't disappoint."
A horn blared, muffled by the thick walls. The announcer's voice, magically amplified, boomed through the entire complex, the words indistinct but the crowd's reaction deafening.
Then, our door slid open. Numi gave me a final, hard look and then left to take her seat in the stands.
The announcer's voice became clear. "...AND NOW, A SPECIAL CHALLENGE! A HUMAN! TRAINED UNDER THE VICIOUS NUMI HERSELF! HIS RANK, HIS VERY WORTH, WILL BE DECIDED IN THIS BLOOD-SOAKED ARENA! GIVE HIM A HELLISH CHEER FOR... ASTRO!"
I took a deep breath, straightened my tie, and walked out into the blinding light and overwhelming noise.
The arena was colossal, a vast, round pit of sand and stone surrounded by tiers of screaming, jeering, cheering demons. Thousands of them. The sound was a physical force. And already in the center of the arena stood the fifty mid-ranking demons, a chaotic sea of muscle, horns, and scales. They were armed with spiked clubs, jagged swords, and chain-flails. Their eyes, filled with desperation and bloodlust, locked onto me.
I stood alone, in my suit, my hands empty.
High in a private box, I saw Numi take a seat next to Yoclesh. Yoclesh's amber eyes were fixed on me, unreadable.
"We will see now," Yoclesh said, her voice barely a whisper lost in the roar.
A deep, resonant gong sounded.
The start signal.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. The fifty demons and I stared each other down.
Then, with a collective roar, they charged.
The gong's echo was swallowed by a tidal wave of roaring chaos.
Fifty demons, a wall of muscle and steel, surged across the arena sand. To the roaring thousands in the stands, it was a blur of violent motion. But to Astro, standing calmly in its center, it was different.
The training paid off, he thought, a strange clarity descending upon him. The world seemed to slow, the frantic charge of the demons decelerating into a series of telegraphed, almost sluggish movements. He could see the individual muscles in the lead brute's arm coiling as he raised a rusted claymore for a decapitating swing. It was all so... slow.
The claymore began its downward arc. Time snapped back to its normal flow.
Astro moved.
He didn't just dodge; he vanished from the spot, the air cracking with a miniature sonic boom. He reappeared inside the brute's guard, his right fist already a blur. The punch connected with the demon's jaw with a CRACK-KABOOM that was more explosion than impact. A shower of dark blood and shattered teeth erupted from the demon's maw as its head snapped back at an impossible angle. A visible shockwave of air blasted outward, kicking up a ring of sand. The brute was lifted and thrown backward, a bloody ragdoll that crashed into two oncoming spearmen with a sickening crunch of bone.
Chaos erupted, but Astro was its eye. He was a phantom in a black suit.
A scaled demon lunged with a scimitar in a lightning-fast slash. To Astro, it was a leisurely swing. He pivoted, the blade slicing only fabric. He grabbed the demon's wrist, and in a motion too fast to follow, used its own momentum to hurl it into the path of a spiked mace. The sound of the collision was a wet, sickening crunch, the scimitar-wielder's chest cavity collapsing in a burst of gore, painting the mace-wielder in a spray of black blood.
The mace-wielder, now over-extended and blinded by the sudden deluge, was an open target. A left jab, moving at the speed of sound, connected with its temple. The demon's skull fractured with a sound like a splitting log, a fine mist of blood spraying from its nostrils and ears as it collapsed.
Weapons came from all angles. A spear thrust was sidestepped, the shaft grabbed, and the butt end driven into the spearman's face with a wet smack, shattering its nose into a pulpy mess. Astro spun the spear, deflecting a sword slash that sent a shower of sparks into the air, then drove the point deep into a charging axeman's thigh. A arterial spray of ichor jetted out as he ripped the axe from the screaming demon's grasp.
Now armed, he became a supersonic whirlwind of dismemberment. He met a downward sword strike, the axe haft ringing from the impact. A kick that was a mere blur buckled the swordsman's knee with a loud pop. The axe swung in a short, brutal arc, shearing through armor and bone to bury itself in another demon's shoulder, nearly severing the limb in a gout of black blood.
A spiked chain whistled through the air. Astro ducked under it, the spikes tearing a line across his back. As it retracted, he lunged, a streak of black, grabbing the chain and yanking its wielder into a right cross that shattered its snout, cartilage and bone fragmenting under his knuckles.
He was a storm of adaptive, hyper-sonic violence. He took a few hits a shallow gash across his shoulder bled freely, a bruising blow to the ribs sent a spike of pain through him but they only fueled his focus.
One by one, they fell, limbs bent at wrong angles, bodies leaking dark life onto the sand. The fifty-strong horde dwindled to nothing. The sand was a churned, bloody mire. Finally, only one demon remained, panting heavily, gripping a notched broadsword, its eyes wide with terror.
Astro stood opposite him, his suit torn and stained with splatters of black and crimson, his breathing even. The crowd was a mesmerized, buzzing hum.
He looked at the last demon. A final, desperate scream. A charge.
Astro didn't dodge. He became a blur, stepping into the charge. His left hand deflected the broadsword, his right hand driving forward in a punch that connected with the demon's chest. A final, deep THUMP and a ripple of force. The demon froze, a fine red mist puffing from its mouth, then collapsed, its heart ruptured.
Silence.
Astro stood alone, surrounded by fifty defeated foes in a charnel house of his own making. His chest heaved slightly, but his gaze was already lifting, scanning the far gate. The real fight was next.
The silence was shattered by the announcer's booming voice. "AND NOW... THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! THE FINAL CHALLENGE FOR THE HUMAN! HIS OPPONENT: THE UNDEFEATED CHAMPION OF THE PITS, THE ELITE WHO THIRSTS FOR BATTLE... THE ONE WHO HAS NOT LOST A SINGLE ONE OF HIS 315 BATTLES... GIVE IT UP FOR KRAXUS, THE UNBROKEN!"
A gate on the far side of the arena ground open with a resonant clang. Out walked the elite demon. Kraxus stood a head taller than Numi, his body a masterpiece of terrifying, functional anatomy. His skin was the color of cooled lava, cracked and glowing faintly with inner heat. Four powerful arms sprouted from his torso, each one corded with muscle and ending in claws that could shred steel. His face was a nightmare of horns and a permanent, snarling rictus, with eyes that burned like embers. He carried no weapon; his body was the weapon.
Astro kept his eyes locked on Kraxus, his breathing steady, analyzing. This was different. The aura of power radiating from the elite demon was palpable, a physical pressure that made the air thick.
There was no taunt, no roar. Kraxus simply moved.
He surged forward, not with a sonic boom, but with a terrifying, silent speed that was just as fast as Astro's own. Astro's eyes widened in shock. He barely twisted his torso, the wind of a clawed swipe tearing the rest of his suit jacket to shreds. The next attack came instantly from a second arm—a brutal hammer-fist to his ribs. Astro felt bones crack. The third arm, an uppercut to his jaw, snapped his head back. The fourth, a clawed rake across his chest, sent him stumbling back, bleeding profusely.
He was overwhelmed. For the first time since his training began, he was completely outclassed in speed and power. Blow after blow landed with sickening thuds. A kick to his leg buckled it. A punch to his gut drove the air from his lungs. He was a punching bag, his own blood painting the sand around him.
Finally, a devastating blow from all four fists striking simultaneously sent him flying. He landed in a broken heap, his own blood pooling beneath him. The world swam in and out of focus.
In the stands, Yoclesh stood, her expression grim. "We are done here."
The announcer's voice echoed, "IT SEEMS ASTRO HAS LOST! A VALIANT EFFORT, BUT—"
Numi slammed a fist on the railing. "Tsk. Damn it." She turned to leave with Yoclesh.
But the announcer's voice cut off. "HOLD UP! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!"
Inside Astro's Mind
Astro floated in an endless, silent black void. The pain was gone. There was only nothingness.
Is this death?
Suddenly, a presence manifested before him. A being of breathtaking, impossible beauty and power. It had an androgynous, futuristic form, dominated by white and a shimmering, holographic rainbow sheen. Long, floating silver hair with a holographic sheen framed a face with deep red, narrow-pupiled eyes and small fangs. A triangular, rainbow-colored halo floated above its head. It wore a white jumpsuit under a holographic cloak, and its left arm was an intricate mechanical marvel of white, gold, and black, sculpted with motifs of lotus flowers and flowing water. A long katana was sheathed at its side.
"You cannot die yet, Astro," its voice echoed, not in the void, but within his very soul.
"Who... who are you?" Astro asked, his spirit-voice a whisper.
The being's expression remained neutral, serene. "I am the one who brought you to this world when you died under that truck. But you cannot die here. Answers will reveal themselves eventually."
Before Astro could speak again, the being faded, and the void collapsed.
Back in the Arena
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. A faint, black and red aura, like shimmering heat, began to flicker around Astro's broken body.
Numi stopped, grabbing Yoclesh's arm. "What is happening?"
Yoclesh's amber eyes were wide, her usual composure shattered. "It can't be..." she whispered, a mix of awe and dread in her voice.
On the ground, Astro pushed himself up. His movements were slow, deliberate, mechanical. He rose to his feet, his body still battered, but now standing with an unnatural solidity. He lifted his head, and the crowd recoiled. His eyes were glowing a solid, hellish red. There was no pain in them, no anger, no emotion at all. Just an endless, burning void.
Kraxus, for the first time in centuries, felt a sliver of fear. "Oh? You don't want to die just yet, huh?" he snarled, trying to mask his unease.
He surged forward again, putting all his weight and speed into a single, devastating punch from all four arms aimed at Astro's head. The impact was deafening.
But Astro didn't move. Not an inch. The blow landed, and it was as if he had struck the unbreakable foundation of the world itself. Kraxus's fists stopped dead, the force dissipating harmlessly.
Kraxus jumped back, his ember-eyes wide with terror. "How...? How is that possible?!"
Astro's head tilted slightly, the red eyes locking onto him. There was no teleportation, no sonic boom. One moment he was standing there, the next he was simply beside Kraxus, as if he had moved at the speed of light itself.
He didn't swing with rage. It was a casual, almost dismissive backhand.
His fist connected with Kraxus's torso.
The resulting BOOM was apocalyptic. Kraxus was launched across the arena like a cannonball, his body a blur until it smashed into the far wall. The impact wasn't just sound; it was a concussive force that shook the entire colossal structure, sending cracks racing up the arena walls and dust raining from the ceiling. A cloud of debris erupted where Kraxus had landed.
Astro stood still, his expression unchanged. Then, his glowing red eyes turned a dull, bloody crimson. A massive surge of power, a visible wave of black and red energy, exploded outwards from him, washing over the entire arena like a silent, terrifying tide. The very air grew heavy, and every demon in attendance felt a primal, soul-deep fear.
The champion was gone. Something else now stood in the arena.