The air was thick with the scent of blood. It mixed with the stench of fear, desperation, and a kind of cold inevitability. In the pit before Kael, bodies shifted, claws scraping against the stone floor, while a dozen others circled warily. It was a proving ground—a crucible where only the strongest survived.
And Kael Erebus? He didn't just survive. He thrived.
The instructor's gruff voice echoed through the air. "Fifty of you enter. Ten of you leave. The rest… well, let's just say the dirt doesn't discriminate." He motioned to the arena. "Take your places, slaves."
The others scrambled to obey, their eyes filled with panic or the frenzied rush of adrenaline. But Kael remained still, his hands at his sides, his gaze tracing the contours of the arena with a chilling calmness. His mind moved, calculating.
Shadows. Time. Fear.
He had already measured the distance between him and the exits. He knew the strength of each combatant. But most importantly, Kael knew something they didn't: his shadow was no mere reflection—it was an extension of himself, as alive as he was.
A few challengers in the pit tried to make their move first. A brute of a boy, one who thought sheer size could win him the day, charged toward Kael with a massive iron cleaver. The others fell back, realizing the threat Kael posed, and the boy saw it as an opportunity. He wasn't the sharpest tool, but he was the biggest.
Kael didn't flinch. His eyes narrowed, and a pulse of dark energy emanated from him, sinking into the shadows that stretched across the arena. The boy lunged, cleaver raised high.
Before the swing could land, Kael moved.
He didn't run. He didn't dodge.
Kael became the shadow.
The arena seemed to bend. The boy's cleaver whistled through empty air as Kael dissolved into a pool of black mist, slipping beneath the boy's feet like liquid smoke. The moment his opponent was off balance, Kael reformed behind him, his body solidifying, and his hand shot forward like a strike of darkness.
His fingers wrapped around the boy's throat, the pressure in his grip instant and suffocating. The boy tried to scream, but no sound came.
For a moment, everything was still. Kael stared into his opponent's wide, terrified eyes. Then, with a simple twist of his wrist, Kael snapped his neck.
The body crumpled.
And Kael stood over it, watching as his shadow greedily absorbed the remnants of life from the corpse.
A soft, guttural laugh echoed through the darkened pit. It came from the shadows beneath Kael's feet. Umbra, his shadow companion, had already begun to feast.
"First one dead, master," it whispered inside his mind, the voice warm and twisted. "Feed us more."
Kael's lips twitched into a cruel smile.
So hungry, he thought, but didn't speak. The hunger of the shadows was an old feeling—one he could never quite quench. But he had learned to wield it, to direct it.
More would come. And Kael would not be the one to fall.
From across the arena, a group of would-be challengers noticed his display and backed off. Fear flashed in their eyes.
Then came the whispers.
"Number 9999, did you see that? He moved like—like darkness."
"He killed him in seconds..."
A chuckle bubbled up from Kael's throat. The fear was intoxicating. He let it hang in the air before speaking aloud.
"You are next."
The remaining initiates took their positions. Some formed shaky alliances, while others darted in with weapons drawn. But Kael knew—none of them were ready for him. Not yet. They hadn't seen the true extent of his power.
Kael's body shifted. The shadow at his feet stretched and twisted, crawling up his legs, curling around his hands. His connection with it deepened. The Umbra inside him hummed, eager.
And that's when it happened.
With a thought, the shadows around him shifted. They formed whips of pure darkness, black tendrils lashing out from Kael's body, slicing through the air with unnatural speed. He didn't have to move.
His Living Shadow did the work for him.
The first to approach was a thin, wiry girl holding a dagger. She rushed forward, aiming for Kael's chest. But before she could strike, a shadow whip lashed out, wrapping around her wrist, pulling her to the ground. She screamed, scrambling to break free, but Kael's voice rang out cold and final.
"Pathetic."
With a flick of his wrist, the shadow around her constricted, breaking her arm in a sickening crack. She crumpled, gasping for breath.
One down. The others hesitated, watching with terror as Kael's shadow continued to grow, thickening with each kill.
The arena was quiet now, save for the screams of the wounded and the rhythmic crack of Kael's shadow whips.
They were all doomed. All of them.
The arena was now a slaughterhouse.
Kael's shadow, now alive with his power, rippled across the stone floor, stretching like a dark sea. Every step he took felt as though the very ground under him trembled, as if reality itself was acknowledging the ancient presence awakening inside him.
The remaining initiates circled warily, the once-certain confidence they had felt melting into pure dread. Kael stood tall, his body lithe and hungry for more blood. His eyes, pools of abyssal darkness, flicked from one combatant to the next. He could feel their fear, their hesitation.
The first to act was a tall, broad-shouldered boy, wielding a jagged sword. He was the type of brute who believed strength alone would carry him through.
Kael's lips curled into a sinister smile.
The boy charged, bellowing with all his might as he swung the sword in a wide arc. The force of his strike would have cleaved most foes in half, but Kael was not most foes.
Without moving, Kael's shadow responded. It lashed out from beneath his feet, becoming a solid mass that wrapped around the boy's legs like chains. The boy's swing missed entirely as his legs were yanked out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground with a grunt.
Before the boy could recover, Kael was already upon him. His hand extended, fingers curling into the boy's throat, lifting him effortlessly into the air. The boy struggled, his sword dangling uselessly in his grip.
"You are nothing." Kael's voice was low, as cold and eternal as the grave.
With a sudden, violent twist, Kael snapped the boy's neck. The body went limp in his hands, its soul immediately beginning to unravel, feeding Kael's power.
The arena fell silent for a moment. Then, the remaining initiates backed away.
Fear ran rampant now, swirling in the pit like a storm. Kael had just killed the largest, most powerful boy in the group without even breaking a sweat. The others realized they weren't facing a mere slave—they were facing something far older. Far darker.
Kael's shadow retracted back into his body, leaving only a faint afterimage of black mist behind. His eyes gleamed with an unsettling light as he surveyed the pit. Every movement, every glance, only served to increase the panic of those around him.
A girl with fiery red hair lunged forward next, her hands gripping a pair of serrated daggers. She was fast—faster than most, a skilled fighter. But she made the mistake of thinking that speed would save her. Kael was not merely a target to be struck; he was a force of nature.
As the girl closed in, Kael's shadow reacted faster than she could perceive. The ground beneath her feet split open, and a mass of dark tendrils shot out, encasing her ankles like a vice. She screamed in panic, trying to free herself, but Kael moved as though he was simply gliding through the air. In an instant, he was standing beside her, his fingers brushing the side of her neck.
"Speed... but no understanding," Kael whispered, before crushing her windpipe with a single press of his fingers. Her body went limp, the shadows around them greedily sucking the last breath from her lungs.
Another two initiates rushed forward—less confident, more desperate. Kael's shadow flared in response, tendrils stretching and coiling like serpents, each one seeking to feast. Before they could even lift their weapons, their movements were halted by the whip-like shadows that encircled their throats, pulling them toward Kael.
The first man—skinny, desperate, wielding a dagger—attempted to cut the shadow whip, but his blade simply passed through it like water through stone. Kael smiled coldly and gestured with his other hand. The shadow around the boy's neck tightened, and with a snap, his head was wrenched from his shoulders, his body collapsing in a heap.
The second man, a larger one with a brutal, wild swing, was already halfway through his attack when Kael's shadow split into two whips. The first wrapped around the man's weapon, disarming him with a vicious twist. The second followed through, slicing across his midsection like a blade, leaving him gasping and bleeding.
"Please... no more..." the boy begged, clutching at his wound.
Kael crouched beside him, watching the life drain from the boy's eyes. "Your fear is your death," Kael said softly, and with that, the shadows surged, engulfing the boy whole, leaving nothing but a pool of blood and a faint trace of a soul that would soon be consumed.
---
The Arena Falls Silent
Kael stood amidst the carnage. The remaining initiates were now nothing more than frightened children, their once-ambitious plans crumbling under the weight of Kael's unyielding presence.
Only a handful of them remained—terrified, broken, eyes wide with shock. They had seen what Kael was capable of, and now they understood. He was no mere assassin. He was something more. Something ancient. Something primordial.
A shadow flickered at his feet, and Kael's gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. He felt the familiar hunger—his shadow wanted more.
But first... he would finish the game.
Kael raised his hand, his fingers curling like a conductor summoning a symphony. The shadows around him responded—growing in size, extending into the arena like living tendrils.
"You cannot escape."
One of the last initiates, a small, trembling boy, made a break for it, running toward the far corner of the pit. He was fast, but not fast enough.
The shadow beneath Kael's feet surged forward, forming a dark mass that rose up and shot toward the boy with terrifying speed. With a sickening crack, the boy was yanked off the ground, suspended in mid-air by a twisting coil of shadow.
Kael's cold eyes locked onto him. "Run... then," Kael whispered, his voice a soft command.
And with a brutal jerk of his wrist, Kael tore the boy's soul free from his body, leaving behind only a lifeless husk.
---
The arena was silent now, the only sound the drip of blood and the soft rustling of shadows.
Kael stood alone, the shadows of the dead swirling around him in a dance of dominance. His power was undeniable now. His presence a reminder to all that, in this place, there was only one survivor.
Kael Erebus.
And he was only just beginning.