The sand was black with blood. The stench of iron choked the air.
Kairo's body swayed like a dying flame, but the rhythm of the Judgement Dance carried him forward still.
Step.
Pivot.
Strike.
Breath.
The next demon lunged. His fist shattered its jaw. Chains coiled, bones snapped, black ichor sprayed across the pit.
The crowd shrieked in delight as the bodies began to pile.
Two came at once — their claws raking, their teeth gnashing. Kairo flash-stepped between them, his movements a blur of desperation and precision. One spine cracked under his heel, the other skull burst beneath his elbow.
Five.
Ten.
Fifteen.
His chest heaved, each breath harsher than the last. His muscles tore with every strike, his crimson eyes dimming and flaring in ragged bursts. Blood ran from his mouth, down his chin, staining the sand at his feet.
Still he moved.
Twenty.
Twenty-five.
Thirty.
The last fell with its throat ripped out by the very chain meant to bind Kairo. Its corpse joined the rest, the pit now a sea of carcasses steaming in the cold air.
Kairo collapsed to one knee, his body trembling, his breath rattling like broken glass. His vision swam, the world doubling, twisting. He could hear the crowd howling for more, their faceless maws wide, their hunger endless.
The gates began to creak again.
And then—
A voice.
"Enough."
The word silenced the arena like a blade drawn across a throat.
From the gallery above, a massive figure rose. His armor was plated with molten steel, his eyes burning like suns behind a helm of jagged horns. The sound of his voice cracked the air, rolling through the pit with the weight of command.
Another general.
"You've seen enough for one night," he said, his gaze fixed not on Hades, but on Kairo. "He will not die here. Not yet."
The crowd roared in protest, shrieking, clawing at the stone. But the general's presence crushed their hunger into silence.
Kairo's body sagged, his chains slipping into the sand. His vision dimmed, his crimson eyes flickering like dying embers.
The last thing he saw before darkness took him was the general's gaze — cold, assessing, as though weighing the value of his endurance.
Then the world went black.