After Helios watched the man leave the building, the air became still as whispers began to spew. He sat with Bow at their table, quietly eating the food they ordered, but his ears sharpened on the chatter around them. From the corner of the room, a group of men hunched over their drinks, speaking in low voices. "It's him again, Halo." "Yeah, I heard about him. He's a gladiator, right?" "They say he moves so fast, when he strikes it makes the sound of thunder." "His last match was against Grayson the Iron Fist. Didn't just decapitate him… blew a hole straight through his chest just to prove he was stronger." "Aw, man… I can respect the decapitation. But that kind of showing off? That's too much." Another man leaned in, voice shaky. "Nah… that's what makes him terrifying. He doesn't just win, he humiliates. Every fighter who's gone against him has left in pieces. Some don't leave at all." The table grew quiet after that, the kind of silence that carried weight. Bow smirked and leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Thunder, huh? Sounds like this guy thinks he's Dolorion the god of thunder or something." Helios didn't smile. His eyes remained fixed on the door Halo had walked out of. "Arrogance like that… it always leaves an opening." Bow glanced at him sideways, raising a brow. "You already sizing him up?" Helios set his fork down and leaned back, arms crossed. "I don't need to. Men like him always show their weakness eventually." The room still buzzed with nervous gossip, but for Helios, the silence between each word spoke louder. As next day came they headed back the the training grounds Helios and Bow's days under the Colosseum's circuit system began harshly. The training grounds were a blur of sweat, steel, and shouting. Every dawn, dozens of fresh gladiators were herded onto the dirt floor, forced to spar under the watchful eyes of overseers. Wooden swords and weighted armor dulled their movements, but that was the point, break them down, rebuild them into warriors fit for the arena. Bow thrived. The very first time he squared off against another trainee, his grin widened as he slammed into the man, shoulder-first, before hammering him into the ground. His Brute Force style didn't rely on technique so much as raw dominance. Every strike he threw rattled bones. Overseers whispered approval. The other gladiators began avoiding his side of the training pit. Helios, however, walked a harder path. He wasn't struggling, no one could land cleanly on him thanks to his sharp instincts, but adapting his clean swordsmanship to the messy, unpredictable styles of mercenaries, barbarians, and desperate men proved difficult. He fought to learn, not just to win, and that sometimes made him look slower than the others. His swordmaster's discipline clashed with the chaos of the Colosseum. Bow would often tease him as they rested against the stone walls after training. "C'mon, Helios. You're moving like you're in some noble's duel. Out here? It's blood and grit. You can't be pretty when the crowd's hungry." Helios would only smirk faintly. "Better to be precise than reckless. Even beasts bleed if you know where to strike." But while they sweated in training, Halo basked in glory. They caught glimpses of him in the main arena, whenever the overseers dragged the trainees up to watch. Halo didn't just win, he dismantled his opponents. His movements were so fast they seemed to snap the air, each strike punctuated by a crack like thunder. Shields shattered. Swords were knocked from hands before anyone realized he'd moved. And then came the arrogance. He would lean on his blade, smirking at the crowd as his defeated opponents bled out. Sometimes, he would deliberately wound a man, circle him, and wait, daring the poor soul to crawl to their feet before finishing them with a single blur of motion. The crowd cheered because they had to, but the tone was off. Awe mixed with unease. Respect was absent. One evening, after another brutal display, Bow spat in the sand. "Guy's fast, I'll give him that… but he's a vulture. Doesn't fight to prove strength. He fights to humiliate." Helios kept his arms folded, eyes sharp. He didn't nod, didn't argue. He simply watched Halo's retreating figure as the thunder-gladiator raised his arms to the crowd.
After days of grueling training, the moment had finally come. Helios sat with Bow in the waiting chamber beneath the Colosseum. The roar of the crowd above echoed faintly through the stone walls, a reminder of the spectacle about to unfold. Bow leaned back in his chair, calmly sipping on a mug of ale, when the heavy doors creaked open. Halo stepped inside. His presence drew attention instantly, arrogance practically radiating off him. He sneered when his eyes landed on Helios. "Oh, it's you… the insignificant lifeform who had the audacity to bump into me." Helios glanced up, unimpressed. "I don't know what your problem is, but you should knock it off. Life has a funny way of humbling people like you." Halo tilted his head, feigning confusion, though his eyes narrowed with disdain. "And what exactly are you implying? Helios stood, his posture straight and calm, the faintest smirk on his lips. "Karma has a way of finding everyone. You won't be an exception." Halo stepped closer, his confidence unshaken. "Are you saying you'll be the one to put me in my place? Don't make me laugh. I will be the strongest being in all existence." Helios met his glare without flinching. "No. You'll be the third… right behind Bow and me." The tension between them thickened, their words like blades clashing in the silence. They bickered back and forth, sparks of rivalry igniting, while Bow leaned in his chair, amused, sipping his ale without a care. Then, clang! The massive bell rang throughout the Colosseum, silencing everything. A booming voice followed, echoing through the halls: "HELIOS! REPORT TO THE ARENA!" Helios adjusted his grip on his father's sword, eyes never leaving Halo's. "You better watch closely, Halo. Who knows, maybe you'll learn something that saves you from me." Halo smirked, folding his arms. "You're nothing but a fool." Helios didn't reply. He turned, stepping toward the doors as they creaked open to the blinding light of the Colosseum. The thunder of the crowd crashed over him like a wave. It was his time to shine. The heavy gates at the far end of the Colosseum rumbled open with a screech of iron. Dust poured from the shadows as a figure emerged, dragging two jagged axes behind him. His bare chest was smeared with blood, not paint, not decoration, but the remnants of his last victim. The overseer's voice boomed across the arena: "Entering the Pit of Honor… KRAVEN THE BLOODHOUND!" The crowd erupted. Men pounded the rails, women screamed his name, children shrank back into their parents' arms. Kraven fed on the noise. He lifted his axes high, slamming them together with a clang that echoed like a bell. His head jerked around, wild eyes scanning the arena as if searching for prey. Then he threw back his head and howled, a guttural, animalistic roar that silenced even the loudest cheers for a moment. His reputation was clear: Kraven didn't fight for honor. He fought to devour, to tear, to leave nothing but broken bodies in the sand. He stalked forward, his footsteps heavy, his grin feral. When he finally spotted Helios standing across the pit, calm and unshaken, he licked his lips like a wolf sighting fresh meat. "Another lamb for the slaughter," he growled, raising one axe to point directly at Helios. The crowd roared again, eager for blood. Helios cracked his knuckles, his calm voice carrying across the pit. "Well, aren't you excited? You've got your tongue out like a dog. I suggest putting it back in your mouth." Kraven's body twitched as he dragged his tongue across the edge of his axes, eyes rolling like a madman. His words slurred with glee. "This is what the Colosseum does, boy… it takes men and grinds them into beasts. Out there, the crowd doesn't cheer for honor, or skill… they cheer for blood. For screams. For the break of bone. And me? I give them what they want." Helios rested his hand on the hilt of his father's sword, still sheathed. His eyes were cold, his voice sharper than steel. "No. The arena doesn't shape me. I shape it." The crowd roared as the overseer slammed the blocks together.
The madman lunged, axe raised high, but Helios didn't flinch. Kraven's right arm swung wide, aiming to cleave his head clean off. Too slow. In a single motion, Helios drew his father's blade. Steel whispered, then sang. His strike met flesh at the elbow, severing the limb clean. Blood sprayed as Kraven stumbled back, snarling in agony, his severed arm still hanging in the air before crashing to the dirt. Helios slid his sword back into its sheath with practiced calm. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he advanced on the broken savage. "What happened?" His voice was calm, cold. "A moment ago, your eyes were full of pride… and confidence." The severed arm fell. Helios lifted a hand and caught it without breaking stride, his gaze locked on Kraven as the man clawed backward, panic twisting his face. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!" Kraven shrieked, hurling his axe in desperation. Helios tilted his head, just enough for the blade to whistle past. Then, with a smooth flick, he hurled the severed arm like a spear. It punched through Kraven's chest with a sickening crack, impaling him to the dirt. "…and arrogance," Helios finished, his voice echoing in the silent pit. "The perfect word for a man drunk on the cheers of the arena." Kraven twitched once, then stilled, his wild grin frozen in death. For a moment, the Colosseum was silent. Then the noise rose, gasps, mutters, cheers, all mixing into a roar. Some shouted Helios's number. Others whispered his name. Respect laced with fear spread through the crowd. They had seen elegance, not savagery, clean precision that made the brutality sting sharper. The overseer raised a hand. "Victory, Number 107!" Helios turned, walking from the bloodied sand without another glance at the corpse. His sword rested once more at his side, unstained, as if untouched by the chaos. Bow met him at the entrance, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Pretty elegant. Though I didn't think you'd throw the guy's own arm through his chest. That's cold, Helios." Helios gave the faintest shrug. "He chose how he wanted to be remembered. I only finished it." As they walked down the stone corridor, the roar of the crowd still echoing above them, Helios's name began to ripple through the Colosseum, not yet a legend, but no longer a nobody. The crowd still buzzed with Helios's name when the camera of attention shifted elsewhere, to a shadowed balcony high above the pit. Halo lounged in his seat, a goblet of wine in hand, lips curled in a half-smirk. He gave a scoff as he watched Helios disappear into the tunnel. "Elegant, yes… but nothing special. He got lucky facing a rabid dog. Against me, he wouldn't last three strikes." From the shadows beside him, a figure cloaked in heavy cloth stirred. Their face was completely hidden, voice low and cold when it came. "Do not be so quick to dismiss him. That warrior might strike you down if you underestimate him." Halo tensed, the smirk fading for an instant. He turned slightly toward the cloaked figure, jaw set. "You think he could threaten me? Impossible. I am destined to be the strongest." The voice cut through his pride like a blade. "Arrogance blinds. Don't disappoint." Halo's fingers tightened around the goblet until the rim cracked. His smirk returned, thinner this time, more forced. He looked back down at the arena floor, eyes narrowing where Helios had stood moments ago. "If he dares to climb this high…" Halo muttered, "…I'll enjoy reminding him where he belongs." The cloaked figure said nothing more, only watching the empty pit in silence, as though they could already see what the future would bring.