Arriving at the illustrious colosseum, one of the small, crimson-skinned imps gave him a small stone tablet with magically inscribed numbers on it.
"Left side," the bumpy-skinned, bored imp told him.
"Right," he nodded.
It was obvious that each competitor would have to be separated to either the left or right side waiting room, as each potential candidate had to enter the colosseum from the opposing side of their opponent.
As he moved down the curving halls of the colosseum back rooms, he inspected the purple-glowing stone in his hand, reading the number: "#1.'
"...I see how it is," he mumbled with a nervous smirk.
They're trying to sike me out, are they? By making me go first…Heh, thanks, but that won't stop me! He thought.
As he entered the waiting room, he got there before most seemingly did, as only a few occupied the decorated space.
It was quiet; tense and still as nobody spoke to each other–all intent and focused with their own goals in mind.
I didn't luck out much, did I? He thought.
Though his thoughts were washed away as he found a heavy arm clung around his neck, greeted by an unmistakable stench of booze.
"Would you look at that! It's my prized nephew!" Belial laughed, sipping from a mug still.
"Uncle…Wait, you brought that with you here?!" He asked out of surprise, laughing as he watched his eccentric uncle chug away.
Belial looked at him as if he was crazy for asking that, as if hauling a serving of good, old, amber liquid wasn't the common tactic before heading into a once-every-few-centuries tournament to dictate the new ruler of the demon people.
Nope, this is totally something Uncle Belial would do, he thought again.
"Oh…You're first, huh?" Belial said, noticing the glowing stone his nephew held.
He nodded, "Yup…"
"Tch," Belial clicked his tongue, plopping down beside him on the cushioned bench, "That little brother of mine…always picking on you, eh?"
"This is nothing," he assured him, smiling as he clutched the stone.
It felt like it had been no more than a few minutes, but the stone heated up against his palm, shining with a blinding radiance momentarily.
"Wha–"
Following that, a booming announcement came from the caster of the tournament, who wielded a voice-amplifying staff, paired with a pink-and-black, snazzy suit and a sharp, crimson mustache, "LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE–!!! THE FIRST MATCH OF THE KING'S CULLING IS ABOUT TO BEGIN-!!!"
The singsong announcement from the devilish announcer was followed by an ear-filling roar from the crowd, prompting him to slowly breathe in-and-out as he readied himself.
Seated in the crowd, surrounded by unfamiliar demons, Klaus and Marlow looked around.
"It's pretty packed here, isn't it?" Klaus said with a wry chuckle.
"There's at least, what? Ten-thousand? Sheesh…Grandzania doesn't hold out," Marlow commented.
–
The halfling stood himself up, moving out of the waiting room and standing by the hall that led to the middle of the colosseum itself as he prepared.
A pat on the shoulder came as he looked back to see Belial standing behind him, giving him a thumbs-up.
"Kick some ass out there, kid," Belial said.
"Will do," he smiled.
Beginning to make his way down the scarlet, metal-forged corridor, he tightened his leather gloves and made sure his sword was nicely tucked into its sheath.
Another announcement came from the amplified caster:
"FROM THE LEFT SIDE, THE EXILED PRINCE MAKES HIS RETURN TO GRANDZANIA! PLEASE WELCOME, THE HALF HUMAN, THE HALF DEMON: PRINCE MERLIN–!!!"
The introduction from the caster prompted him to walk out, stepping into the vast, sand-filled colosseum that was filled with lights supplemented by runic magic.
I'll win without summoning my Dreaming Grimoire. Not that it'll be of much use if I can't use human-made magic, he thought.
He could see the Demon Lord sitting in an illustrious throne, surrounded by his Kingsguard and most trusted members of the council, spectating the King Culling.
Though there were some cheers, most of what met his ears from the enormous crowd present in the stands that wrapped around the arena were boos–filling his ears as he stood his ground.
"What the–? That's not fair at all!" Marlow said angrily.
"Yeah…!" Klaus agreed.
"GO GET 'EM, MERLIN!" Marlow yelled out, cupping his hands around his mouth.
"DO YOUR BEST OUT THERE, MERLIN!" Klaus joined in.
Through the mixture of cheers and boos, he picked up on the support from his two companions, holding a small smile before the next announcement came:
"FROM THE RIGHT SIDE, IT'S THE EIGHTH SON OF THE DEMON LORD–THE "RIPPER PRINCE"--ELIGOS! WELCOME HIM TO THE STAGE–!!!!!"
In contrast to his own introduction, the one of his distant brother was met with an overwhelming boom of applause.
Walking out, a lanky man dressed in blood-red, thin and sleek armor set onto the colosseum, wielding two, curved swords in his hands.
The Ripper Prince possessed a deathly-gray complexion, with stringy, platinum hair and sunken, black eyes; holding an appearance of one who certainly wasn't adverse to malice.
"Long time, brother," he greeted his opponent.
"You should've stayed away, little piggy," Eligos chuckled, licking one of his bronze-tinged, circular blades.
All he did was smile in response to those words, keeping his right hand stationed by the hilt of his sword while awaiting the call from the announcer, who stood on a hovering slab of steel above the arena.
"ALRIGHTY, FOLKS! LET'S GET THIS THING STARTED—!!! JUST REMEMBER THE ONE RULE: NO HUMAN MAGECRAFT IS ALLOWED–!!! EVERYTHING ELSE IS FAIR GAME!"
The crowd broke loose into roars of anxious excitement as the stands rumbled in anticipation. However, the singular rule bestowed onto the match made his eyes widen just a bit in response.
Marlow yelled out in frustration, "What kind of rule is that? They know Merlin is a savant with magecraft, right?!"
"This feels intentional…They really don't want him to win, do they?" Klaus said.
"BEGIN–!!!"