[ VIP Room 1 ]
Lilith's eyes narrowed as she scanned the arena below. Amongst the clamor and chaos, her gaze fixated on [5], or unbeknownst to anyone in attendance—Daseos.
"Why does he look so familiar?"
She mumbled, her eyes locked in a puzzled frown.
Occulus, who had been wholly uninterested until now, turned his head at her words.
"Yawn~ What did you say?"
For the first time, Occulus directed his attention to the arena.
As his abyss-black eyes—hidden behind sunglasses—landed on Daseos, a shockwave of a vision rocked him to his core.
Dark flames burst forth from behind his sunglasses, a burning blaze that nobody but he could feel.
Occulus found himself suddenly yanked out of reality, plunged into an ethereal nightmare that struck a primal chord in the depths of his soul.
Before him stretched the dilapidated remains of a gothic cathedral, the aura so thick with dread it was almost palpable.
Stone walls, fractured and pockmarked, stood tall but trembling, as if they too were afraid of what lurked within.
The stale air hung heavy with decay and damp stone
Occulus could hear distant whispers, eerie echoes that seemed to bounce off the crumbling walls.
They danced around him in an elusive symphony of fear, taunting his senses.
All at once, his bravado—so effortless in the VIP room, as if unconcerned with anything in the world—evaporated into the dank air.
Occulus was on his butt, crawling backward, stumbling over the worn flagstones.
His voice quivered as he murmured hurried prayers, each word a plea unto itself.
"AHHH~ Ghosts, spirits, whatever you are—stay away!"
His voice came out a strained whisper, struggling to pierce the omnipresent gloom.
Just as he braced himself for whatever monstrosity would manifest next—his body taut, his breathing shallow—a colossal red eye the height of a skyscraper blinked open in the shadows, banishing the darkness.
The eerie glow engulfed the scene, saturating every crack, crevice, and stone with an ominous red hue.
Occulus squinted, his arm rising involuntarily to shield his eyes from the overwhelming, almost tangible, burst of red light.
He could feel the intensity of that gaze drilling into him, scrutinizing his very essence.
And then, as if materializing from the shadow of that imposing eye, a figure emerged.
It was Daseos, but this was not the inspiring Villain teen we know and love—He was older, more haggard, his body marred with wounds and soaked in blood.
The future Daseos turned toward him, locking eyes in a silent exchange so intense it felt like a roar.
His eyes, glowing a fierce, incandescent crimson, met Occulus's gaze as he rasped, voice raw and steeped in fatigue,
"Occ, please... stop us... stop me from finding out the truth."
In an instant, the vision erupted into a blaze, the cathedral, the eye, and the bloodied Daseos combusting into violent flames.
A final shout from Daseos clawed its way through the conflagration, echoing in Occulus's mind even as the vision disintegrated around him.
"How do you know me? Who are you? What truth?!"
Occulus snapped back to the present, feeling as though he'd been violently shoved by an unseen hand.
The transition was so jarring that he felt like he'd been slapped by the very hand of darkness.
For a moment, his surroundings were a blur, the faces of Lilith, Mayor Malachor, Devian, and Fiszure swirling in a dizzying haze.
His knees buckled, and he hit the ground hard, unable to maintain his usually composed stance.
Air struggled to find its way into his lungs, and when he tried to speak, only a hacking cough erupted from his throat.
*Cough…* *Cough…* *Cough…*
Black blood splattered onto the floor beneath him, a dark omen that contrasted sharply with the polished tiles of the VIP room.
Every eye turned to Occulus, their earlier chatter and excitement vanishing as if they'd been doused in ice-cold water.
"What happened?"
Lilith's voice broke through his disoriented state, laced with genuine concern.
She was no stranger to the dark arts, but the energy that had just erupted from Occulus felt different—ancient and foreboding.
Occulus felt a shiver crawl up his spine, but it wasn't from the cold.
The vision had been too vivid, the plea from that imposing figure too desperate.
==========
[ Darkspire UFC Arena ]
The air was thick with tension, each spectator's eyes glued to the unfolding drama within the cage.
The atmosphere was electric, each move from the fighters sending ripples through the crowd.
Krakus's skin began to change, taking on a sickening shade of red that throbbed ominously.
It pulsed with malevolence, as if his very flesh was infused with dark energy.
The hue seemed to ripple outward from his core, turning his body into a grotesque embodiment of pure malevolence.
With predatory swiftness, Krakus charged at Daseos, who was cornered against the cage's chain-linked walls.
Just when Daseos thought he'd blocked the incoming onslaught, Krakus deftly shifted his weight and executed a devastating suplex.
'If striking won't work, then take this!!!'
Krakus crowed inwardly, a sinister satisfaction swirling within him as he lifted Daseos into the air.
*THUUUDDDDD*
Daseos's body slammed into the ground, sending a shockwave through the arena that seemed to reverberate in the bones of everyone watching.
A collective gasp tore through the audience, only to be drowned out by deafening cheers.
"ROAAAAARRRR!!! GOOO KRAKUSSS!!!!"
"KILL HIM!!!"
"FINISH HIM OFF!!!"
The arena was no longer a venue; it had become an amphitheater of dread and excitement.
Daseos could feel his energy draining, replaced by sharp pangs of pain that seemed to ricochet within him.
Daseos was a mess—blood oozing from multiple wounds, his body battered and bruised.
He could feel Krakus's iron grip tighten around his waist like a vise.
"ARGGGHHH!!"
Frantic, he clawed at the arms that imprisoned him, his fingers digging into the toughened, reddened flesh, desperately trying to pry them apart.
It was futile.
His fists clenched, Daseos resorted to hammering Krakus's arms with as much force as his battered body could muster.
*THUD!* *BANG!* *THUD!!!*
Each blow landed with a resounding thud, but it did little to weaken the grip that was crushing the life out of him.
Daseos could see his own blood now, trickling from a myriad of wounds, each droplet a stark reminder of his dire situation.
He was caught, struggling like prey in the jaws of a predator.
And for the first time, deep within the eyes of the spectators, past the layers of excitement and schadenfreude, there was a flicker of genuine concern.
Could [5], the underdog, the enigma, escape this hellish grasp?