The moment the Butcher's body collapsed into the sand, the crowd exploded into frenzied roars of excitement. Spectators screamed his newly christened name, "The Devourer!", their voices bouncing off the bloodstained stone walls of the underground coliseum.
Malik stood motionless above his fallen opponent, his masked face betraying no emotion. His robe barely had a speck of blood on it, his stance still relaxed, almost bored. The fight had ended too quickly. Too easily.
And that left him extremely unsatisfied.
The announcer, a gaunt looking man draped in violet silks with golden embroidery, laughed heartily from his elevated podium. His voice, magically amplified, carried across the arena like a storm.
"What a brutal and decisive victory! The Butcher has been slain, and our newest challenger, The Devourer, has entered the rankings at 991st! But tell me, dear audience, was that enough to satisfy your thirst for carnage?"
A deafening "NO!" rang out from the stands, accompanied by stomping feet and clanging weapons against shields, a rhythmic pulse that made the coliseum thrum with life.
Malik tilted his head slightly, his ever-shifting eyes gleaming beneath the mask.
Then, he lifted his head toward the announcer. His voice, low and cold, carried effortlessly.
"That was… disappointing."
The arena fell into stunned silence.
The announcer blinked before his grin widened. "Oh? Our newest fighter is unimpressed?"
Malik rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly. "I expected a challenge. Instead, I got a half-broken corpse who could barely swing his blade properly." He raised a single gloved hand and gestured lazily. "Give me another."
The coliseum shook with excitement.
"He's insane!" someone in the crowd shouted.
"Who the hell does he think he is?!"
"Doesn't matter! He's damn entertaining!"
A mixture of excitement and anger echoed through the audience at Malik's display of indifference, the rowdiness only increasing.
The announcer's laughter boomed. "Oh, what a rare occasion! A challenger that is still hungry! Very well! Shall we grant this newcomer another battle?!"
The response was immediate.
"YES!"
In the noble stands, the woman in crimson silk leaned forward slightly, watching Malik with a bemused expression.
She recognized him.
Even beneath the mask, even with his new name, she knew. He was the same man who had sat beside her during his first visit to the coliseum.
Back then, he had watched the fights with quiet calculation. Now, he was in the pit, delivering executions with eerie ease.
"Interesting," she murmured to herself, her lips curling into an intrigued smile. "What exactly are you aiming for, Devourer?"
Beside her, a nobleman with a thick mustache scoffed. "He's just another fool looking to climb the ranks. He'll die soon enough."
She didn't respond. Instead, she reached for her wine goblet and took a slow sip, her curiosity burning hotter than the drink.
Meanwhile, in the shadows above the arena, a figure watched silently.
Lady Cadrill, the ruler of Eldarath's underground, sat within her concealed private balcony, veiled by enchantments that kept her unseen.
She had seen countless fighters rise and fall, but this one was different. He fought without hesitation, without remorse. He moved like a monster pretending to be a man. And that intrigued her more than anything.
With a subtle flick of her fingers, she sent a silent signal to the announcer.
He caught the message and grinned wickedly.
"Very well, dear audience! Our bold challenger shall have his wish! His next opponent will be one of the fastest warriors within our top thousand!"
The iron gate at the opposite end of the arena groaned open once more, and a new fighter emerged.
This time, the crowd reacted with roaring approval.
"Talia the Swift! The Beast Queen of Sand and Steel!"
Malik's eyes followed the movement of the fighter who stepped onto the battlefield.
She was tall, lean, her body sculpted from battle. Unlike the hulking brute before, she was graceful, with fur-covered ears that twitched at every sound and a long feline tail flicking behind her. Her bronzed skin glowed under the enchanted lights, golden tribal markings etched across her exposed arms and thighs. Her outfit was practical—tight leather wrappings, steel-plated boots, and two curved scimitars strapped to her hips. Her eyes—piercing, predatory, amber—locked onto him with burning intensity.
"You're a cocky one," she mused, her voice smooth yet edged with danger. "I love that."
Malik tilted his head slightly, the mask concealing his smirk. "Good. Maybe you'll be worth my time."
The crowd went wild at the taunt.
Talia merely smiled, her sharp canines flashing. "Let's find out, Devourer."
The announcer raised his hands. "BEGIN!"
Talia vanished in less than a heartbeat.
One moment she stood across the arena, the next she was right in front of him, her twin scimitars whipping through the air like silver streaks.
Malik's body moved on instinct. He ducked and twisted, barely dodging the first strike. The second blade followed immediately after, slicing through the fabric of his robe but missing his flesh by a fraction of an inch.
The sand beneath them exploded with each rapid step she took.
She was fast.
Ridiculously fast.
"What insane speed for a Master-, she puts the Phantom Panther to shame." Kairo commented as Malik dodged the barrage of slashes.
The crowd erupted in a mix of awe and frenzied excitement.
"She's too quick! He can't keep up!"
"The Devourer's finished!"
Malik knew better.
Kairo knew it too. "It's unfortunate that she met you. She could've been quite the genius, given time to grow."
With each second, Malik was adjusting, reading her rhythm.
Then—he moved.
Instead of dodging, he stepped into her space.
Talia's amber eyes widened as his hand shot forward like a vice, catching her wrist mid-swing.
Crack!
With a single brutal motion, Malik twisted, snapping her arm at the elbow, her bone piercing through flesh in a burst of gore.
Her scream echoed through the coliseum.
The audience gasped in shock.
But Malik didn't stop.
Before she could react, he pivoted behind her, grabbed her by the back of her neck with both hands, squeezing with every stat of strength he could muster whilst yanking upwards.
A gruesome ripping sound echoed across the arena, in tandem with Talia's screams of agony that became muffled, even in the silence permeating the underground.
Malik tore her head from her shoulders. Blood spilled like a fountain, painting the sand beneath his feet.
The silence was deafening.
Malik exhaled slowly, gazing at the severed head in his grasp.
Then, he sighed.
"What a shame," he murmured, tossing the head aside. "I dislike killing pretty ones."
The arena descended into absolute chaos.
The announcer was laughing like a man possessed. "UNBELIEVABLE! The Devourer has slain another! Two victories in a single night! He has taken Rank 970 in record time!"
Malik turned his masked gaze toward the noble stands.
For the first time, Lady Cadrill's veiled balcony stirred.
The ruler of Eldarath's underground had taken notice.
And Malik?
He was just getting started.
…
The arena had become a theater of madness.
Each time Malik cut down an opponent, the audience roared louder. Every victory, every brutal execution only heightened the fervor.
The underground coliseum had seen countless warriors, but none quite like him. None who fought with such cold detachment, none who tore through their foes without hesitation.
And now, he was being pitted against another.
The iron gates groaned open once more, and a short, broad figure stomped onto the battlefield.
A dwarf, clad in heavy plate armor crackling with yellow lightning. His beard was thick and braided, streaked with white and gold, and his eyes burned with the rage of a storm.
In his grasp was a warhammer, small in size but radiating raw destruction. Each step he took sent sparks flickering across the sand.
The announcer's voice boomed.
"And now, dear audience, we bring you another challenger! This is no ordinary fighter! He is Gorrim Ironfury, The Storm Anvil! A warrior whose hammer has shattered shields, bones, and lives alike!"
The crowd erupted.
"IRONFURY! IRONFURY!"
The dwarf smirked, rolling his broad shoulders as he pointed his hammer at Malik. "Ye've got a bad habit of killin' yer opponents, lad. Let's see if ye can kill a mountain."
Malik tilted his head slightly. "Then stop talking and fight."
"With pleasure."
The moment the signal was given, Gorrim slammed his hammer against the ground.
BOOM!
A surge of lightning exploded outward, the force rippling through the sand, turning it to molten glass in spots.
Malik leapt back, dodging the initial impact, but Gorrim was already moving.
For a dwarf, he was unbelievably quick.
Before Malik could reposition, the hammer swung toward his ribs, a lightning-infused arc of destruction.
Malik's body twisted—but not fast enough.
CRACK!
The hammer grazed his side, sending a shockwave through his muscles. Pain flared up his body, his nerves screaming as the electric currents danced across his robes and flesh.
The crowd gasped.
Gorrim grinned. "Aye, that's more like it!"
Malik exhaled sharply. "Not bad."
Then, he shifted.
Not visibly. Not outwardly.
But internally—his body adapting to the pain, his muscles reinforcing, his speed doubling, his slight control over dark magic and the lightening it encompassed coming into play as pain diminished.
Gorrim swung again, but this time, Malik vanished.
Before the hammer could connect, Malik had already stepped inside his guard.
His fingers lashed out—clawing across Gorrim's throat, tearing out a few strips of flesh.
Blood sprayed.
The dwarf staggered back, choking, but swung his hammer wildly. Malik ducked under the arc, his foot slamming into the dwarf's knee.
CRACK!
Gorrim's knee inverted and he buckled forward.
And then—Malik grabbed him by the wrist, wrenching the hammer from his grasp.
The moment his fingers wrapped around the weapon's handle, the air buzzed with static.
The dwarf's eyes widened in shock.
"Ye wouldn't—"
"I would." Malik interrupted, swinging the weapon downward.
The hammer collided with Gorrim's skull, splintering bone and brain matter. A sickening crunch followed by a spray of blood.
Silence.
Then, the crowd lost its mind.
The announcer cackled. "AND HE DOES IT AGAIN! THE DEVOURER TAKES ANOTHER HEAD!"
Malik exhaled, his grip tightening on the hammer. "It's starting to piss me off. I know this is all a show to get her attention… but…"
This was too easy.
He wanted more. He wanted something akin to Goliath, a fight that put him to the test. He longed to fight with everything on the line, without holding anything back. But he knew that time was not now.
"It doesn't make it any better."
Up in the stands, Lady Cadrill watched in silence.
Her figure was concealed in a private balcony, veiled by enchantments, but her presence was undeniable.
She had seen many warriors rise and fall, but this one? He was different.
There was something… unnatural about him.
A masked fighter, stepping into her world, cutting through her arena like a blade through flesh.
"What sort of creature are you?" she murmured, voice soft, almost reverent.
Beside her, an attendant in a hooded cloak leaned closer. "Shall we let him continue?"
Cadrill tapped a delicate finger against her armrest.
Then, she shook her head.
"No. Bring him to me."
…
Malik barely had time to wipe the blood from his gloves before two guards approached.
One of them bowed slightly. "The Lady of the Underground wishes to speak with you."
The crowd murmured in excitement.
This was rare. Only the most promising fighters ever got an audience with Lady Cadrill.
Malik inclined his head. "Lead the way."
They took him through a hidden corridor, away from the roaring bloodlust of the coliseum.
Through dimly lit halls, past flickering torches, until they arrived at an ornate black door, lined with silver filigree.
The guards knocked twice, then stepped aside.
"Enter."
Malik stepped inside.
And immediately, he knew he was in the presence of something powerful, something dangerous.
The air itself felt heavier. Warmer. The undeniable presence of a Grandmaster- engulfing the room with a visible pressure of aura.
And at the center of it all—sat a woman veiled in shadow.
She sat upon an exquisite throne, her form draped in dark silks that shimmered like liquid night. A thin, lace veil concealed her features, but her presence was overwhelming.
When she spoke, her voice was like a whispered promise—soft, seductive, laced with something unnatural.
"The Devourer," she mused, tilting her head. "I've been watching your display…"
Malik said nothing, but he felt it immediately—the pull.
It wasn't charm.
It was some sort of magic.
An enchantment, woven into her words, meant to lure him in.
But Malik?
He simply laughed mockingly.
"Is that supposed to work on me?"
Cadrill's fingers froze mid-air. Surprise flickered in her crimson eyes behind the veil.
"Oh? You can resist?"
Malik stepped forward, arms crossed. "If anyone else tried something like that, I'd have killed them where they stood."
She chuckled softly. "How bold. And yet, you're still standing here."
She leaned forward slightly, her heavyset chest pressing together, deliberately trying to entice him. "I would like to see the face of the man I'm speaking to."
Malik tilted his head. "Only if you remove your veil first."
A tense pause.
Then—to his shock, she did.
The veil fell away.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, Malik felt something stir within him.
She was… breathtaking.
Crimson red hair, cascading in waves. Deep, smoldering red eyes, framed by thick lashes.
Her features were sculpted to perfection—delicate, yet undeniably seductive. Her full lips curled into a knowing smirk, and her body? A masterpiece of curves and elegance, draped in black silk that clung to her like sin.
Even Kairo, who had seen countless beauties in his previous life, was stunned.
"That's not fair—"
Malik's fingers twitched. He wasn't easily affected by appearances. But this woman? This was different.
And then—she giggled.
"Ah… that reaction. That's more like it."
Her gaze traveled over his masked face, anticipation gleaming in her eyes.
"Now, Devourer… it's your turn."
Malik exhaled, "Fine."
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion—he removed his mask.
Her breath hitched.
Her pupils dilated.
Her face flushed.
For the first time in what was likely a long, long time…
Lady Cadrill was at a loss for words.