In a world where the divine ruled over mortals through contracts and fight for rank with the help of mortals, the powerful walked free, while the powerless languished in the shadows. For many, the chance to gain favor from a god was a distant dream. But for others, it was a cruel game-a test of survival. Those in the lower sections of society-slaves, prisoners, and outcasts-faced an even harsher fate. For them, the arena was a place where the gods rarely even bothered to show up in person. Only if you survived this crucible would you earn the attention of the divine.
In the center of the chaotic arena stood a young boy of just seventeen. His snow-white hair and white eyes stood out in stark contrast to the filth around him. Despite the terror gripping the other slaves, Bell, with his delicate, almost angelic face, stood firm. He didn't move an inch as the guards unleashed the beasts meant to devour them, his eyes calm amidst the chaos.
The lower section of the arena was where the forgotten were cast. The gods weren't here, just merchants, guards, and a few observers who sought entertainment in the suffering of slaves. If Bell could show his strength here, perhaps someone would take notice. If not, he'd be just another corpse left to rot.
The crowd roared as the beasts entered-a grotesque collection of wild creatures, some resembling wolves, others as massive as bulls, their claws and teeth gleaming with bloodlust. The guards watched on with little interest, mocking those too weak to defend themselves.
One by one, the slaves were attacked. Some tried to flee, running desperately for the exits. A few managed to escape through the gaps in the guards' half-hearted defense, but most met a gruesome fate. Blood stained the ground as beasts ripped through flesh, feasting on their prey. The guards didn't lift a finger to help.
Bell, however, stood in the middle of it all. Five beasts surrounded him, tearing apart the bodies of the other slaves, but Bell didn't flinch. He didn't even move. His gaze was cold, unyielding.
The crowd began to jeer, assuming he was too scared to move. But Bell's lips slowly curled into a smirk as he finally spoke.
"Eat. Enjoy it. Because this is your last meal."
A massive beast that looked like a boar with razor-sharp tusks let out a snarl and charged straight at Bell, its feet thundering against the ground. Bell remained still for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then, without warning, he bolted toward the arena wall, not toward the guards or safety like many expected, but in a direction that surprised everyone.
The guards sneered. "Looks like this one's got some life left in him. Maybe we should save him for ourselves, eh? He's a pretty little thing."
They were mocking him, their voices laced with cruelty. They didn't expect him to survive, but they hoped to "save" him for their twisted games later.
But Bell had other plans.
As the boar-beast neared, Bell suddenly jumped with a grace and agility that stunned the crowd. He had learned these moves from his village, where athleticism was second nature. He flipped in mid-air and landed with a swift, elegant movement. The boar smashed into the wall, disoriented, and Bell saw his chance.
He dashed toward the beast, his fist raised. With one clean punch, Bell shattered one of the beast's tusks, sending fragments flying. Blood splattered across his hand, but Bell didn't stop. His fists were raw and bleeding, but there was something mesmerizing about the way he moved-something that drew the attention of the crowd, especially the women watching from the sidelines.
In this world, it was women who held the reins of power-strong, fierce warriors who dominated the battlefield and the political sphere alike. Men, on the other hand, were seen as caretakers, expected to tend to the home and serve the needs of their more powerful female counterparts. It was a reversal of the natural order that some might expect, and Bell, with his beauty and soft features, was the very image of a prized male in this society.
But he wasn't like the other men who accepted their place meekly.
The women in the audience, warriors and highborn alike, were immediately drawn to him. His rare white hair, delicate features, and those striking white eyes marked him as someone different. What made their hearts race even more was the way he fought-despite the expectation that he should be fragile, Bell was anything but.
The women whispered among themselves, their eyes gleaming with lustful intent. They didn't just want to watch him fight-they wanted to claim him. Men like Bell were seen as precious, beautiful creatures, to be protected, pampered, and, if necessary, dominated.
Some of the female warriors watching even leaned forward, hoping to stop the fight and buy Bell outright. But before they could act, Bell shouted, his voice clear and defiant.
"No. I want to fight."
The crowd fell silent, stunned by his refusal to back down. It was rare to see a male with such spirit in this world-a world where women dominated every sphere of life, including the battlefield. Bell, with his soft features and delicate body, should have been trying to escape, to seek safety in the arms of some warrior woman willing to protect him. But here he was, choosing to stand and fight.
Bell, with one shattered hand, gripped the broken tusk of the boar beast. His hand throbbed with pain, but he ignored it. His body was his weapon now. He used the tusk to attack the remaining beasts, dodging their claws and teeth with fluid movements. He lured them in, using his own body as bait, but striking them down with lethal precision.
One by one, the beasts fell, bloodied and broken. But just as Bell killed the third beast, the remaining two attacked simultaneously, their claws and fangs aimed to tear him apart. Bell managed to impale one, driving the tusk through its skull, but the other beast-a massive, wolf-like creature-pinned him to the ground.
For the first time, Bell's situation seemed dire. The beast's claws tore into his skin, and blood pooled around him. He fought back, but the creature's strength was overwhelming.
Just as Bell's vision began to blur, something unexpected happened. A needle shot through the air, embedding itself in the beast's neck. The creature staggered for a moment before collapsing in a heap.
Bell looked up, gasping for breath, and saw a girl standing on the edge of the arena. She was a warrior, her armor glinting in the sunlight, but her face was partially hidden beneath a hood. She said nothing, merely offering a brief nod before disappearing into the crowd.
With the final beast down, Bell rose shakily to his feet, gripping the tusk in his bloodied hand. The fight was over. He had survived.
The guards and female spectators who had mocked him now watched in awe. Bell's body was battered, his hand shattered, but he had done what no one thought possible. He had slain the beasts.
Healers rushed forward to tend to his wounds, wrapping him in bandages and healing salves. His body was restored, but the memory of the fight burned in his mind.
Among the spectators, the women whispered in hushed tones. Many of them admired Bell, not just for his looks but for his defiance, his unwillingness to submit. It stirred something deep within them-a desire not just to protect him, but to own him, to make him theirs.
In this world, women ruled. They were the warriors, the leaders, the sexually dominant ones. But Bell had just proven that he was more than just a pretty face. He was a fighter, and that made him all the more desirable.
"Looks like we've found ourselves a champion," one of the guards muttered, still in shock.
Bell had earned his place. Though the gods hadn't been present, he had proven himself worthy of the next round-a chance for the gods to see him fight, a chance for freedom. The crowd roared in approval as Bell stood, bloodied but unbroken.