Sygmund glanced at the goblin emissary, who sat stiffly beside him, his beady yellow eyes flickering between the fighters below.He could practically hear the little creature’s thoughts racing, calculating odds, weighing advantages.

  A smirk tugged at the mayor’s lips. “Tell me, honored emissary,” he said, his voice carrying the crisp amusement of a man indulging in a passing curiosity, “if you were to place your meager coin on a victor, who would it be? The savage beast? Or our golden prodigy?”

  The goblin’s gaze darted toward Sygmund, then back to the arena. He hesitated for only a moment before responding, his voice low but firm. “Quinorak.”

  Sygmund arched a silver brow. “So confident?”

  The goblin’s clawed fingers tapped against his knee. “The elf is fast, skilled, and her magic is formidable. But I have seen fighters like her before. Their grace means little when faced with something that cannot be stopped.” He nodded toward Quinorak, who stood like an unmovable mountain, his massive frame radiating sheer menace.

  “That thing is destruction incarnate. She may dance around him for a time, but the moment he lands a single true strike, it will be over.”

  Sygmund chuckled, his breath misting in the warm air. “How delightfully ruthless of you. I expected a more cautious answer, but you chose decisively.” He leaned back in his seat, the amusement clear in his sharp eyes. “I like that.”

  The goblin said nothing, only shifting uncomfortably as as the elf swirled the wine in his frozen hand, watching the fighters below with an air of satisfaction. “Now, let’s see if your instincts serve you well,” he murmured, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

  The arena held its breath for only a moment before Belshara moved. With a flick of her wrist, the golden whip in her hand shimmered, its radiant tendrils coiling and snapping through the air like a serpent made of pure light. But she did not strike—not yet.

  Instead, she extended her other hand skyward, her voice rising above the clamor of the crowd in a clear, commanding chant. Words of power reverberated through the Bloodsands, each syllable seeming to cause a pulse of light. The air above her shimmered, warping as if bending to the will of an unseen force.

  Then, with a sudden burst of brilliance, it appeared.

  A massive bird, its feathers an iridescent tapestry of multicolored light, burst forth from the radiant vortex above. Its wings, each longer than a man was tall, sent cascades of shimmering luminescence trailing behind it like falling stars. Its eyes, pits of greenish flame, locked onto Quinorak with an intelligence beyond mere instinct.

  The arena gasped. Even the Lord Mayor, watching from his seat above, tilted his head in mild intrigue. “Ah,” he mused, “now this is an unexpected delight. It’s been years since I’ve seen a true Ercinee.”

  The summoned avian let out a piercing screech, the sound unnatural—warped and discordant, as if a chorus of unseen voices were wailing alongside it. The very air trembled at its cry.

  Quinorak flinched, his massive form stiffening as the sound took root in his mind. His grip on his axe slackened for half a heartbeat, his snarl faltering into a moment of hesitation. The beast-blooded warrior was no stranger to pain, to battle, to death itself—but this was something else. His vision blurred, his mind spiraling into a chaotic haze of conflicting thoughts. For the first time since stepping into the arena, Quinorak staggered.

  Belshara smiled. “Now,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of absolute certainty.

  The Ercinee did not hesitate. With a powerful beat of its wings, it soared high, then dived, its talons aglow with searing light. It struck like a celestial spear, raking Quinorak’s shoulder with divine fire. The minotaur-drakeling roared, his confusion breaking beneath the surge of pain.

  But Belshara did not let up. She lashed out with her whip, the golden strands elongating mid-air, seeking out the gaps in his formidable defense. Each strike left behind luminous burns, radiant marks that sizzled against his scaled flesh.

  The crowd roared in approval. This was no mere duel of strength—it was a battle of dominance, of who could impose their will upon the other first.

  As Quinorak shook off the last traces of the Ercinee’s disorienting screech, another presence emerged onto the sands, gilded and luminous.

  From behind Belshara, the great lion padded forward, its form bathed in a radiant glow that outshone even the burning torches of the arena. Its golden mane crackled with embers of pure energy, each movement graceful yet heavy with unnatural weight. It seemed no worse the wear for its brief struggle with Quinorak. Indeed, it seemed to have grown bigger, stronger, as the though the brightness of the noonday sun had infused it with newstrength. The beast’s eyes were twin suns, devoid of pupils, shining with the ceaseless hunger of something neither truly alive nor dead.

  The crowd gasped at the sight of the celestial lion, its sheer presence awe-inspiring. Even the Ercinee let out a low, reverent trill at the sight of its glowing kin.

  Quinorak’s grip on his axe tightened. He exhaled, nostrils flaring, his powerful chest rising and falling. The pain from his wounds was still fresh, the burns still searing—but he was no stranger to agony.

  This time, however, he was fighting against something unnatural.

  Belshara raised her whip, her smirk deepening. “Tear him down.”

  The lion leaped forward, a streak of radiance across the crimson sands. It moved with unnatural speed, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Quinorak barely had time to raise his axe before the beast struck.

  A swipe of its massive paw. A flash of pure light.

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  Pain exploded across Quinorak’s body as the lion’s claws carved through scales and flesh alike. He let out a guttural snarl, staggering back as his vision flared white. His mind screamed in protest—something was wrong. His body, powerful as it was, felt sluggish in the presence of the radiant energy washing over him. His movements dulled. His senses wavered.

  And worst of all—his sight flickered.

  The light from the lion’s attack seared his vision, threatening to blind him outright. He snarled, forcing his eyes to remain open through sheer willpower. He could not afford to lose himself in the onslaught.

  The Ercinee screeched again, circling overhead. Quinorak barely had time to register its presence before another beam of searing light shot down at him, aimed with pinpoint precision. He twisted his body, the beam glancing off his shoulder rather than striking him head-on. But the heat was intense, his flesh smoldering where it had grazed him.

  Then came the whip.

  It struck with the swiftness of a viper, lashing across his arm, wrapping around his wrist in a constricting coil of light. Quinorak growled, muscles bulging as he ripped his arm free, but the damage had been done. His momentum had been broken.

  For the first time since the battle began, the great minotaur-drakeling was being pushed back.

  Above, Sygmund chuckled softly, setting his goblet down with a crisp clink. He cast a sidelong glance at the goblin emissary, who was leaning forward now, eyes wide and unblinking.

  “Well?” Sygmund asked, his tone laced with amusement. “Still confident in your choice?”

  The goblin hesitated, his throat working as he tried to find the right words.

  But down in the arena, Quinorak was far from finished.

  The beast-blooded warrior exhaled sharply, his muscles tensing as he dug in. His hooves pressed firmly into the crimson sands, his tail lashing behind him as his slitted eyes narrowed.

  Enough.

  His nostrils flared, and then—he roared.

  The sound was a seismic force, shaking the arena to its core. It was the roar of something ancient, something primal. It summoned forth a darkness that seemed to infuse Quinoraks scales with the essence of night itself. His eyes began to glow a deep red and he roared again. The crowd, who had moments ago been enraptured by Belshara’s control of the fight, now found themselves trembling in the wake of Quinorak’s fury.

  The Bloodsands had never heard a war cry quite like this before.

  The lion, undeterred, lunged once more. But this time, Quinorak was ready.

  He shifted, twisting his massive frame in a sudden, deceptive motion. The lion’s attack whistled through empty air as Quinorak vanished from its path in a burst of shadows—only to reappear behind it, his axe already descending.

  The impact was thunderous. The radiant lion howled as Quinorak’s axe struck its flank, the sheer force of the blow sending it skidding across the arena floor in a streak of golden light. Fast healing or not, even a creature of pure Positive Energy was not immune to raw, overwhelming power.

  Quinorak straightened, his lips curling into a bloodied grin. His body burned from the radiant attacks, his vision still blurred at the edges—but the tide had shifted.

  The fight was now clearly in his favor.

  And the crowd loved it.

  His crimson eyes locked onto Belshara, and a deep, guttural growl echoed through the battlefield. The air itself seemed to waver under the sheer pressure of his presence.

  To her credit, the woman did not flinch. With a sharp motion of her hand, dozens of shimmering daggers materialized around her, each one a pure construct of celestial light. They hovered for a moment before shooting toward Quinorak in a synchronized assault.

  The shadowy hybrid responded with a sudden, unnatural twist of his body. He batted aside several daggers with monstrous speed, while others embedded themselves between his scales, sizzling as they burned into his darkness-infused body. Quinorak hissed in irritation but did not slow. With a single, nightmarish leap, he closed the distance, his body trailing shadow as he descended.

  Belshara met his charge with grace. She spun midair, dodging his massive axe as it carved a deep trench into the stone floor. In retaliation, she extended her palm, and a construct of radiant chains erupted from the ground, wrapping around Quinorak’s limbs, tightening with divine force.

  For a moment, her foe was restrained.

  Then Quinorak roared, his body expanding unnaturally as abyssal energy pulsed from within. The chains cracked, then shattered, sending shockwaves through the chamber. His massive claw lashed out, barely missing Belshara as she darted backward.

  The lion and the Ercinee moved as one, their celestial forms converging on Quinorak in a dazzling display of light and fury. The lion, despite the fresh wound on its flank, roared and charged once more, its radiant claws extended. The Ercinee dived from above, streaking downward like a comet of searing brilliance.

  But Quinorak was no longer simply enduring their attacks—he was answering them.

  As the celestial lion pounced, Quinorak shifted his stance with preternatural speed. His long tail snapped outward like a whip, catching the lion mid-leap and hurling it aside with devastating force. The golden beast hit the arena wall hard, the impact sending cracks spiderwebbing through the stone. Before it could recover, Quinorak surged forward and drove his axe down in a brutal arc. The lion twisted just in time to avoid a killing blow, but not before the axe carved a deep gouge through its radiant mane. Its light flickered, momentarily dimmed.

  The Ercinee struck next, shrieking as it unleashed a cascade of burning feathers, each one a lance of condensed celestial fire. They rained down upon Quinorak, piercing into his shadow-cloaked form, their radiant energy searing his scale covered flesh, but the effect was somewhat lessened by the arena fighters cloak of darkness. Smoke still curled from his wounds, but instead of recoiling, Quinorak snarled and reached upward.

  His massive hand clamped around the Ercinee’s leg in mid-air.

  The great bird shrieked in protest, its wings beating furiously to break free, but Quinorak’s grip was unrelenting. With a savage roar, he swung the creature like a living flail and slammed it into the ground with bone-crushing force. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the Bloodsands, causing even the spectators to gasp.

  Belshara’s expression remained unreadable, but a flicker of something—concern, perhaps—passed through her eyes.

  She moved swiftly, her whip snapping with pinpoint accuracy. The luminous tendril coiled around Quinorak’s wrist, tightening like a vice. With a fluid motion, she twisted her fingers, and the whip ignited with celestial fire, searing into his flesh. Quinorak growled, muscles straining against the restraint.

  Then he yanked.

  The sudden, brute-force counter caught Belshara off guard. The sheer strength behind the pull wrenched her off balance, dragging her toward him in a blur. She twisted in mid-air, summoning another chain of light to anchor herself—but Quinorak was already moving.

  He met her descent with a backhanded swing of his massive claw.

  The strike connected.

  A shield of light sprung up around the elf at the last second but it was not enough to stop her from being sent hurtling through the air like a fallen star, crashing into the arena floor with a force that sent a plume of dust and light scattering into the air. The crowd erupted in a frenzy, half in awe, half in horror.

  From the spectator’s box, the Lord Mayor exhaled slowly, his smirk never fading.

  The goblin emissary did not blink. “I told you,” he murmured smugly. "She cannot stop something like that."

  In the arena, Belshara pushed herself up, blood trailing from a cut on her lip. Her shield had protected her from the worst of the damage bujt she was clearly on the back foot. The celestial lion, weakened but unbroken, let out a warning growl at her side. The Ercinee, dazed but still alight with fury, ruffled its glowing feathers and prepared to take flight again.

  Quinorak stood tall, his body smoldering with the remnants of their attacks. His crimson eyes burned with the thrill of the fight. He stomped forward, prepared to finish the fight.