The Arena's curel embrace
The afternoon sun bore down on the air base, glinting off rows of choppers as their engines rumbled like distant thunder. The air smelled of fuel, sweat, and anticipation. Soldiers moved with ruthless efficiency, loading crates of ammunition, securing harnesses, and slamming the final hatches shut. The hum of mobilization filled the air, a storm ready to break.
His golden eyes gleamed. “T-minus thirty minutes. ETA forty. Take what’s worth keeping. The rest burns.” He slipped his phone into his pocket. Erikson’s voice was ice, his expression unreadable as he watched his army in their normal daily operations.
“We’re mobilizing,” Orien confirmed, his tone crisp.
Erikson nodded once. “One hundred helicopters in the sky. We go in together.”
“Yes, sir.”
With perfect discipline, Orien and Erikson strode toward the command transport, a heavily modified gunship bristling with weaponry. As they stepped inside, the roar of engines filled the cabin.
Soldiers sat strapped into their harnesses, faces grim and focused. The ramp lifted, locking them in as the flight crew signaled clearance.
Orien strapped himself in beside Erikson, adjusting his comm. “Why do you think Renaldo has kept us from taking that town?”
Erikson glanced at him, eyes narrowing. “A good question. Haldor is selling scarves like a street vendor. And Raelith? What’s his play in that worthless settlement? No magic. No tech. Just a relic of the past.”
“Doesn’t add up,” Orien muttered. “But we’ll know soon enough.”
The gunship lurched as the turbines roared, lifting them into the sky. Below, the base was a swarm of motion, choppers ascending in perfect unity and synchronization, their shadows stretching long across the sun-baked tarmac. The formation took shape, a cloud of war descending upon the land.
As they gained altitude, the city unfolded beneath them. But one structure dominated the skyline, dwarfing all else. A colossal arena, carved with elaborate stonework and metallic reinforcements.
It towered over everything like a monument to brutality. The sun glared off its polished spires, casting long, jagged shadows across the cityscape.
Orien let out a low whistle. “Damn thing could hold half a country.”
Erikson smirked, leaning slightly forward to take in the sight. “It will.” His voice carried the weight of certainty.
The fleet banked, turning in unison, leaving the city behind as they pushed toward their objective. The dense, modern skyline gave way to sprawling estates, then to farmlands dotted with machinery. Silos and fields stretched for miles, neatly divided, orderly, civilized.
But as they continued, the landscape shifted. Roads thinned. Houses became smaller, more scattered. And then, civilization crumbled into something primitive. Settlements grew ragged, their structures leaning with age.
Thatched roofs replaced steel, dirt paths replaced asphalt. Smoke curled from small fires in open pits. People moved about in worn clothes, their gazes lifting skyward as the first helicopters thundered past.
Erikson watched the transition with a cold, calculated gaze. “This is what they cling to,” he muttered.
Orien leaned back, smirking. “Not for much longer.”
Below them, the final stretch of land came into view—their target. A town frozen in time, untouched by progress, oblivious to the storm bearing down upon it.
The magic storm dissipated, and for a moment, the sun cast an unnatural brightness over the broken land. Then came the sound. A low, droning hum that vibrated through the air, a presence more than a noise. It made Raziel’s skin crawl, worming into his bones, pressing against his skull.
The sound grew.
It became a roar.
And then they appeared, blotting out the sky. Not birds. Not any creature he had ever seen. Their bodies were metal, their wings spinning like cursed wheels. A swarm of unnatural beasts descending upon the town, a black wave that heralded death.
“Shit,” Raelith muttered, eyes scanning the sky. “He was faster than I thought.”
There was an urgency in his voice Raziel had never heard before. Before he could question it, Raelith grabbed his wrist, his grip firm, unyielding.
“We need to move. NOW.”
“I don’t understand,” Raziel said, voice hoarse as he stumbled forward behind Raelith. “Why is no one upset that I killed Dale?!”
Raelith didn’t slow down, his steps sharp and calculated. “Because you gave him ample chances to back down. He tried to kill you.” His voice was devoid of remorse, as if the matter was already settled. “Besides, everyone is about to have much bigger problems than your conscience.”
The buzzing above became a roar. Raziel skidded to a stop, staring up in bewilderment.
Dark shapes filled the sky—metal machines with spinning blades that sliced through the air with ruthless precision. They hovered like harbingers of ruin, their presence sending an animalistic fear crawling up Raziel’s spine.
“What in the world is that?” he whispered.
“Those are helicopters.” Raelith’s voice was grim. “They belong to Lord Erikson.”
Raziel turned to him sharply. “And that means—?”
Raelith’s eyes darkened. “We do not want to get caught by him. He is a ruthless asshole.”
Before Raziel could process any of it, the world exploded.
The force sent them hurtling forward as the air turned to fire. The street behind them ceased to exist, flames licking skyward, swallowing buildings whole.
“Damn it, Raziel! Come on!” Raelith didn’t give him a choice. He grabbed his arm, yanking him into the crumbling library. “You need to find this book, and then we need to get out of here. Everything changes today.”
Raziel barely heard him. His lungs burned with smoke, his mind reeling. But as they stepped into the ancient space of the library, something about the scent of old parchment, of dust and forgotten time, anchored him.
“I love all these books,” he murmured, trailing a hand over the spines of forgotten knowledge.
Raelith barely suppressed a growl. “Now is not the time.” His hands worked quickly, scanning the shelves until he pulled a single, heavy tome free. “Here. Put this in your bag. You don’t have time to read it now.”
Raziel hesitated. “I don’t understand.”
Raelith turned sharply. “God damn it, Raziel! You don’t have to understand. You just have to obey.”
Something deep inside Raziel snapped.
The cursed blade strapped to his hip flared to life, its red glow bleeding into the shadows around them. His grip tightened on the hilt, his voice low, edged with something dangerous.
“Raelith,” he growled, “tell me what the hell is going on.”
For the first time, Raelith hesitated.
Then the next explosion hit.
The impact sent them sprawling, bookshelves crashing down like collapsing ruins. Smoke and embers filled the air, the heat unbearable. Raelith landed hard, pain ricocheting up his spine.
Standing up, Raelith surveyed the destruction. A gaping hole marred the side of the building, and his ears were ringing from the blast. Stepping through the hole, he saw armed men descending from the sky.
One figure towered over the others, standing about twelve feet tall. His black horns curled downward before arching back up, adorned with cracked marks pulsating with vibrant orange magic. The texture resembled cracked lava flows, rough, rigid, yet undeniably captivating. His skin was an ashen pale, marked with dark grey patterns. His eyes glowed with a deep, pulsing orange hue.
He coughed, trying to see through the debris. “Raziel?”
No answer.
A new sound filled the air. Not the roar of helicopters. Not the crackling of fire.
Gunfire.
Short, controlled bursts. The sound of efficiency. The sound of execution.
Raelith struggled to his feet, vision swimming. He staggered toward the gaping hole in the wall, where the library had been blasted apart.
What he saw chilled him to the core.
They were rounding up the weak like cattle.
Figures in black armor, faces hidden behind visors. The men moved without hesitation, without mercy. Anyone who resisted was cut down where they stood, their bodies dropping like discarded waste.
And at the center of it all, he stood.
The giant.
Twelve feet tall. A living nightmare. His skin was pale, but marked with cracks that pulsed with molten orange light, like lava flowing beneath stone. His horns curled downward before rising again, adorned with dark, jagged runes. His eyes, deep pits of burning fire, swept over the destruction with calculated coldness.
Raelith couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He pulled himself from the rubble, cursed under his breath. “We have to go.”
But Raelith’s body refused to move. His mind refused to process what he was seeing.
Lord Erikson’s men continued their merciless sweep. Those who were deemed strong, those who looked like they could endure pain, endure violence, were bound and forced into groups.
Those who weren’t?
Shot on sight. Raelith’s stomach lurched.
He finally reached him, gripping his arm. He pulled him free from the debris. “Raziel. We run. Now.”
Raziel, still dazed from the blast, stumbled to his feet, his head throbbing and vision blurry. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air. “What… what happened?” he asked, his voice groggy and disoriented.
Raelith, his face set in a mask of urgency, half-dragged, half-led Raziel toward the crumbling exit.
“There’s no time to explain. We need to get out of here,” he said, his voice strained but resolute. “These soldiers are Lord Erikson’s men. They’re taking prisoners, and those who resist are being killed.”
Raziel’s eyes widened in horror as realization dawned upon him. “This… this is an attack?” The blade of Alerath, seemingly acting on its own accord, levitated out of the debris and sheathed itself at Raziel’s hip, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.
“Yes, and I will explain later,” Raelith said grimly. “But we need to focus on escaping for now. Follow me!” His grip tightened on Raziel’s arm, propelling him forward.
Raziel felt disoriented. Smoke curled through the shattered remains of the great hall, where moments ago a section of the eastern wall had erupted into flame and debris. His ears rang with the aftermath.
Books burned. Stone cracked. Bodies littered the once-proud marble floor.
And there, rising from the rubble, his sword hovered, wreathed in a faint red glow. It shimmered for a moment, as if remembering him. Then it shot toward his side and sheathed itself with a metallic hiss, the runes along its hilt pulsing once before fading.
Raelith grabbed his arm. “Move!”
The ground trembled beneath their feet as they neared the exit, and another violent tremor caused a portion of the ceiling to collapse, blocking their path. The flames licked closer, their heat scorching the air and making it increasingly difficult to breathe.
Raziel nodded, his mind racing with a thousand questions, but he knew now was not the time for answers. They needed to escape before Lord Erikson’s soldiers closed in on them.
His legs obeyed, stumbling after her through the collapsing corridor. The scent of blood and sulfur hung thick in the air. Behind them, voices shouted—steel against steel, the clash of warriors echoing through the crumbling palace.
They darted down stairwells and through smoke-filled chambers, keeping to shadows where the moonlight slanted in through broken windows.
At last, they reached the breach in the outer wall, a jagged wound in the stone, opening into the alley beyond. The city’s watch was pouring in from the front gates, unaware of their escape route.
The sound of gunfire echoed through the streets as the army continued their relentless assault, bullets ricocheting off the cobblestones. Raelith and Raziel ran as fast as they could, their hearts pounding in their chests, adrenaline fueling their every step.
They didn’t speak.
They ran.
Through the alley. Past shattered statues and pools of ink-black blood. Slipping silently through the maze of backstreets, dodging sentries whose attention was drawn to the blaze behind them.
Then—
The city thinned. The last houses gave way to the treeline, dark and dense, hiding the path to the enchanted lake.
Almost safe.
Until a shadow stepped into their path.
Tall. Unshaken. Unmistakable.
Raelith didn’t need to see his face. The chill in his blood answered for him.
Lord Erikson.
The air warped around him. His presence bent the space like gravity, pressing down on them. Amusement curved his lips, subtle and cruel.
“Raelith,” he said, his voice a purr laced with venom. “Going somewhere? Erikson greeted, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Where are you going?”
Raziel felt the weight of Erikson’s gaze settle on him. A slow smirk stretched across his face.
“Ah. The sword fighter. Haldor told me about you.” His eyes flicked toward the cursed blade at Raziel’s side. “You’d make a fine addition to my arena.”
Raziel’s fingers tightened on the hilt.
Raelith stepped in front of him, voice low, lethal. “You will let us go.”
Erikson chuckled. “You command me? You have no authority here Raelith”
His amusement darkened. He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Raelith, did you tell him the truth?”
Raziel stiffened.
“What truth?”
Erikson smirked. “Oh, he didn’t tell you?” His voice was a blade, sharp and deliberate. “This—” he gestured to the massacre, to the bodies, to the burning ruins—, “was his order.”
Raziel’s heart stopped.
Raelith growled. “Erikson, I suggest you allow us past you.”
“And what if I do not want to?” Erikson challenged, crossing his arms defiantly. “Haldor told me about his sword fight. That boy would make a clever addition to my arena.”
Anger surged within Raelith, his eyes glinting with emerald power. “You will not take Raziel,” he declared, his voice vibrating with barely suppressed fury.
Erikson laughed again, dismissive and condescending. “You have no power here. You can’t bring your army in on such frivolous tasks.”
Raelith’s eyes blazed with emerald energy as his mystic broadsword materialized at his side, emanating an aura of raw power. “You mistake this for a frivolous task,” he retorted coldly.
Erikson’s confidence wavered, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. “Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Raziel. “Who is this boy?”
Raelith’s eyes pulsed with energy as he reached up to his neck. He pulled a small silver horn up out of his shirt. “If you do not want to lose, I suggest you get out of my way,” he warned, his voice deadly calm.
Fear rippled through Erikson, his bravado crumbling. “Whoa, whoa, relax,” he stammered, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “You don’t have to go all ‘army of ages’ on me. Let’s talk about this. It could be mutually beneficial.”
Raelith’s grip tightened on his sword as he raised it threateningly. “I will tell you one last time to get out of my way, or I will invoke Talveran’s full wrath upon your planet,” he vowed, his voice low and menacing.
Erikson’s face paled, the sheer intensity of Raelith’s power overwhelming him. “Okay, okay, I yield,” he capitulated, stepping aside with a trembling smile. “No need for drastic measures.”
“Thank you,” Raelith said curtly, he sheathed his weapon. He turned to a stunned Raziel, who stood frozen with shock and a whirlwind of emotions. “Come on, let’s go,” Raelith urged, guiding Raziel past Erikson.
Erikson watched them run off toward the woods. A curt smile curls his lips. He takes out a walkie talkie. “Orien.”
“Yes Sir.”
“I am redirecting you. I want you to take fifty men and surround the enhanced lake. Take the boy”
“Roger.”
Raelith and Raziel slowed their pace as they neared the tranquil waters of the ancient lake. The eerie light that filtered through the darkened clouds glinted off the water’s surface. It created an ethereal glow that contrasted starkly with the tension in the air. Shadows danced under the tall trees, their rustling leaves whispering secrets of the past.
“Spread out!” a towering twelve-foot-tall monster barked, its deep voice resonating through the waning evening. Its form was grotesque and imposing, with sinewy muscles and dark scales that reflected the silver light. “We can’t let them enter the lake,” it continued, addressing the assembled soldiers, who nodded in grim determination.
Raelith and Raziel overheard Erikson’s men conversing from their hidden vantage point. Raelith clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing with frustration. “Fuck, that stupid bastard can’t keep his word,” he muttered under his breath.
He scanned the area, searching for a way past the guards. Turning to Raziel, he whispered urgently, “Raziel, I’m going to cover you, but I need you to take the trail up the side of the cliff over there.”
Raziel’s brow furrowed with worry. “What are you going to do?” he asked, concern laced his voice.
“I’m going to hold them off so you can get into the damn lake,” Raelith growled, his determination palpable. His eyes shifted to a deep, shimmering emerald green, and his enchanted sword materialized at his hip, its blade glistening with latent power. Without another word, Raelith charged toward Lord Erikson’s men, his figure a blur of motion.
For a moment, Raziel stood rooted in shock, his mind racing. He turned to head toward the cliffside, but his progress was abruptly halted as a powerful spell froze him in place.
Raziel’s heart pounded in his chest as a tall, monstrous figure approached him, its haunting orange eyes filled with malice. The creature’s gaze sent shivers down Raziel’s spine, his body trembling in fear.
“I do not know what Erikson sees in you,” the brute sneered, its voice dripping with disdain. “You are little and weak, but he has commanded that I retrieve you.” With brutal efficiency, the creature hoisted Raziel over its shoulder and sprinted toward a shimmering, swirling portal of magic.
Raelith swore under his breath as he witnessed Raziel being taken. His anger ignited, an emerald blast of magic erupted from his hands. Crystal shards shot forth, piercing the hearts of the attackers with deadly precision.
Raelith’s roar echoed through the forest. “RENALDO!”
In an instant, a man adorned in blue and gold robes appeared before Raelith. His gold spectacles glimmered under the low light. Smoke from the burning town filling the air. An idle smirk danced across his features.
“Raelith, you seem a bit angry,” Renaldo remarked, his tone mocking.
“I’m calling the army and taking him back,” Raelith snapped, his voice filled with fury.
“No,” Renaldo replied, his expression unyielding.
“Why the fuck not?” Raelith’s eyes blazed with anger, their emerald glow intense and unrelenting.
“Simple,” Renaldo explained, his voice calm and measured. “Raziel needs a reason to hate Lord Erikson.”
“YOU PROMISED ME!” Raelith shouted, his anger reaching a boiling point. “You promised that I wouldn’t have to live without him anymore. You will uphold your promise.”
“And I will,” Renaldo assured him, his smirk never faltering. “Seventy-two hours, Raelith. After that, you may call Caspen. I do not care what casualties stand in your way. The two of you can handle whatever Erikson throws at you. Raziel may get a bit beaten, but they cannot bypass my wards. His soul remains bound to his body.”
“Fine,” Raelith conceded, his voice a low, menacing growl. “Seventy-two hours, and anyone who stands in my way will die.” His eyes burned with a fierce, unwavering resolve, their emerald glow casting an eerie light in the darkness.
“Don’t forget though, He must come back and speak to Issac.” He laughed. “He can’t leave until he does.”
Raelith scowled as he attached his blade to his hip. “You play a dangerous game, Renaldo.”
“Don’t I always?”
Orien walked with purpose into the prison cell where he placed Raziel on a cot. He chuckled softly and backed out of the small, barred room. He locked it.
“Perfect you got him” Erikson walked up behind him. “We do not have much time I am sure that army brat will storm our arena. I want you to lead anyone who is on our list to another location. Use the portals because I honestly have no clue how much time we have.”
“Should I take him directly to the arena?” Orien inquired.
“Yesss lets do this, our first Evening battle. Lets put our top twenty contestants in together and see how he fares.”
Orien chuckled “that will be fun to watch.”
“Exactly.”