Prince of The Abyss

Aether dashed fowards something he hadn’t done before in his time in the arena, which he knew would catch the man of guard, but it didn’t seem to do so.

With the tip of the rapier heading towards the chest of the man, he instinctively tried to parry it with his blade, but just as the rapier was about to hit the blade, it stopped in its tracks, with a kick coming from below for his head.

But the man tilted his head, catching the kick on his shoulder and gripping Aether’s leg.

But before he could do anything with that advantage, Aether jumped off the ground, and with his other foot, he pushed himself off with the help of the man’s help.

The man staggered back, but quickly regained himself, as another thrust was coming. But what was it really? Was he actually thrusting his blade? Was he a fake, and was he about to use his foot or hands? There was a lot to think about.

As the rapier got closer, the man tried to parry it again, yet at the same time, he looked closely at his feet and arms in case he wanted to try something.

In the end, the rapier hit, because instead of trying to pierce the chest, at the last second, it had changed direction and gone for his foot.

The foot was a lot of nerves, and while it isn’t lethal like a thrust to the chest is, it can do a lot of damage at the moment, and make your opponent lower their guard, and let’s not forget that it’s hard to move with an injured foot.

Before the man could react to his foot being pierced, Aether quickly swept him off his feet, hitting the same leg with the injured foot.

Seeing the man fall, Aether prepared to attack again, but the man used his blade to help himself stay up, using it as a support cane, and then headbutting Aether.

Aether stepped back, rubbing his forehead, and looking as the man got back to his feet.

...

Now they were standing in the same position they were at the beginning of this thing; it was as if they had just started. Their exchange of blows had lasted less than ten seconds, and yet each of them could have died many times in those seconds.

The crowd seemed to be enjoying it, though they seemed to be ecstatic about this fight. About two people are trying to kill each other.

He exhaled, dashing forward again, and seeing as the man did the same, his rapier was going in a straight line, yet as he was getting close, it shifted up slightly in its trajectory.

But the man noticed and saw the gap in his defense, thrusting his blade below in the small gap left by the rapier going slightly up, also bringing his head back, so that his blade would hit first.

But that gave him tickets to seeing the blade stop in the air, and retract as Aether pivoted on his foot and turned his body sideways, letting his see just how vulnerable the man was at the moment, a whole side of his body, opened up to him.

He didn’t waste it.

...

The crowd cheer, as the body of the man fell to the ground, it roared his name, as if he had done something honorably, and in their eyes he had, after all in this place, killing is the most honorable thing a human could do.

But really the question wasn’t if killing is honorable, but rather if any of them who fought in the arena, were even human to begin with.

Or if they had sealed their humanity away the moment they signed up after all, he sad said many times his view on the worth of a human life.

The crowd continued to cheer, as he slowly made him way to the hallway.

The noise dimmed as he got deeper inside, yet never left.

After a fight, most went to the cafeteria, since interesting that this place actually cared to feed their people in a more human way than just putting their food in their cages.

Yet at the same time, this place they call a cafeteria is just as bad as the main arena. He has seen many lose their life in that place, and you would expect the people who own the arena to stop them, after all, it means fewer matches, but no.

Since what happends in that place is brodcasted to everyone that wants to pay, so it makes them even more money.

The food was also not that good, but that was to be expected, but at least it was something you could actually eat, something human, he had heard of worse, so this was good enough.

...

Yet as he was walking through the hallway, he heard something.

’Shit.’

Red entered his vision from the left.

A single cloaked figure stepped into view, the fabric of his mantle falling straight to the ground, deep crimson layered thick over his frame. Gold embroidery lined the edges in precise, narrow patterns. The emblem on his chest, a red coin pierced cleanly by a quill, rested over his heart.

Another appeared to his right.

Not rushing. Not speaking.

Just there.

The cloak settled around the newcomer’s shoulders as if it had always belonged in that space. The same red. The same gold trim. The same symbol stitched clean and sharp against the fabric.

A third shape moved into sight ahead of him.

Then a fourth behind.

One by one, they entered his field of view, each stepping into place with measured precision. No dramatic gestures. No sudden movements. Simply controlled motion followed by stillness.

Their boots stopped almost in unison.

The cloaks fell quiet.

More crimson edged into the perimeter of his vision until there was red wherever he turned his head. Not touching him. Not crowding him.

Just present.

A loose circle formed around him, made entirely of deep crimson and gold, the coin-and-quill sigil repeating again and again in silent uniformity.

They had not spoken.

They had not drawn weapons.

They had simply appeared, and now they stood.

...

”Did I miss the news about the sleepover? Should I have also brought my cloak?”

None of the men responded, that was until, in front of him, some of the figures stepped away to the side, to make room for a man.

Wearing the same crimson cloak, yet with a golden crown on his head, and with black lines going across his cloak.

”The Crimson Ledger wishes to see you.”

...

...

”Kill him.”

Aether looked around as the cloaked man started to step forward to kill him, unsheathing the blades they had been holding inside their clothes.

He sighed, trying to seem as if he wasn’t scared.

But he was.

Really, at this moment, he had no idea what to do; how could he escape this?

He had never expected the Crimson Ledger to try to kill him out of the blue, directly without a fight.

But I guess he really got on their nerve.

...

A presence entered.

Not loudly. Not theatrically.

One figure stepped into view, clad in iron-grey, the fabric heavy and structured rather than flowing. The cloak did not flare or ripple; it hung with deliberate weight. On his chest rested a sigil stitched in muted steel thread: a broken sword split at its center, the fracture sealed by a clean reforged line running through it.

Another appeared beside him.

Then two more.

They did not fan out. They aligned.

Each cloak bore the same emblem. The broken blade, made whole again. No ornament beyond that. No bright color. No excess.

Their armor, visible beneath the cloaks, was functional. Polished, but not decorative. Swords rested at their hips, worn properly, not concealed.

More figures stepped forward, forming a measured line rather than a circle. Shoulders squared. Feet planted evenly apart. Hands relaxed, but ready.

Aether looked surprised as they stepped to their side, and all of the members of the Crimson Ledger stopped their attack.

Looking at the symbols on their crest, he recognized them to be nobles from the Iron Oath.

”Quite a bold thing from the Crimson Ledger, to try and kill an Unranked without any permission, after all, your quarters aren’t a where killing makes the arena any money, and plus, after this young boys last fight, even if you killed him in the cafeteria, people would be dissapointed, I would have expected you to know that best.”

One of the five men standing behind the table seemed to scoff from behind his robe.

”The Iron Oath coming to protect a boy who uses a blade made out of a beautiful ruby, I wouldn’t have expected it, after all, in my eyes, using such a blade is showing off.”

”We never said we liked or were trying to protect the boy; we are just following the rules of the Arena, and so we can’t allow the boy to be killed here.”

The crimson-robed man sighed, leaning back in his chair. ”Fine, fine, we will spare the boy for now.”

...

”But that doesn’t mean we won’t kill him in the arena.”