The clock read 3:20 PM. Sam was late.

He was never late.

"Maybe he got held up," I murmured, more to soothe my nerves than anything. I leaned against a wall, trying to mentally run through my training schedule. Drills. Stances. Mana control. But the minutes dragged like hours, each second another stone dropped into my gut.

By 4:00, I couldn't pretend anymore. The vendors had begun packing their stalls, the golden sun casting long shadows through the marketplace. Still no sign of Sam.

Something was wrong.

I took off running, heart hammering, weaving through alleys until I reached his shack in the Eastern District. The door creaked open in the wind. That door was never open.

Inside was chaos.

Furniture shattered. Clothes scattered. A broken plate crusted with blood. The metallic stench in the air turned my stomach. Then I saw them.

Feet. Unmoving, lying in a pool of red.

"No…" My voice cracked as I stepped closer.

Sam's mother lay face-down, her lifeless form still. I knelt, checked for a pulse I already knew wasn't there. Her skin was cold.

I gently turned her over and laid her on the bed, brushing blood-matted hair from her face. My hands trembled.

And then I ran.

I screamed for help. Shouted at strangers. But no one looked at me. No one even slowed. It was as if I were a ghost among the living.

"HEY! What happened?!" I shouted, but people only turned away faster. They knew. They just didn't want to be next.

"City boy," came a familiar voice with a hand on my shoulder.

I spun around, ready to strike, but stopped short. Luther. A ragged drunk I'd seen around. But his eyes were sharp today. Alert.

"Come with me," the man said in a hushed tone.

"I don't have time for this," I snapped, shoving ten Mana Stones into his hand.

But instead of pocketing them like I expected, he shook his head. "I'm not here to shake you down. I know where the kid is."

I froze. "Where?"

"Not here. Too many eyes."

We slipped into the alleys. He finally stopped in a dead-end corridor, voice low.

"They took him to the Pit."

"The what?"

"Right, you're not from around here," he muttered. "Underground arena. Run by a bastard named Nineteen. They killed the mom. Took the boy. Said he used magic. Nineteen wants that."

My blood boiled. "Take me there. Now."

He hesitated. "That place is a graveyard."

"I don't care."

Luther studied me, then nodded. "Alright. Let's go save him."

The sewers stank of rot and mold, the air wet and heavy. We crept through the dark like rats, the tunnels stretching like veins through a dying body. It reminded me of Deepnest Tunnel, a place with horrible memories.

"Stay here a sec," Luther whispered. He picked up an empty can and tossed it forward.

Clang!

"Oi! Who's there?!" a gruff voice echoed through the tunnel

Two guards approached. Before they could blink, Luther struck-silent, precise. They hit the ground like dropped dolls.

The efficiency of his movements was too refined for a mere drunkard.

No doubt about it. He had once been someone important. A Royal Knight, perhaps?

Luther knelt beside the unconscious guards, checking their pulses. Then, just to be sure, he delivered another blow to their heads.

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"That'll keep them down for a while. Come on, follow me."

For nearly an hour, we navigated the tunnels. He downed every guard we met with swift, brutal efficiency.

"There." He pointed ahead. A massive door loomed before us, guarded by two men.

"I'll distract. You get inside," he instructed.

I pressed myself against the wall, waiting.

Luther strolled forward, feigning drunkenness. "Fellas! Got any ale for a thirsty soul?"

The guards stiffened. "Who the hell are you? This ain't a place for beggars."

Before they could react further, more footsteps echoed from the shadows. A group of armed men rushed toward Luther.

Luther took a small step back, glancing at me.

"Save the boy," he muttered before taking off, leading the guards away from the entrance.

Not wasting another second, I slipped into the Pit, disappearing into the shadows.

***

Sam sat chained in a tiny cell, the stone floor damp and cold. His mother's death replayed in his head on a loop. Her screams. Her blood. The sound of her skull hitting stone.

He had cried out for help, hoping, praying that someone would intervene. But no one did. The people around them merely turned away, pretending not to hear, not to see.

A heavy slap across his face had sent him reeling into darkness. And when he awoke, he was here. Alone. Scared. Broken.

Now, only silence.

Suddenly, the door was kicked open. A bald thug with cruel eyes and an even crueler smirk stomped inside. Without warning, he grabbed Sam by the arm, yanking him to his feet as the iron shackles around his ankles were undone.

"Try and fight," the man sneered. "Makes it more fun to watch."

He dragged Sam into chaos.

A massive underground arena sprawled before him, packed with a sea of spectators screaming, jeering, and howling like beasts. Thousands of them stood around the enormous pit, eagerly awaiting bloodshed.

Giant magical devices were mounted on the walls, their crystal lenses projecting a magnified view of the pit onto floating screens, ensuring that no one would miss a single second of the carnage.

A booming voice echoed through the chamber, amplified by magic. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"

The crowd roared.

"AND NOW, FOR OUR NEXT MATCH… THE FLAMESTRIDER!"

Laughter followed. Sam stumbled into the arena. Across from him stood an elf. Tall, wiry, knife spinning through his fingers, eyes like a predator.

The bald man shoved Sam toward a rope ladder. "Climb."

Sam climbed down with trembling limbs. The moment his feet touched the ground, the ladder was yanked away, sealing his fate. The elf leaped down after him, landing gracefully like a cat. He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders before twirling his knife with practiced ease.

"AND NOW, THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! THE FLAMESTRIDER VERSUS THE MANSLAYER! LET THE MATCH BEGIN!"

A deafening cheer erupted from the audience.

"Kill him quickly! I bet a fortune on you, filthy elf!"

"He's pissing himself!"

"Bet ten stones he screams!"

Sam froze. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

The elf stepped forward. "Don't worry. I'll make it slow. I love screams."

Panic surged through Sam's veins. A Fireball burst from Sam's palm. The elf dodged with ease and closed in.

Pain. A burning line across his shoulder.

He cried out.

"Hurts, doesn't it? This is just the start," the elf sneered, stepping back and raising his arms theatrically toward the crowd. He twirled once, basking in the cheers and jeers of the spectators, clearly reveling in their excitement.

Sam fired again. Missed.

Another slash. His waist this time. Blood soaked his tunic.

Sam's trembling fingers clutched at the wound, trying in vain to staunch the bleeding. The pain was unbearable, unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. Tears welled up in his eyes, streaming down his face.

Another slash came, narrowly missing Sam's face.

"Cyclone Blast!" he shouted, summoning a fierce burst of wind that sent his attacker tumbling backward.

The elf crashed onto the ground, his limbs flailing awkwardly. For the first time, his confident smirk vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock.

The crowd erupted in laughter and boos.

"You son of a bitch!" the Manslayer growled, springing back onto his feet. "You're going to regret that!"

Sam turned to run.

And then he felt it.

Then he felt it. A strange energy. Light on his feet, wind at his back. His breath steadied. His heart pounded with purpose.

"What's this?"

Sam turned slightly, raising his palm toward his pursuer.

"Please hit... My Mana's almost gone."

A massive Fireball roared to life, surging straight toward the elf.

"I got him!"

DUAAARR!

The explosion rocked the pit, flames licking the stone walls. Smoke curled in the air, leaving a blackened scorch mark in its wake. The crowd gasped, some cheering, others cursing their lost bets.

When the smoke cleared, Sam's heart sank.

The elf was still standing, completely unharmed.

"You thought that'd work?" the Manslayer shook his head mockingly. "Adorable."

Sam's eyes widened in horror. The moment before impact, his opponent's body had shimmered, like a mirage in the desert. The Fireball had passed right through him, leaving no trace of damage.

The elf grinned wickedly. "Let's end this, shall we?"

He charged.

Sam couldn't lift his arms. Couldn't run. Could barely stand.

This was it.

A final scream echoed in his mind. His mom's voice.

He shut his eyes, bracing for the end.

But it never came.

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