Chapter 196
The arena is a swirling maelstrom of chaos. Blood clouds the water, drifting upward in plumes as though marking every fallen warrior and every ounce of spilled desperation. The crowd’s cheers grow louder, more frenzied, feeding on the carnage unfolding below.
The hydra, even weakened, is an unstoppable force—a blur of snapping jaws, whipping tails, and coiling, thrashing heads. Its panic only makes it more dangerous, and every motion sends ripples through the water that shake the arena to its core. Yet through it all, Wake and Khale stand resolute, even as their group struggles to hold the line.
Kota, on the other hand, stands tall in the middle of his own faction. His trident glints with faint light as he gestures grandly, rallying the warriors around him with his voice alone.
“This is our divine calling!” he bellows, his tone dripping with arrogance and fervor. “When I am Dawn King, every warrior who stands with me today will be raised up as champions of Ao! Our strength will forge a new era for our people. Join me, and you will be remembered as heroes—the chosen warriors who conquered this beast, who shaped the future of our kingdom!”
The fighters closest to him cheer, their loyalty solidifying under the weight of his promises. I can see it in their eyes—a desperate belief that aligning with Kota will secure them glory and safety. Kota basks in the adulation, his confidence growing as he continues his proclamations. His voice is commanding, his gestures theatrical, and for a moment, I almost believe him. Almost.
But Kelis’ expression tells a different story. He stands a few paces behind his brother, his bloodied hands tightening around the haft of his weapon. His face is unreadable, but there’s a storm brewing behind his eyes—a flicker of something raw and dangerous.
Kota’s words, so focused on his own rise to power, leave little room for anyone else’s ambitions. For Kelis, the youngest of Tangaroa’s sons, it’s a cruel reminder of his place. He’ll never be Dawn King. Not unless he proves himself in a way no one can ignore. Not unless he does something drastic, like their father did before them.
The hydra lashes out again, its heads flailing in all directions. One of the warriors in Kota’s group is caught in its jaws, his scream cutting through the water before being silenced in a spray of blood. Kota hesitates for a moment before barking orders, his voice tinged with frustration. “Hold the line! Strike together!” He’s loud, commanding, but his group’s lack of coordination is beginning to show. They’re faltering, their attempts to act as one breaking apart under the hydra’s relentless assault.
Meanwhile, Wake and Khale’s group fights with precision and discipline. Despite Khale’s poisoned injury, which has drained his strength and slowed his movements, he refuses to yield. His tail lashes out with deadly accuracy, carving through the smaller creatures that swarm alongside the hydra. Wake stays close, his spear a blur as he parries and strikes. Together, they’re the anchor holding their group together, even as the hydra’s rage escalates.
Wake takes a calculated risk, darting forward and plunging his spear into one of the hydra’s heads. The creature thrashes violently, but Wake doesn’t let up. With a burst of strength, he drives the head down into the arena floor, staking it with incredible force.
The impact reverberates through the water as the head falls limp, its brain destroyed. The hydra’s other heads react instantly, flailing in panic, and the creature’s massive body jerks uncontrollably. One of its tails slams into the stands, sending spectators scrambling as chunks of the arena shake loose. The crowd’s cheers shift into screams, the chaos rising to a fever pitch.
It’s then that Kelis makes his move.
His gaze sharpens, his grip on his weapon tightening as he charges forward. “I’ll end this!” he shouts, his voice cutting through the din. His target isn’t the hydra’s heads, but its heart—a desperate, poorly planned attempt to strike a killing blow. For a moment, I think he might succeed. His speed, his determination, it’s all razor-sharp, and the crowd gasps, their attention riveted.
But the hydra is faster.
Three heads lash out simultaneously, their movements almost too quick to track. Kelis is caught mid-stride, each head clamping down on a different part of his body. One seizes his right arm, another his left leg, and the third his upper torso.
The hydra pulls in three separate directions, and the sight is horrifying. Kelis’ face contorts in pain, a silent scream escaping him as his body is stretched to its breaking point. Blood billows into the water, a dark, inescapable cloud, and the collective gasp of the crowd feels like the arena itself is holding its breath.
Beside me, Raif launches to his feet, his usually composed expression breaking into something raw and unrestrained. “Kelis!” he shouts, his voice carrying across the arena. For a moment, even the crowd falls silent, their collective breath held as the horrifying spectacle unfolds.
Kota stands frozen, his trident lowered as if the weight of what’s happening is too much to process. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. The confidence, the bravado, it all vanishes in an instant, replaced by a look of sheer disbelief. His younger brother, so often the shadow to his light, now stands on the brink of death, and Kota is powerless to stop it.
Khale moves before anyone else can react. His tail propels him forward with blinding speed, his weapon slicing through the water in a deadly arc. He reaches the hydra in moments, striking with precision. The blade cuts clean through the neck of the head holding Kelis’ leg, severing it in one fluid motion. The hydra recoils, but Khale doesn’t stop. He turns and slices through the head holding Kelis’ arm, freeing him from the creature’s grasp.
But the third head—the one holding Kelis’ torso—acts faster than Khale can. With a violent jerk, it tosses Kelis into the air, his body limp and bloodied. The crowd gasps as the hydra’s massive jaws open wide, and in one swift motion, it swallows him whole.
“No!” I cry out, my voice breaking as the horror of what just happened sinks in. My heart pounds in my chest, the weight of it almost unbearable. Tears sting my eyes, but I can’t tear them away from the scene unfolding before me.
Khale doesn’t hesitate. He charges after Kelis, diving into the hydra’s open maw just before it snaps shut. The crowd erupts into chaos, screams and cheers blending into a deafening roar. My vision blurs as I clutch the edge of my seat, unable to look away from the carnage. Every muscle in my body is tense, every instinct screaming for this nightmare to stop.
The hydra thrashes violently, its heads whipping around as if trying to dislodge something. The water churns with its movements, the arena shaking under the force of its rage. Spectators scramble to hold onto their seats as debris rains down.
Beside me, Raif collapses back into his seat, his face pale and stricken. His hands grip the armrests so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Kota’s knees hit the arena floor, his trident clattering uselessly beside him. His face is a mask of shock, his composure utterly shattered. For all his grandstanding, for all his bravado, he now knows what it means to be utterly powerless.
Somewhere in the chaos, a woman’s scream pierces through, and I realize it’s my own.
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