With the name ‘Elder Devil’, Death expected a grander castle than Carithiel ruled, possibly even an army behind him.

  However, the Elder Devil held no lands, properties, or slaves. All that he had in the world were his loyal advisors, carrying him from place to place in a large litter, containing nothing but a bed made of velvet and cushions of dark wool.

  The devil’s ear twitched to the soft whispers of his advisors, one giving information on his surroundings, the other on the people.

  All except Moleira and Morgudeion were stood waiting in a room with a circled table, the roaring of the arena booming through the wall at the current ongoing challenge. There were hundreds of challenges a day, continuous battles, never-ending carnage.

  Out of the small window, Death could see the walls of the colosseum-like arena stretching for miles on the ground and ever higher above the clouds. Red and black banners decorated the edges alongside reiterating statues of hundreds of devils, Carithiel and the Elder Devil included amongst them.

  This must have an audience of millions, Death thought.

  The Elder Devil wobbled into the room with his pink fleshy staff as a cane. He wore robes of beige cloth, cinched at his waist by a loose belt, bandages on his forearms, lower legs, and feet. His skin were an ashy grey, red markings on every inch of his visible body. White hair, a white beard, white horns of a dragon, white eyes, blind in both. The tip of his short tail was unmarked but flushed pink at the tip of the arrow.

  All bowed, even Agadeira. The devil’s advisors whispered into his ear and made him smile. “The humans don’t need to bow,” he said in a wise tone. “They are not from Hell; their ways are different than ours.”

  “We do bow in the human world!” Vera said. “We just… didn’t know we were supposed to.”

  “One should only bow to those who are deserving. To you, I am not deserving of a bow, as you’re unaware of what I’ve done for my people down here.” He pointed a shaky finger, which an advisor took and pointed to Death. The Elder Devil then gave a bow himself. “You. You have challenged Carithiel. That is worthy of a bow from even me. I don’t usually attend his barbaric performances, but when I heard it was a human… I knew I must come. Will you speak, great challenger? I need a name of you, the hybrid, and girl with hair like snow.”

  Snow giggled and was the first to introduce her voice and name. Upon hearing her name, the devil gave a chuckle too.

  Vera introduced herself second, happily explaining her features as a hybrid and giving him a growl at his request.

  When Death went last, all he said was his name. The Devil gave a firm nod, asking his advisors to guide him to the table. They all sat. The servants of the tavern brought a bigger chair for Agadeira to sit in to save their other seats from being crushed by his size.

  “I know the voice of a busy soul,” the Elder Devil said. “Many call me by my title, but for this seating you may call me Zanrel.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Ashlereina said quickly. “We would never expect this of you in any other—”

  An advisor shushed her after placing a cup of wine next to her hand.

  “No need for formality. I hear the arena’s screams getting louder and rowdier. Your challenge is next. Death, our arena has rules of engagement. Even as a human, you must follow them for the fight to be fair.”

  “A fair fight is what I desire,” said Death. “I hope Carithiel gives me a fight I’ll remember.”

  The advisor whispered a more detailed description of Death into Zanrel’s ear. He shook his head, confused, then asked what weapon Death intended to use to fight Carithiel with.

  Snow summoned Firedick and calmly placed it onto the table. An advisor used a stacked of papers to shuffle it closer to Zanrel, refusing to touch the blade’s edge.

  He caressed a hand across the handle like it were a maiden, nodded in approval, then ordered an advisor to return the sword to Death. “I see now why Carithiel challenges you,” Zanrel said. “I thought this sword was in possession of the young Deilon Flame before he fell.” The advisor whispered that it was Snow who summoned the sword, not Death. “Oh? You cannot fight on behalf of others, Death, that is against the rules of the arena.”

  “I am not fighting on behalf of anyone,” Death scoffed. “Snow is tied to my soul in a way that cannot be undone. If she dies, I die in the same instant. Our souls are one.”

  The Elder Devil sniffed out Death’s strength, his body tensing in arousal from the potent aroma of power he could smell within his blood. He sensed Death’s soul, feeling how it had swelled enough for two, further smelling Snow’s scent inside it.

  “This complies with our rules,” Zanrel agreed. “There are five other rules. You are a stranger to the arena; I will tell you them once and then never again. It is your duty to remember them.”

  Death nodded. “Of course.”

  “You may be human, but you will follow the nature of demons. Under no result must a yield be accepted as closure, all duels must result in a corpse; either party, if agreed by both challengers, may swap out their selected combatant for an agreed upon soul. This can only be done once per side.

  The second rule: usage of the Void and the Dark Void are not permitted in the arena. The battle must be dominated by physical prowess, skill, tactics, anything other than a clashing of minds where the spectators are not able to see.

  Thirdly: The battle must remain within the boundaries of the arena. The walls are lined with golden banners; you must never purposefully endanger the crowd. If your battle is intense and the odds of your magic or gifts spilling into the spectators are high, you need not worry, mages shall seal the battle in a bubble of magic until the challenge is complete. If this happens, you must make no attempt to overpower our mages and break through the barrier.

  Fourthly: you may not speak to any of the spectators, nor will you gather assistance from anyone outside of the arena, including any words of encouragement, motivation, anything—the arena is for you and your opponent only.

  And finally: no attempting to find loopholes in any of the rules stated. No cheating. In the event of cheating, the challenge shall be paused to summon me, if I’m not already present, to bestow my power upon the one who remained faithful to the rules. As you aren’t a demon-blooded challenger, you will instead receive the power of the one who sponsored you. Whoever that may be, please raise your hand.”

  Ashlereina raised her hand. The advisor whispered her name into his ear.

  “Ashlereina Flame,” Zanrel smirked. “The secondborn of the great Agadeira. A ferocious sponsor indeed. Do you accept these unbreakable rules of the Arena of Souls, Death of the humans?”

  “I do.”

  “Good then.” Zanrel put his weight onto his staff and stood with a grunt. “I shall be listening at my space in the arena. Oh, one more thing… the Battle of Human Hell. I was there that day. I lost my sight to Barro Kan… I am only alive because selfless tieflings gave their lives to throw me into the Naveen Hell Oasis before they sealed it shut. I saw a lot of things that day. What I did not see was Carithiel fighting alongside the other devils and I. I oft do not pick sides for the challenges of the arena, but I wish you good luck—kill him, Death of the humans, and make sure he knows his cowardice.”

  Agadeira bashed his chest in agreement. “If the flames had been there that day, the Kans would be buried under a hill of corpses!”

  Zanrel clicked his tongue then chuckled. “There was a Flame at that battle. A tiefling, Veiron. I remember him well. I fought by his side. The last thing I saw before my vision blackened was his axe splitting open the skull of a Naveen horse. I bid you goodbye, the time for your challenge approaches—use this room for your final talks, then make your way to your stall, Death shall be escorted by one of my advisors once you have finished.”

  Zanrel left with all advisors but one. He stood idly by the exit with his held high, arms resting behind his back.

  Agadeira bashed a fist on the table. “Your human won’t win this battle! You will shame the Flames with your sponsor! If he does win, it shall be by blind luck, and I shall eat my horns without chewing.”

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  “I’ll start searching for a saw,” Snow joked. “My Death won’t lose against that fuckfaced demon.”

  “How’re we gonna find a fuckin’ saw in Hell? We’d be better off tryin’ to yank his horns out the sockets. What’d’ya reckon Bei-bei, reckon they’ll just slide out like how you did in that cabin in Lakevalor?”

  Beion shook his head after getting an angry start from Agadeira. “I have no clue what you mean,” he said shyly. “I have never been to Lakevalor. That is where Deilon died. I came to your aid at a camp outside of Arcyril, remember?”

  Vera stayed silent after nearly revealing his involvement.

  “I like the humans,” Vuna said. “I find them entertaining.”

  “I find them pitiful,” Agadeira scoffed, standing. “Vuna. Come. We will wait at this stall. I am done with this.”

  Vuna and Agadeira left without another word.

  “At least he didn’t throw another cup,” Rica squeaked. “I was worried he would look to his left and strike me.”

  Ashlereina noted Death’s lack of armour and asked if he planned to wear any. He declared he would fight in his current clothing, also adding that he wouldn’t claim any of Carithiel’s armour as he found the infernal plating ugly.

  “Good spirit,” Ash said. “You will win this challenge. If there are any prizes that can be given to motivation you, name them—my daughter is fond of you, I’m sure she wo0uld allow herself to be painted naked for your home as a reward for your victory.”

  “Mother!” Rica yelled. “I—what? He doesn’t want that! Why would you offer that? Of course he doesn’t want it.”

  “He hasn’t yet declined it.”

  Death declined it with a smirk. “I am a conqueror. I do not need motivation to win. I will win because I am better.”

  “I could give you motivation,” Snow whispered. “I’d love for our first fuck to be in Hell, if you want it.”

  “I do not.”

  “Was a worth a try,” she sighed. “I’ll take the offer of Rica’s naked portrait. I am the other half of Death’s soul, so I get a say in it. I’d never pass up any free thing.”

  “Done,” Ash said. “All he must do is win.”

  Aleirica was at a complete loss for words. Everyone stared at her stuttering on her words. “This deal—it’s not—I get a say in what I—what I—this isn’t funny!”

  “Nobody is laughing,” Beion said, laughing. “I think it would be a great honour to have a portrait of you in my home. He should feel lucky.”

  Ash turned her head slowly towards her son, still holding onto a smile, blinking sluggishly. “Enough out of you,” she told him. “I’ll have you paint a portrait for Vera too.”

  Beion shrugged and didn’t oppose it. There was nothing Vera could see of him that she hadn’t already seen.

  “I need a moment alone with Death,” Ash said. “Vera, Snow, the two of you are wonderful, but I need only him. My children will see you to the stall.”

  “No stealing him,” Snow joked. “I’ll see you in the arena, my darling husband!” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I know you’re gonna kick this demon’s ass!”

  They all left. Ash waited until their chatter was far away. She held a frown, unsure where to start with her words.

  “This arena has claimed many,” she finally said. “Husbands, wives. Daughters, sons. Fathers, mothers.” She chewed on a thought for a little while before speaking again. “Snow is pretty. It doesn’t take a lot of brain to see she adores you. Her face is one that most knights would only dream of after meeting once in passing. The type of beauty in which men are gifted fluttering thoughts of the pretty stranger they saw long ago. Her smile will bring comfort to many dying soldiers, but her smile belongs to you.”

  “I am about to fight Carithiel, are you trying to poison my mind with riddles before I’ve even began?”

  “Not riddles. I wish to know you deeper. Will Snow be the face you see as you lay dying, as you fall on a battlefield, bleeding from a wound you can’t stop with your hands. You’ll beg for it to stop, but it’ll just keep coming until you’re too weak to slow it down. Who would you think of?”

  His mind went to Snow, then to woman he saw when Aleirica was inside his mind. He wasn’t sure what he’d see, but he was sure of one thing. “I won’t ever die,” he declared boldly. “Your question means nothing. It’ll never come to pass.”

  “Perhaps not in Valan. I’ve seen the horrors beyond the western nations. Monsters that’ll split your skull from your jaw before you can even see them; beasts that make the mangled messes of Hell look like a toddler’s toy. Not all that die get to have a final thought. Whether you think yourself unkillable or not, always treat your next thought like it’s your last.”

  “Very wise. Are you done?”

  She gave a disappointed sigh. “I have seen good men tormented by bad hearts. I have seen bad men refusing their good hearts. I know a confused soul when I see one.” She gently touched Death’s face. “That girl loves you, Death. I fret that even my daughter has fallen for you after exploring your mind, and I know that not a part of you looks at her in desire. She can’t have you. Do you love Snow, Death? Do you love any of them? Snow, Vera, my daughter?” She put a finger over his heart. “Your answer is yes. I feel your heart racing at my questions. Deny it all you like.”

  “I do deny it. I am conqueror. I do not need love.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Do you think yourself evil?”

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish I had the memories to tell you why.”

  “I don’t think you’re evil. An evil man would’ve killed my only daughter when she didn’t wish to fight; an evil man would leave my daughter sat alone while everyone else dances; an evil man wouldn’t keep a weak hybrid by his side… and that isn’t an insult, I have a nose for strength and she has little. You keep her because you like her.”

  “I do not like the fox.”

  “You are a terrible liar. Has anyone everyone told you that?”

  “A few.”

  A giant cheer erupted from the arena. Ashlereina gave a smile. “Sounds like your challenge awaits. Win this battle. Win my favour. The flames shall back your fire eternally. I leave you with this—the Crooked Devil is a cheater. All know it, none can prove it. You need to prove it, expose his ways, and cut off his head.”

  The advisor cleared his throat. Ashlereina left quick.

  Death took the sword and noticed that Vera had left her daggers for him. He put them in his belt, then followed the advisor through a dull, dark passageway. The roaring grew louder, a crack of light shining down the tunnel as the gates to the arena opened for Death like a mouth.

  There was a crowd of millions watching Death, crying out his name without knowing what he was capable of, seated on hundreds of seated rows that stretchers up to the skies. Red portals were spread across empty seats for demons to watch the spectacle without having to leave their own homes.

  The floor was a mix of sand and gravel, stained brown from all the previous battles. It would take him hours to walk around the edge of the arena. So much space, so much blood, these battles must get bloody for the whole of this floor to be stained this way.

  Above the gate he exited, Snow stood with Beion, Rica, Ash, Vuna, Moleira, and Morgudeion, who was stood atop a barrel to look over the edge. Agadeira sat in the corner of the stall, grumbling in annoyance while shaking his head.

  Death kept giving glances to Snow as he walked deep into the centre. He saw her loving eyes even from afar.

  The crowd erupted into a bigger cheer as trumpets rang out. The Crooked Devil flew above the crowd, reaching towards their begging hands and announcing his entrance with a powerful smash just a few metres from Death. He bowed to each direction of the crowd, clapping his hands and cheering for himself.

  “Kiss my pink ass, Carithiel!” Death heard Rica yell.

  The crowd silenced as a voice cut through the rest of them.

  “Carithiel, the Crooked Devil, has arrived for his challenge!” a voice announced, voice echoing to every corner of the arena through a magical spell. “As has Death, the human, slayer of Deilon the Defiant and Aleion Flame! The challenge shall commence upon the first strike between the combatants, give one of them their final cheer!”

  The crowd boomed once more.

  “You’re trusting of strangers,” Carithiel snarled. “Trusting the Flames like they’re family, very trusting.”

  “I’m not trusting. I can read deceit and intentions from a face like it’s a written letter.”

  “You wield my sword.”

  “It’s my sword,” Death corrected.

  “The crowd will see who it belongs too when you die. Look at all of them, Death, eager for my victory—plenty of men have got into this arena with me. Bravely stupid warriors. Stupidly brave warriors. Which one will you die as, I wonder?”

  Death said nothing.

  “I’m glad you entered the arena and not that woman,” Carithiel continued. “Women are no fun to duel. You hit them and they cry, they give up when they know they’re losing… plus, that little wretch of yours has the real link to me sword. I think I’ll train her to be a good little bitch, let her massage my feet.”

  Once again, Death said nothing. He took a stance with his sword and planted his feet into the gravel.

  I need to ignore his attempts to distract me, Death thought. He has no weapon; I have never seen him fight. This could be a short battle if I strike at the right time.

  “How boring,” Carithiel sighed. “I always like it when my opponents talk a little. Fine. Have it your way.”

  The arena became eerily silent, the faces of the audience frozen stiff, their hands stuck in the middle of a clap. Shadows crept over the walls, leaking into the ground and swallowing the two of them into pure darkness.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” Carithiel cackled. “I’m a devil… I can’t have my fun if I follow all the rules.”