Chapter 1018 - 1017: The Heart Reaper

The colosseum was only half full.

Daemons occupied the lower terraces in scattered groups, while ordinary demons crowded onto the narrower benches above. Late arrivals hurried down the steps, looking for seats before the gates closed.

Below them stretched a wide floor of dark stone slabs. Old scars crossed its surface, interrupted by thin engravings running toward the arena walls.

A curved barrier enclosed the fighting ground. Higher overhead, another shield diverted the falling fire, sending orange light across the stands.

"Who’s the Heart Reaper fighting?"

A Daemon with bony plates along his jaw leaned toward the woman beside him.

"Blackmoon."

"Who’s that?"

"I was hoping you knew."

She turned to the group behind them. None recognised the name.

They knew the Heart Reaper. Few members received the Blessing of the Abyss, and the names of those who did travelled quickly.

But this Blackmoon might as well have appeared from nowhere.

"Maybe someone from outside," another spectator suggested.

"Then why challenge a Blessed?"

"Look up there."

The woman pointed toward the gallery above the arena entrance.

Her companion followed her hand, then sat straighter.

Twelve seats were occupied beneath a dark canopy. He recognised Ancestral Elder Black Mountain’s enormous shell. Farther along sat Ancestral Elder White Death, her pale tail coiled beneath her.

The five higher seats were occupied too.

"Is that Grand Elder Dread Crown?"

"Keep your voice down."

"All twelve elders?"

The question spread through the nearby rows.

Several demons lowered their heads without thinking. One had only ever seen a council elder from across a distant street. Now the whole council was close enough for him to distinguish their faces.

He had come expecting a short fight.

"Why would they all come to watch this?"

Nobody answered.

More spectators began staring at the gallery instead of the arena.

A few rows closer to the front, Virella leaned toward Sonya.

"They keep calling his opponent the Heart Reaper."

Sonya turned her head toward her.

"I heard."

"He’s one of the Abyss Blessed. And a Superior Demon Lord."

Virella looked toward the arena again. An attendant sent by Enigma had brought them here with little more than a message that Simon would be fighting.

She hadn’t expected this.

"Shouldn’t someone have told us before he agreed?"

"Don’t worry about little kitty," Sonya said. "He’s not going to lose because someone has an impressive title."

Virella pressed her lips together.

Sonya reached over and patted Akaza’s shoulder.

He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, watching the fighting ground with an interested light in his eyes. The noise around him seemed to have little effect on his concentration.

"You agree, don’t you?" Sonya asked.

Akaza nodded without looking away.

"He won’t lose."

Sonya turned back to Virella with a grin.

"See? Little kitty will be fine."

"That doesn’t make me feel much better."

"Then watch."

Beside them, Ammor sat with his arms folded. His gaze stayed on the arena, and he offered neither reassurance nor a prediction.

Above the stands, the elders could hear the growing speculation below.

Their own conversation remained enclosed within a sound-blocking formation. The audience could see them clearly, but none of their words escaped the gallery.

"Who do you favour?" Ancestral Elder White Death asked.

"Blackmoon," Ancestral Elder Wild Hunt replied.

Ancestral Elder Cinder Queen nodded.

"The boy wouldn’t have asked us not to interfere if he expected to need saving."

"Confidence isn’t proof," Ancestral Elder Black Tide said.

"Neither is the blessing," Ancestral Elder Bone Prophet replied. "I’d put my expectations on Blackmoon as well."

Ancestral Elder Black Tide’s webbed fingers settled against his armrest.

"Joren is one of House Voss’s most talented descendants. He earned his place among the Blessed. Don’t dismiss everything he’s capable of because he failed to avoid a slap."

"He has a point," Ancestral Elder Black Mountain said. "We actually haven’t seen Joren use any of his techniques."

"Or his fighting spirits," Ancestral Elder Silent Plague added.

Ancestral Elder White Death glanced toward the higher seats.

"What of the Grand Elders? Who do you guys think would win?"

Grand Elder Night Widow chuckled.

"Blackmoon, of course."

"You sound certain," Ancestral Elder Black Mountain said.

"He has four natural Seeds of Sin. At his cultivation, that alone should tell you how unusual he is. And you’ve already seen how he handled our auras."

Her four eyes moved toward Ancestral Elder Black Tide.

He ignored the glance.

"What interests me is whether Joren can keep himself alive," Grand Elder Golden Tyrant said. "Will he recognise when he’s beaten? Or will he wait until Blackmoon has already torn him apart?"

Ancestral Elder Cinder Queen looked toward her.

"You think the boy intends to kill him?"

"I don’t know. He might kill him, cripple him, or let him walk away. Joren has given him plenty of reasons to choose the first two."

The Ancestral Elders exchanged glances.

Grand Elder Golden Tyrant’s upper hands rested together.

"Surrendering will only help if he does it in time."

Ancestral Elder White Death smiled faintly.

"After that slap, I doubt surrender is what would be on his mind."

Below them, two figures faced one another near the centre of the arena.

A Daemon stood between them.

Joren’s black coat was fastened to his throat. His silver hair remained neat, and the blood had been cleaned from his mouth. There was no trace of the slap on his face.

His expression was another matter.

He stared at Simon’s right hand.

Simon noticed and flexed his fingers once with a provocative smile.

Joren’s eyes returned to his face.

The Daemon between them spoke, his voice carrying across every terrace.

"The Council of Elders has approved a public duel between these two contenders."

The conversations in the colosseum began to quieten.

"To my right stands the Heart Reaper of House Voss. A Superior Demon Lord and one of the Abyss Blessed."

Several voices called out from the lower stands. Others watched the black ring on Joren’s hand, where a crimson flame surrounded the Abyss’s dragon emblem.

"To my left stands Blackmoon. A Prime Greater Demon."

The cheering faltered.

"He’s actually a Greater Demon?"

"A Prime?"

"That’s his opponent?"

The announcer continued before the questions could drown him out.

"Blackmoon has sought entry into The Abyss. This duel will determine whether he earns that place."

A woman in the second terrace straightened so quickly that her folded wings struck the seat behind her.

"He isn’t even a member?"

"They’re making a Greater Demon fight a Blessed to join?"

A nearby demon gave a nervous laugh.

"I wasn’t asked to do anything like that."

"Because nobody needed twelve elders to decide what to do with you."

The reply brought a few uneasy smiles, but most eyes remained on Simon.

He stood with his hands loose at his sides. No weapon was visible. The black wraps around his wrists were plain, and there was nothing on his clothes to identify a clan.

The spectators who had dismissed him began wondering what they hadn’t been told.

The announcer waited for the noise to settle.

"The duel ends in death or surrender. There is one rule for the combatants. Once either of you surrenders, the other must stop attacking immediately."

He looked at Simon, then Joren.

"The council has agreed that nobody will interfere. The survivor will not be punished for the other’s death."

Joren inclined his head.

Simon nodded.

The announcer stepped away, leaving a clear stretch of stone between the two.

Joren lowered his voice.

"You enjoyed yourself in the hall."

Simon glanced toward the stands.

"There were a few good moments."

"You’ll regret them."

"Which ones? You said quite a lot."

Joren’s jaw tightened.

The crowd couldn’t hear their quiet exchange clearly, but those watching his face could see his anger returning.

"You won’t have the elders protecting you here," he said.

Simon’s attention returned to him.

"This is what I wanted. It was my condition. Try to remember that."

Joren’s ringed hand opened.

Simon let his gaze pass over the fingers, then back to the pale eyes above them.

He knew Joren’s spirits didn’t all have to be visible to the spectators. He had kept his perception spread since entering the fighting ground.

The Daemon was dangerous, regardless of how easily he could be provoked.

But Simon had no intention of giving Joren the satisfaction of seeing him concerned... not like he was though.

"I’m going to make you beg," Joren said.

"Start with making me move."

At the edge of the arena, the announcer raised his hand.

A hush passed through the stands.

Akaza leaned farther forward. Virella’s fingers closed around the edge of her seat.

The hand fell.

"Begin!"

Joren smiled.

"Since you asked."

He flicked a finger toward Simon.

Simon’s eyes widened.

His figure vanished from the spot.

A fraction of a second later, something enormous struck the floor where he had been standing.

BOOM!

The dark slabs burst upward. Five deep furrows ripped through the stone side by side, tearing across the engraved seams as though a gigantic claw had been dragged through them.

Broken pieces spun into the air. The strips of floor between the gouges buckled, then collapsed with a grinding crash.

Dust rolled across the arena, exposing the damage a little at a time.

Five immense claw marks scarred the place where Simon had stood.