BOOOOOOOOMMMM!
Within the massive dome, a deafening explosion tore through the arena floor, ripping the very ground asunder. Chunks of scorched debris and shattered stone were flung into the air, and great tongues of fire surged outward in explosive waves. A searing heatwave blasted across the arena, so intense it sent a wave of discomfort through even those seated far above. Thankfully, the powerful magical barrier encasing the spectator stands shimmered to life, absorbing the full brunt of the blast and protecting the crowd from the carnage. The audience, though unharmed, sat frozen in collective shock, their eyes locked on the inferno that had erupted where Dante Vale Gremory once stood.
The heart of the arena had been completely swallowed by flame, now crackling and writhing like a living beast. Within seconds, the firestorm ebbed, leaving behind a colossal plume of thick, choking smoke. It hung in the air like a judgment, blotting out any sign of life within.
"Is he alright?" a small voice broke through the stunned silence.
A young boy tugged at his father's cloak, his wide, innocent eyes turning from the chaos back to his parents. His voice trembled with hope, even as his fingers gripped tightly in fear.
The mother turned to her son, her face a careful mask. Her lips curled into a reassuring smile, but her eyes betrayed her inner dread. The explosion had come from the exact spot where Dante had faced the fallen form of Brinyalf Stolas. There was no doubt that he had taken the blast at point-blank range.
"Yes, sweetheart," she said softly. "He should still be fine. He's strong. Something like that wouldn't stop him."
The boy's worried frown lessened at her words. His small shoulders relaxed, if only slightly. Yet the mother's own heart felt heavier with each passing second. She wanted desperately to believe her own words, but in truth, that explosion had been unlike anything she'd ever witnessed—and she'd seen war.
Dante had become something of a symbol to their people. A noble devil with a kind heart, a rare jewel in the blood-stained legacy of the underworld. Her admiration for him ran deep, and she, like so many others, had placed her hopes in his rise. It had been so long since someone so pure-hearted had managed to climb so far. If he fell today...
She dared not finish the thought.
Minutes passed without a single announcement from the arena's arbiter. No cheers. No declaration. No movement from the veil of smoke. Just an eerie silence.
Her gaze drifted to the royal box.
There, standing with stoic faces, were the Lord General Sirzechs Gremory and the Lordess General Serafall Sitri. Titans of their world. Their expressions, however, were not filled with pride or confidence. They did not look like leaders witnessing the victorious culmination of a hero's trial. They looked grim. Angry. Afraid.
Something was wrong.
Her breath caught.
"Hun... we should go. Now," she whispered, her voice tight with unease, eyes still locked on the tense figures above.
Her husband turned to her, instantly reading the seriousness in her tone. He looked once at the child and then up at the arena, where dust still hung heavy, before nodding in agreement.
"What?!" the boy gasped. "We can't leave now! We have to stay! Dante's going to kick more butt, I know it!"
His voice was passionate, defiant—the innocent fire of childhood belief flaring bright. But that only deepened the mother's unease.
The father placed a firm, comforting hand on his son's shoulder.
"Your mother has always had wisdom in her eyes, son. When she speaks with that voice, we listen."
The boy looked between them, his fists clenched and eyes brimming with stubbornness. For a moment, he teetered on the edge of protest. But the lessons of obedience and respect held fast within him, and slowly, he relented.
"Okay..." he murmured.
The father smiled faintly and ruffled his son's hair with gentle affection.
As the family quietly slipped from the stands, the rest of the crowd remained transfixed by the storm below, still waiting, still hoping—for a sign, a sound, anything to tell them their champion had survived.
Among the crowd of worried on lookers and civilians, the boy and his parents were the only ones to sense the incoming danger and moved to leave, as they closed in on the upper level exit an unknown figure suddenly entered the arena's stands, equipped with black armor similar to Praetorian armor – big yet compact – however these soldiers appeared different as located on their breast plate sat a large Roman "I" embroidered in gold, Green cloth dangled from their waistband over their loins and rear which carried a devil insignia...
The insignia of Beelzebub...
"You are not leaving" spoke the imposing man before his foot lashed out, kicking the woman back down the stairs as a result
"Gah!" yelped the woman, pain inflamed her wounded gut which then enraged the woman's husband who caught her before she fell down the stairs, but before he could speak a sword was placed at his throatand the imposing armored man leaned in closely
"Scream and you both die" he whispered
However the Knight neglected his count...
"LET MY FATHER GO!" Yelled the boy, the scream had caused the crowd and the highly focused generals to turn and see the commotion, only to gasp at what they saw... the two generals bristled
A young boy gripped the large form of an inquisitor by the leg that had a sword at the father's throat; this caused a massive outcry that enraged the Inquisitor who glowered under his knightly helm
"You should have remained silent" spoke the Old-Satan soldier before his sword swiped to the side, slicing the jugular of the father's throat, looks of horror shown on all that bore witness yet the cry of anguish from the mother and son spoke larger volumes... the blood red eyes of Sirzechs Gremory and the icy blue eyes of Serafall Sitri shone brightly but they didn't move, their powers were too volatile in such a tight area, raising his fist Sirzechs waved behind him and his order was absolute
Bring him that knights head
Praetor Saladin and Praxis Bael jumped to action, leaving the VIP booth in a hurry to get to where the black knight was, Praxis ordered the Praetorian captain ahead while he moved to the announcement booth to warn the guard outside... they had been breached
Sirzechs nodded at that before he turned back to the scene... he didn't know his anger would spike so high at what he saw next
"DAD!" yelled the boy but his form was violently knocked to the side, the inquisitor turned his attention towards the boy – twirled the blood stained sword – and went to drive the blade through the boy's chest, the bodies of Sirzechs and Serafall tensed violently but paused at what they saw...
...The blade froze mid air, right before the boy's chest
The crowd gasped at the event.