Eighteen years later
Clink. Clink. Clink.
The sound of steel striking steel echoed through the entire arena.
This place was not made of blood, sweat, and broken bones alone.
It was the heart of a system built by witches—
a place that drank every drop of spilled blood,
that seized the souls of fallen wolves before they could ever reach the Moon Goddess,
a place where hope was crushed the moment one stepped into the sand.
⸻
Soren's POV
The arena master scanned us with his usual hollow stare, choosing today's sacrifices.
I had only one thought:
Let it not be me today.
"You."
His finger pointed straight at me.
Then shifted to Felix.
"You'll fight each other. Human form."
A brief pause.
"I want a good show. A lot of money was paid for today."
Then, coldly:
"You'll use maces."
A mace… again?
Felix clenched his teeth.
"The bloodiest weapon," he muttered. "The hardest to heal. Even our wolf struggles to recover from it now."
He didn't finish his sentence.
A sharp whistling sound cut through the air.
Felix screamed and collapsed to the ground.
The witches' enchanted silver whip.
The smell of burned flesh spread instantly, thick and choking.
Felix growled, his body trembling with pain.
As for me, my mind was somewhere else.
Today is Fauna's birthday.
The arena master's booming voice shattered my thoughts.
"You were not brought here to speak."
"You will fight."
"You will die."
"With your blood and your souls, you will give us power and profit."
I looked at him.
He had once stood where we stood now—before he sold his soul.
He seemed to have forgotten that.
The arena was packed.
Rich human bastards demanded rivers of blood in exchange for their gold.
The witches were hungry—for gold, for souls, for flesh. Their eyes gleamed.
All I wanted was to go home.
To Fauna.
To Selene.
Alive.
The arena master raised his hand.
"Today, you will feast on blood!"
"Fighters—enter the arena!"
And there it was.
Again.
The moment his hand dropped, the roar erupted.
Felix attacked first.
He swung his mace with both hands. The wind of it brushed my face as I barely stepped aside. Sand slipped beneath my feet. Felix didn't stop—another strike, then another.
Too fast.
His eyes were bloodshot. The pain from the whip had stolen his control.
"Felix—calm down!"
My voice was swallowed by the chants.
He roared and brought the mace down from above.
I barely dodged. The mace slammed into the sand, tearing flesh from my arm as it passed. I forced myself forward and swung at his shoulder.
The impact sent him flying.
The crack of bone.
His shoulder twisted unnaturally.
The crowd went wild.
Blood! Blood! Blood!
Don't get up, Felix.
Please—don't get up.
Of course, he did.
With his last strength, he charged. I tried to retreat—I didn't want to hit him again.
Too late.
The mace struck my leg.
Pain exploded through my entire body.
And with that pain, I swung back—once.
The mace crashed into Felix's temple with full force.
There was a sound.
A wrong sound.
Bone breaking. Flesh bursting.
Warm fragments splattered across my face.
One of his eyes was torn free.
Felix froze for a heartbeat. His remaining eye stared into nothing.
Then he collapsed to the side.
Silence.
I couldn't breathe. I stared at him—no movement. No rise of his chest.
Then the arena erupted.
Screams. Laughter. Applause.
People rose to their feet. They had their blood.
He didn't have to die.
This wasn't meant to be a fight to the death. One fall was enough.
But again… to live, to return to those I loved, I had taken a life.
The arena master stepped forward.
The black stone at his neck glowed faintly.
From Felix's body, a thin strand of dark smoke rose.
The soul.
The stones embedded around the arena shimmered, glowing one by one.
Another soul claimed.
I lifted my head and looked at the stands.
At the witches.
At the stones.
I was never the winner.
They always were.