My crew whispered among themselves, still bristling at their matchups, but my focus had narrowed down to the cloaked figure standing beside the Rat King.

  Dariel.

  I couldn't ignore it now. His aura was too sharp, too… familiar. Not the shape of his claws, not the slope of his beastly shoulders, but something deeper threaded into the marrow of what he was.

  When I didn't look away, he stiffened. His hands tugged at the hood, hesitating. For a long breath he seemed ready to turn, to vanish into the crowd, but then the Rat King's looming warmth at his side seemed to steady him.

  Slowly, bashfully, Dariel pulled the hood down.

  What emerged wasn't the wolf I'd expected, nor the lean humanoid his frame suggested, but something caught between the two: a nice-looking man with five o'clock shadow stubble on his face, doglike ears atop his head.

  His hair coarse in streaks of gray and dark green, green eyes glinting with a clarity monsters didn't usually carry. His jaw was strong, but his expression awkward—like a boy caught sneaking out after curfew.

  "…Guess you figured it out," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Didn't think I'd run into… well, another one of us again."

  My ribbons shifted, not in aggression but in recognition. I'd seen this before, in the mirror of my own reflection, when human features had been stolen and rewritten into something else.

  "You're like me. Another human. Transformed."

  His ears twitched; shame flickered in his eyes, but so did relief. "Yeah. Thought I was the only one. Always figured I'd gone crazy remembering what I used to be."

  I studied him with new eyes, letting my [Insight] peel back the veil of his evolution. He wasn't some simple creature. That was etched it into his aura:

  [Dominant] rank. Bilpefur species. From [Common]-class… to this [Elite] variant.

  "You survived," I breathed. "From the bottom rung all the way to [Dominant]."

  His sheepish grin widened a little, though it never lost that nervous tilt. "Took a few close calls. And a friend." He gestured sideways to the looming figure of the Rat King.

  The Rat's whiskers twitched, and his crystal leg clicked faintly as he shifted closer.

  "Yes. Rat King remembers you," he repeated, gaze softening on me and Oath both. "But Rat King also remembers him. Dariel was beast. He carried Rat King. Rat King defended him. Shared scraps. Shared dark… until the peace of the light."

  Dariel chuckled under his breath, scratching his neck. "We met in the pits. Both half-dead, both too stubborn to just… die like we were supposed to. Guess misery makes quick allies. He called me 'pack.' I didn't argue."

  I tilted my head, watching the strange symmetry of them. A man forced into beast, and a beast forced into kin. "So you found each other at the bottom."

  "Yeah. And we climbed out." His eyes flicked back to me, steady, almost pleading. "Same as you."

  The Rat King rumbled, tilting his head toward Oath with childlike certainty. "We all remember mercy. Mercy makes kings. Mercy makes prosperity."

  Oath's eyes softened, and she had to wipe a sleeve against her face.

  I folded my arms, trying to mask the joy rolling inside me. I was glad to be shown me a reflection of myself, a survivor who carried the same curse, and a monster who bore the weight of a mercy I'd given long ago.

  "Dariel," I said finally, tasting the human name on my tongue. "You're not the only one anymore. Not here."

  His bashful grin wavered, but the relief in it was undeniable. He reached his clawed hand out.

  "Glad to be acquainted with you, KiAera."

  We shook hands, though I wondered why he was here.

  Zazeke leaned in closer, sensing my curiosity. "His energy feels strange," he whispered, his mandibles twitching. "Not quite like those two warlords, but still not someone to underestimate."

  I turned back to Dariel, considering the gravity of his presence. "You're aware that the warlords listed at this tournament don't play nice, right? You might be putting your friend in danger simply by being here."

  "Danger is the name of the game, KiAera," Dariel shot back, his tone light but his eyes serious. "But you know that better than anyone. I'm in search of a woman… who's been pressured into a battlefield far beyond her pride and ambition."

  ??? ??? // ??? ???

  The air outside the lobby carried a different weight than the cramped registration hall.

  In the plaza, where banners of the Shuten Doji's sovereignty flapped and stalls hawked charms and trinkets to overeager spectators, the atmosphere should have been lighter. But when the crowd parted like blades of grass folding beneath a serpent's glide, I knew something vile was sliding our way.

  They came in a pair—Vice and Vicious. The Venolisks.

  Both were long, ginormous, sleek, snake-bodied monsters rising up like vipers. Scaled hides shimmered in diamond patterns of black, their bodies marked with faintly glowing glyphs that gleamed like veins filled with venom.

  Their eyes burned yellow with that special brand of devilish delight that only evil things carry when they know they can do whatever they please.

  These were no ordinary snakes. These were Venolisks—the invading basilisks of DreaGoth.

  Vice slithered forward first, his forked tongue flicking as he looked us over. His smile was too wide, his posture too casual, like a street thug who knew the law didn't apply to him. "Well, well. The Chimera Crew. Pretty little bunch, ain't ya?"

  That tone of his voice carried a humor that was less joke and more knife edge.

  Vicious followed with a less controlled sway, brimming with restless hunger. Both of them radiated a hazardous aura that prickled my skin like nettles. "Look what the Core spit out—our little Chimera Crew, thinking they'll strut into the ring without getting bitten first."

  "Violet's followers?" I pressed the subtle jab.

  Vicious nearly snapped his fangs at me, but Vice shot him a look to reconsider. For now. Vice chuckled low, curling his massive head downward, eyeing us like prizes on a banquet table.

  "Neat joke, but our relationship with that "poser" is no different than dust. No, we're in service to a King."

  His words were chosen with care when "King" was stated.

  "Don't get too cocky, Vicious. They're supposed to be worth something in the sand. Gotta let the Sovereigns enjoy their show." His smirk was slow, but his eyes didn't leave Oath, then Skadi, then me and Rox, lingering on each of us like a butcher weighing meat.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The crew bristled, but I raised a hand. No need for them to rush forward. Not until the matches were stamped official in the arena.

  Because through their voices, through the casual taunting, my [Insight] whispered what I already knew: these two didn't just play at wickedness—they embodied it. Venolisks weren't misunderstood or driven by instinct like most beasts. They thrived in cruelty. Vice and Vicious weren't pretending to be devils. They were.

  Vicious slithered closer, his scales scraping stone as he grinned, wide and terrible.

  "C'mon, let's see what you're made of. No rules here in the plaza. Little warm-up snack before the main event?"

  Vice flicked his tongue, scowling.

  "Always rushing, huh? You'll spoil the taste if you don't wait for the fight."

  Before I could reply, a sharp cry pierced the air. Not cheers. Not vendors. Nor the boisterous joy of the parades. An alarmed, pained cry from deeper in the colosseum city. The crowd turned, murmurs spreading like fire.

  Loa stiffened. "Something’s happened."

  A guard's horn blared, joined by the panicked shouts of civilians and fighters rushing toward the eastern causeway.

  I saw the cause a moment later, two shapes dragged into view by frightened handlers. Their forms were slick with dark viscous ichor and their shadows fraying unnaturally.

  Slistealth and Spillsplit—the shadow monsters of Grimgore's side. Both battered so brutally their bodies warped with strain, as though they'd been torn apart from within.

  Gasps rippled.

  Mina hissed through her teeth. "They were supposed to fight later…"

  Vicious let out a bark of laughter. "Yeeeaaah, that's be my handiwork. Couldn't resist thinning the herd. Those shadow creeps were crawling around where they didn't belong. So I snuffed 'em out. Pop! Just like that."

  Vice's head swung toward him, annoyance flashing across his face.

  "Idiot. You ruined the fun. I didn't even get a bite. Their essence would've been… delicious." His hiss was long and frustrated, rattling the air.

  Vicious sneered, unabashed. "Oh, cry me a river. You'll get your turn. But those weaklings? They weren't worth saving for the sand. Better they go now than waste our time later."

  Vice added, "My bad—you're right. Not against the rules. Not said nowhere that a fight gotta start in the sand. They only care about who's still breathin' come match day. And between you and me…" He leaned close, his whisper sour against my ear. "…the shadows weren't breathin' so good when we left 'em."

  The crowd recoiled. They shared my certainty that the matches were supposed to decide fates inside the arena, not in alleys or plazas.

  What Vicious had done wasn't just violent—it was for entertainment.

  The handlers rushed the broken shadows away, while whispers rose sharp and fast.

  "They broke the rules…"

  "We… cannot punish Venolisks, though. They like it when monsters stir chaos…"

  "You'll only invoke the ire of their Sovereign and Kings if you intervene!"

  "Then what happens now?"

  Vice turned his leer back on me, as though the maimed shadows were nothing but scraps on his teeth. "Hope your crew's tougher. Otherwise, my brother here will start chewing early again."

  Vicious's cackle carried over the plaza. "And I promise, when it's your turn, I won't leave leftovers."

  The plaza’s energy had shifted. Fear. Unease. And I knew exactly why. Because Vice and Vicious weren't playing games. They didn't just want to win the tournament. They were here to incite ruin.

  I kept my expression even, though every fiber in me knew the truth: Evil was their natural state, and in their minds, they hadn't done wrong, they had just done what they are.

  "Careful, you might find fate watching closer than you think."

  Vicious sneered, but there was no fear in it—only glee at the tension he stirred. "Then the Sovereigns and their Core'll thank us when the crowd screams louder. We aren't cheatin'. We're givin' 'em a better show."

  Just then the plaza's tension reached a breaking point.

  Like a storm front parting the crowd, they arrived.

  A phalanx of towering figures in glazed armor. Their horns glinting with rune-burnished steel—the Shuten Doji's sentinels.

  Every step they took was deliberate, their collective presence heavy enough to make even the boldest challengers step back. Oni soldiers, disciplined to the marrow, as their eyes scanned the square with brutal authority.

  At their front strode the Sentinel Captain, a woman whose tusked jaw and horned helm gave her the bearing of both warrior and judge. She carried no weapon, yet the silence that followed in her wake told me she didn't need one.

  ???

  [Status] Sentinel Captain Oriona

  Creature: [Ojilord (A)]

  Faux [Nym]: Oriona the Ojilord

  Titles:

  - "Sentinel Captain"

  - "Crueltal's Subordinate"

  Alt Species Name: "Oni Lord Zeldrimon"

  APeX: [??? Units]

  Attributes: [Brawl], [Cryptic]

  Evolution Stage: [Ascendant]

  Current Variant Grade: [Champion]

  ???

  Vice and Vicious didn't flinch as she halted before them, coils of their bodies blotting out the flagstones.

  The Captain's expression was carved from stone, though her eyes betrayed a strain—like someone forced to read a verdict she despised.

  "Vice. Vicious," she said, voice clipped, the kind of tone used when delivering law rather than opinion. "By decree of the Shuten Doji, and in accordance with the ruling of your benefactor—" she spat the last word as though it tasted foul "—your… incident is dismissed."

  The crowd erupted in hushed disbelief. Gasps, curses, whispers. The idea that the Venolisks could openly maim opponents and walk free gnawed at every sense of fairness. Even Mina let slip a growl low in her throat, her fists trembling against her folded arms.

  The Captain held firm, her jaw tight enough to crack teeth. She raised a finger at the serpents, her tone growing harsher. "But hear this: your indulgence will not be granted again. The Core may tolerate spectacle, but not defiance of order. Next time will not be a warning."

  For a heartbeat, silence hung.

  Then Vice flicked his tongue, smirk curling. "Dismissed, huh? Just like that."

  Vicious burst into wild laughter, the sound slithering across the plaza like venom.

  "Pfft—ahahaha! Did you hear that, Vice? Big scary Onis came all this way just to tell us we're free to play! Oh, what a warning! What a blessing!"

  The two massive basilisks turned to each other, their laughter doubling in stereo. It wasn't joyous—it was cruel, mocking. Like schoolyard bullies who'd just been handed a hall pass after breaking someone's legs.

  The Captain didn't react. She couldn't. Her silence was the silence of an officer who followed orders, no matter how bitter. She turned sharply on her heel, her Oni soldiers shifting in flawless unison as they marched away, their discipline the only shield against the plaza’s growing outrage.

  The Venolisks' laughter followed them, echoing like a jeer against the law itself.

  I felt my ribbons twitch, every instinct demanding I strike then and there. But I held it in. Because the truth was clear.

  Vice and Vicious weren't just enemies in the tournament. They were the rot inside the Core's spectacle. And worse… the Sovereign Monsters themselves wanted them here.

  Everything around me soothed quiter as the frustration in me simmered, boiling at the thought of them harming any of my crewmates. These two reminded me of my prior failure of protecting little Denji… and Diantha's love for her people.

  Where had Violet taken them?

  The laughter of the Venolisks still hung heavy over the plaza when their confidence curdled into something sharper. Vice's coils shifted, spreading wide, his bulk cutting a dark half-circle around us.

  "Oh, is that bloodlust I smell? I think she's gonna smack her little fairy paws on us!"

  Vicious slithered forward, tongue flicking as his eyes locked on Skadi, who was perched lightly at the crew's edge, tails swaying in that deceptively playful rhythm of hers.

  "Too many mouths in this game," Vicious hissed, his grin stretching wider, fangs glistening. "Might as well trim the fat early. That squirrel will squeal nice when I bite down—"

  He lunged, maw gaping, fangs descending like twin spears. The crowd gasped, some too frozen to move, others stumbling back from the sudden strike.

  But Skadi didn't flinch.

  Because I was already moving.

  My breath stilled as I let the veil drop, subtle light coating my fur, spectral motes whispering into existence around me. My [Aera Avatar] shimmered—just enough to channel force, not enough for the Venolisks to truly see what I had shown.

  My spectral arm shot out, swifter than sight.

  Crack!

  The sound split the air like the world itself had been struck. My blow caught Vicious mid-lunge, and the ginormous basilisk was hurled upward, his body twisting violently as he was launched into the sky. Gasps became roars as he arced like some grotesque comet, until he was nothing but a dark speck overhead.

  Vice's head reared back, his eyes wide in genuine shock. For an instant, his delinquent smirk faltered. Then fury consumed it.

  "You dare strike my brother?!" His voice along with his immense aura rattled the plaza, spittle hissing on the stone.

  His body coiled to spring, fangs snapping as he aimed directly for me.

  But he never reached.

  I raised my hand, breath crisp as frost, and let my [Spectral Frost] bloom.

  The air bent blue around him, glacial chains forming out of nothingness. Vice froze mid-strike, his massive body seized in spectral ice that burned with a cold beyond the material. Frost crusted his scales, his fangs halted inches from where I stood. He thrashed, cracks splitting the ice, but the more he fought, the deeper the chill crept.

  Then, boom.

  Vicious crashed back to the earth behind him, the stone plaza cracking under his colossal weight. Dust billowed, the shockwave making onlookers stagger. His eyes swam with fury and disorientation, his jaw slack and broke in disbelief.

  I stood between them and my crew, my ribbons rising and spectral feelers flaring in quiet warning. My voice cut through the plaza, steady as steel.

  "You will not harm my crew."

  Silence followed. The kind of silence that makes even the bravest beasts reconsider.

  Vice's eyes glowed with venomous hatred, but for the first time, restraint bled into his fury. Vicious hissed low, still coiling, but his bravado cracked around the edges. The plaza's onlookers whispered furiously, stunned at the sight of the two monstrous Venolisks being struck down so decisively, outside the Core's arena, by someone they had dismissed as prey.

  I lowered my hand, but the frost didn't fade. "Remember this moment. Your hunger ends where my crew begins."

  The weight of my words hung in the air like the frost itself: chilling and unshakable.

  A familiar laugh rang through the air as she coiled her true form out from the crowd.

  Violet the Venolisk.

  "Now this is what I wanted to see! You've evolved well, flame."