The void burned with ghosts.

  Alistair was already moving, black ash-armor trailing smoke behind him as he sprinted across the fractured terrain. The Founding Crystal pulsed like a sun at the center, but he barely saw it. His eyes, his hunger, every thread of his being were locked onto one thing.

  Vardis.

  The pale rival stood somewhere ahead, still as a statue, and Alistair’s fury screamed louder than the Arena crowd.

  Shades poured in from every direction, broken champions by the thousands. Some charged with weapons raised, some drifted listless, hollow-eyed. All of them in his way.

  Alistair didn’t slow.

  He slashed his hand through the air, summoning [Grave Ember]. Three ember-spirits flared into existence, orbs of ghostfire spinning lazily at his side before streaking outward like arrows. They collided with the first cluster of shades. The detonation was silent, no heat, no flame, only a white blast of soul-burning light.

  Six shades collapsed instantly, their forms unraveling in ash and whispers.

  A notification blinked at the edge of his vision.

  [Enemy Shades Destroyed]

  Kill Count: +6

  Levels: 14-17

  [Eidolon Flame] effectiveness: +200% vs Spirits/Undead

  EXP Gained: +3480

  He barely saw it.

  Something tugged at him, sharp, wrong. One of the bonds inside him thinned until it was almost gone. Panic jolted through his chest. Kael? He reached out, desperate, but the connection was still there… only stretched too far, too thin, as if the elf were no longer by his side at all. The realization hit him, Kael had left the Arena.

  He exhaled in relief, but that was as much as he could give as the shades swarmed him.

  Another flick of his wrist, another cast. [Soulbrand]. The mark seared into the chest of a tall armored shade, glowing like a wound. It staggered, and with every step it took, haunted trails of fire ignited beneath its feet. The trails caught, flaring brighter, until the ground itself burned with pale light. Half a dozen more shades dissolved screaming into the void.

  A second ping flashed, louder, insistent this time.

  [Level Up – You are now Level 35!]

  +4 Attribute Points

  +3 Agility

  +2 Dexterity

  He didn’t stop. Didn’t spare a thought. His entire being tunneled forward.

  Vardis. Vardis. Vardis.

  The Redcrystal Sword howled in his grip as he cut through another shade, the blade drinking its unraveling essence. With his off-hand he cast his spell and exhaled a beam of [Light Breath]. Radiant fire poured from his lips, sweeping across two more shades. They shrieked as they split apart, their bodies scattering like torn parchment.

  The bloodsong thundered in his ears.

  Every heartbeat, every step, the music rose. It wasn’t his blood, it wasn’t even mortal blood, it was something ancient and powerful, a stolen vitality rushing through his veins filled his undead body with fire. His legs carried him faster, vaulting over a collapsing bridge. His arms felt like they could tear stone in half. His lungs dragged in power that wasn’t air.

  He ran faster.

  Leapt higher.

  Struck harder.

  The fractured battlefield shifted beneath him, bridges breaking, islands reforming, the void itself rearranging, but the bloodsong drowned it all out. It was louder than the Herald, louder than the crowd of gods, louder than his own thoughts.

  Faster.

  Hungrier.

  Closer.

  The shades shrieked, thousands of them pressing in, but Alistair barely noticed. They were shadows. Obstacles. Nothing but fuel for his rage. His blades cut and his magic flared, and with every kill the bloodsong screamed louder.

  And ahead, still, pale, watching like a predator, waited Vardis.

  The fractured battlefield twisted beneath his boots, stone bridges shuddering, slabs of land drifting apart and reforming like some sadistic puzzle. Every step was a gamble. Every leap a dare. The Arena itself wanted him broken before he could reach his prey.

  And still Alistair ran.

  The shades came in waves, thousands of half-born phantoms, clutching rusted weapons and shrieking with voices that weren’t quite real. He carved through them in a storm of steel and soulfire, his Redcrystal Sword singing as it drank their unraveling essence.

  [Grave Ember] detonated at his command. A cluster of ten shades collapsed in an instant, burned hollow by ghostly fire.

  [Enemy Shades Destroyed: +10]

  EXP Gained: +6,000

  Another surge rushed him from the flank. Alistair spun, exhaling [Light Breath] in a blinding arc. The beam ripped through three at once, their faces unraveling in silent screams.

  [Enemy Shades Destroyed: +3]

  EXP Gained: +1,400

  The crowd roared above, divine voices shaking the void, but Alistair barely heard. Ash scattered across his face, clinging to his skin like sweat.

  The Herald’s voice thundered above the chaos: “OH, HE CUTS THROUGH THEM! HE BURNS THEM! HE LOOKS FABULOUS DOING IT!”

  Alistair coughed, swinging again. “You’re damn right I do.”

  Then his eyes locked forward.

  On Vardis.

  The made vampire moved like a beast, claws scraping stone as he bounded across the bridges on all fours. His hair whipped wild, his movements jerky, savage. His fangs jutted too long, too sharp, a grotesque parody of nobility. His gaze never left the Founding Crystal.

  He didn’t even know Alistair was there.

  That ignorance stoked the fire in Alistair’s chest hotter than any spell.

  “You killed her,” Alistair hissed between strikes, his voice drowned in the bloodsong pounding in his ears. “I’ll cut you down before you ever touch it.”

  The shades pressed harder, swarming his flanks, their spectral weapons striking against his armor. The legendary Wyrdsilk absorbed the worst of it, turning killing blows into bruises and scratches, but still the numbers added up.

  [Damage Taken: -9 HP]

  [Damage Taken: -11 HP]

  HP: 415 → 395 / 415

  His lip curled. “Try harder, ghosts. At this rate you’ll chip a nail.”

  He vaulted a collapsing bridge, the stone crumbling away into the void beneath him. For a heartbeat he was falling, then slammed onto the next fragment of ground, rolling into a slash that gutted two shades mid-lunge.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The Arena wasn’t done.

  A shimmer of blue light flared as his foot hit a patch of cracked stone. Gravity inverted. Suddenly the world flipped, and he was running upside down along the underside of a floating slab, shades howling as they clung and lunged.

  “Fantastic,” Alistair grunted, blades flashing as he decapitated one, kicked another into the void. “A magical funhouse of death. Exactly what I wanted today.”

  He hurled [Soulbrand] into the mass, the mark searing across a phantom knight’s chest. Every step it took lit the ground beneath it in ghostfire, and half a dozen more shades staggered screaming into the flames.

  [Enemy Shades Destroyed: +6]

  EXP Gained: +4,800

  [Redcrystal Sword – Bloodthirst +6]

  The stone under him gave way, ripping free of the void’s fabric, and he dropped again, landing hard, knees bending, bloodsong shrieking triumph in his skull. His strikes grew faster, sharper, stronger, the hunger urging him to let go.

  Give in. Stop resisting. Tear them all apart.

  “Not this time,” Alistair spat, ramming his dagger through another shade’s skull. “I’m the one driving this corpse.”

  He roared, blades dripping ash, and cut another dozen phantoms down in a frenzy. His HP ticked lower, scratches and shallow cuts finding their way past his defenses, but he didn’t care.

  [Damage Taken: -7 HP]

  [Damage Taken: -10 HP]

  HP: 395 → 378 / 415

  The Founding Crystal burned brighter ahead. Vardis was closer now, claws gouging stone, his feral body bounding like an animal. He looked more beast than vampire, fangs bared, drool glistening, eyes wide with mad hunger.

  Alistair bared his fangs in answer, his own far shorter, sleeker, meant not for tearing flesh but for ruling it.

  Royal blood against feral corruption.

  He forced his way forward through the endless tide, smoke trailing from his armor, bloodsong screaming for control.

  And above it all, one thought anchored him.

  For Thess.

  The Arena shifted again.

  The stone under Alistair’s feet trembled, runes crawling like fireflies across its surface before erupting in a surge of unstable magic. The world buckled.

  A wall of jagged crystal spires burst from the ground, spraying shards of violet glass that sliced through everything nearby. Shades screamed, their bodies shredded, while Alistair twisted into [Ethereal Phase], smoke tearing his outline as the storm of shards passed through him. He reformed on the other side, rolling into a sprint, but already the terrain was twisting again, bridges snapping, the horizon tilting, gravity pulling at impossible angles.

  Ahead, two finalists had locked together in a brutal duel. One, a glaive-wielding warrior whose every strike sent shockwaves across the unstable bridge. The other, a cloaked mage spitting fire and curses with every breath.

  Shades circled them in a frenzy, a ring of ghosts howling, waiting. Smelling blood. They could sense it, the imminent death of a champion, their one chance at stealing life back.

  Alistair veered closer, his fangs bared, but he didn’t interfere. Let them bleed each other dry. He had his own prey.

  The glaive carved through the mage’s defenses in one final arc. The mage crumpled, screaming. The instant his body hit the stone, it dissolved into ash, a green-tinged shade rising in its place. The crowd of phantoms shrieked in ecstasy, tearing toward it.

  But something else happened too.

  Where the mage had stood, the air tore open. A shape pushed through the veil of death, gaining weight, solidity, mass. Horns first. A hulking chest. Then a roar.

  The minotaur bellowed his victory, flesh real, alive, a warhammer clutched in both massive fists. He swung it overhead with a savage triumph that shook the fractured ground.

  The gods above howled approval. Bets shifted. The Herald cackled, spinning midair. “AND THE DEAD RISE TO FEAST AGAIN!”

  Alistair didn’t stall. Didn’t even blink.

  He angled his path, correcting to align with Vardis’s line. Now, only a wide stretch of collapsing stone and open void separated them.

  The Founding Crystal pulsed closer, brighter. Vardis sprinted feral, claws gouging stone, eyes wild. He hadn’t seen him yet.

  Alistair drew a breath, mana pooling in his lungs, and whispered.

  Spell activated [Whispers on the Wind]

  The words slipped into the void, vanishing from his lips.

  Straight into Vardis’s ear.

  “I am coming for you.”

  The made vampire staggered mid-stride, snarling, spinning in panic. His claws slashed at empty air as he whipped his head left, right, feral eyes wide. Shades seized the opening, piling onto him with desperate hunger, shrieking as they clawed at his back.

  Alistair bared his fangs in a grin, smoke trailing from his armor as he closed the distance.

  “For Thess,” he whispered again, though this time only to himself.

  Vardis tore himself free of the shades, his claws rending their incorporeal bodies apart in a storm of gnashing teeth and ragged shrieks. He looked up and saw Alistair.

  For one long second their gazes locked.

  Royal blood and feral corruption. Lord and beast. Brother and usurper.

  The pale vampire’s lips curled back over his grotesque fangs. Spittle flew, his eyes burning with hunger. And then...

  He turned.

  Not toward Alistair. Toward the Founding Crystal.

  He ran.

  On all fours, claws gouging stone, legs pumping like a predator unhinged. His body twisted animalistic, bounding, scrambling, leaping across the unstable bridges with the speed of desperation. The Crystal’s light painted his hair white, every flicker promising salvation.

  Alistair’s snarl ripped from his throat, raw and feral.

  “Coward.”

  He bolted after him.

  The shades screamed around him, sensing weakness, smelling blood. Blades bit into his sides, ghostly spears thrust through his armor, cold hands clawed across his chest.

  [Damage Taken: -11 HP]

  [Damage Taken: -14 HP]

  [Damage Taken: -9 HP]

  HP: 378 → 344 / 415

  He didn’t care. He didn’t even try to block.

  The Redcrystal Sword swung only at obstacles directly in front of him. His off-hand dagger lashed out purely to clear a path. Every ounce of his focus, every shred of his undead will, was locked on Vardis’s back.

  Shades swarmed tighter, frenzied by the scent of imminent death, the promise of a champion’s fall. They clung to him, shrieking, hacking, stabbing.

  [Damage Taken: -13 HP]

  [Damage Taken: -8 HP]

  HP: 344 → 323 / 415

  The bloodsong roared in his skull.

  Yes, it whispered, delight thick in its voice. Bleed. Let go. Let me take the reins and we’ll tear him down together.

  Alistair bared his fangs in a grin, smoke trailing from his lips as he sprinted harder, ignoring the pain. “You’ll get your turn,” he rasped. “After mine.”

  The Arena fought him.

  A bridge tilted violently as he hit it, stone slabs rolling sideways. He sprinted along the curve, claws of broken masonry scraping his armor, shades tumbling helplessly into the void. Ahead, another platform simply vanished, folding into nothing. Alistair didn’t slow, he leapt the gap, hit the next patch of stone with a jarring slam that rattled his teeth.

  [Damage Taken: -17 HP]

  HP: 323 → 306 / 415

  The pain was fuel. The bloodsong drank it, spun it, turned it into raw speed. His muscles sang, every step louder, faster, harder. He was a storm, a blur of blades and smoke, and still Vardis ran ahead, feral body bounding, scrabbling, desperate for the Crystal’s light.

  “Run all you want!” Alistair roared, voice raw with fury. “You’re not reaching it. Not before I rip out your heart!”

  The shades surged thicker, drawn by the chase, by the heat of two predators locked on the same prey. The void burned with their howls. The Arena bent itself to the spectacle, collapsing stone and warping gravity, feeding the gods their drama.

  And Alistair, bloodied, battered, burning with vengeance, didn’t waver.

  He didn’t defend.

  He didn’t stop.

  He only chased.

  Stone shattered and reformed beneath his boots. Bridges flipped without warning. Shades hurled themselves into his path, shrieking, their blades slashing shallow cuts across his armor. He didn’t bother defending anymore, every second mattered. Every step had to close the distance between him and the feral beast ahead.

  “Enough,” he rasped, his fangs bared in fury.

  The system pulsed.

  [Ability Available – Trueform: Nightbound Majesty]

  He didn’t hesitate.

  [Trueform – Nightbound Majesty: Activated]

  Power slammed through him like drowning in velvet and fire. Shadows boiled off his skin in writhing tendrils. His fangs lengthened, stabbing down past his lip. His eyes blazed white void, ancient and endless, like the night itself had claimed him. His ash armor shredded at the seams, transforming into living smoke that coiled around his frame.

  The Arena itself seemed to shudder at his presence.

  Notifications streamed across his vision.

  [Trueform: Nightbound Majesty – Active]

  +15 to All Attributes

  Immune to Status Effects

  Basic Attacks apply [Bleed] and [Weakness]

  Unlocked: [Midnight Rend]

  Duration Remaining: 1:59

  HP: 306 / 415

  MP: 161 / 248

  SP: 156 / 252

  The shades faltered, their hollow eyes flickering. Even dead, they recognized predator. The gods roared above, shrieking laughter, hurling curses, chanting kneel! until the void shook with the sound.

  Alistair blurred forward, blades glowing crimson-black as shadows writhed at his heels. His voice was guttural, bitter, but still threaded with venomous humor.

  “Run, Vardis. Run faster. Because I’ve just stopped pretending.”

  He surged forward, faster than gravity, faster than thought, faster than the beast scrambling for the Crystal.

  The chase was over.

  The hunt had begun.

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