The announcer snapped his fingers. A dry sound, a sentence.

  The gates on the opposite side of the Coliseum rose with a creak that echoed across the arena. From the darkness that devoured the light, something stirred.

  A low, deep, guttural growl.

  Perseo saw an impossible figure emerge.

  It was rger than any beast he had ever faced. A monster ripped straight from legend. Its skin was a patchwork of scales and scars, its arms thick as pilrs, its back covered in jagged spines. Its jaws parted, letting a stream of bck drool sizzle as it hit the sand. Its eyes... its eyes were two burning embers of pure hatred and hunger.

  Beside him, the old man swallowed hard.

  “That’s a damn…” he began to say, but his voice faded as the beast did not come alone.

  Silhouettes in heavy armor emerged from the shadows. Padin guards—the strongest of them all—holding the monster in pce with massive chains. They pulled with all their might, trying to restrain it, but each movement from the titan made the chains creak like fragile gss.

  Perseo’s throat went dry.

  “…That’s a dragon.”

  The words escaped in a whisper. Because it couldn’t be real. Dragons were extinct. Had been for decades. They were tales of elders, beasts from ancient stories, forgotten myths. And yet, it was there. Alive. Breathing. Burning.

  The old man didn’t answer. He just exhaled slowly, eyes locked on the creature with an expression Perseo had never seen before.

  Disbelief. True fear.

  A crushing weight settled in Perseo’s chest. It felt like his entire world crumbled in that single instant. Everything he had endured… was it only to die here?

  The legendary beast growled. Its jaws opened, and the air around it warped from the heat. The hottest fire in the world crackled in its throat.

  The roar was thunder. A roar that rattled his bones.

  Rage. Absolute power.

  The guards barely held it back. It wasn’t chained. It was restrained. As if, at any moment, it could break free. As if the demons wanted it to.

  Perseo felt fear cwing at his mind. For a moment, he thought of surrendering.

  For a moment, he wanted to give in.

  And then, he looked up.

  The stands exploded in cheers. The damn demons—creatures of shadow in all shapes and ranks—roared for blood, hungry for more death. They screamed for carnage with mocking smiles and goblets in hand. They didn’t look at the beast with respect. They didn’t fear it. Because they weren’t the ones facing it.

  Because they never faced anything.

  Perseo clenched his fists. His jaw tightened, and with it, his fear began to crack. On his first day in the Coliseum, a seed of resentment had been pnted in his chest. Since then, it had taken root. Now, it bloomed.

  Rage.

  He looked back at the dragon. Studied every detail—every broken scale, every scar, every chain piercing its flesh. It wasn’t a king. It wasn’t a god. It wasn’t invincible.

  It was a prisoner. Just like him.

  His gaze rose to the stands. To the demons. To their executioners.

  And finally, to the announcer—the one who smiled as if he already knew the outcome.

  Perseo spat on the sand.

  “You bastards,” he growled. His voice was low, but sharp as a bde. The cheers continued, ignoring him. But not for long.

  He took a deep breath.

  And shouted.

  “Killers! Psychopaths! Your fun is built on the deaths of the weak! You always choose the oldest, the most exhausted, the ones who can barely stand!”

  The voices in the crowd began to fade. Demons, for the first time, were listening.

  Perseo lifted his head and locked eyes with the announcer.

  “Because you know that against the strong… you wouldn’t st a single second.”

  The dragon’s roar shook the arena like a primordial storm, making the foundations of the Coliseum tremble. Its bzing breath distorted the air, each exhale reeking of ash and death. Perseo felt his skin burn before the fmes even reached him.

  The old man, wobbling, barely stayed on his feet—his body wrecked by the use of his magic. Yet his eyes still burned with resolve. There was no escape. Not this time. But they could still fight.

  The dragon reared on its hind legs—a living mountain of muscle and scale. Its eyes were burning coals, its fury a tide of molten rage. The chains around it groaned as the creature strained against them. Several padins were dragged along with each motion.

  “How the hell do you kill a dragon?” Perseo muttered through clenched teeth.

  The old man spat blood and gave a crooked smile.

  “You don’t kill something that big… you bring it down.”

  Then came another guttural roar. The dragon strained again, and this time, it snapped its neck forward, unleashing a bst of fme that vaporized two nearby guards, their bodies crashing into the Coliseum walls like scorched dolls. The ground quaked with each lunge, the arena trembling beneath their feet.

  Perseo summoned his magic again. He was exhausted, his Eterna nearly depleted. Tapping into it now risked burning through his very life. But he had no choice.

  He scanned the battlefield, searching for a weakness. His eyes nded on the massive chains anchored to bck stone pilrs and the padins holding them tight.

  If they could use the chains against it…

  “The chains!” he shouted to the old man.

  The elder, understanding immediately, staggered toward one of the columns anchoring the beast. The chains tensed with every movement of the dragon, but if they could tangle them around its limbs…

  The Coliseum began to tremble. The dragon’s roars grew more desperate. Its fury made the sand ripple like waves. Perseo barely dodged a tail swipe that reduced a stone column to rubble.

  The dragon saw them. Locked eyes with them. Its head twisted unnaturally fast, and another wave of fire bsted across the arena, raising the temperature to inhuman levels.

  The heat became a wall, nearly engulfing them. Perseo rolled to the side, feeling fire graze his skin. The old man fell, covering himself as the sand around him melted into cracked gss. He coughed violently, struggling to rise, but his body wouldn’t obey.

  “Get up!” Perseo shouted, voice hoarse from smoke.

  The old man forced himself to move, every limb screaming in protest. He knew—he wouldn’t survive another bst like that.

  The chains were still bound to the dragon’s legs and neck. Their only chance.

  “I’ll release one!” the old man yelled, barely heard over the chaos.

  Perseo ran to the other. Together, they pulled at the anchors, trying to maneuver them just as the dragon stepped forward. But it was too strong. With a single twist, it broke one of the smaller chains, freeing a leg.

  Perseo’s heart dropped. If they failed now, they were dead.

  The old man cursed and dragged himself toward the beast. He picked up a melted spear, nearly destroyed by the heat, and with a warrior’s final breath, drove it into the dragon’s exposed joint, where its scales were thinnest.

  The beast howled, shing out with such fury it yanked the remaining chains, pulling at the central pilr.

  The Coliseum groaned.

  Walls trembled. Upper balconies swayed. The once-cheering crowd now watched in disbelief. Chunks of stone rained from above.

  More padins died trying to hold the beast down.

  Perseo, gasping, summoned the st of his strength. He hurled himself at the final chain, pulling with everything he had. The pilr holding it cracked, then gave way with a deafening crunch. The chain tightened—and the dragon, caught in its own momentum, faltered.

  The ground split beneath it.

  The beast crashed down, and a seismic roar shook the entire Coliseum. Its colossal body dragged half the structure with it, fmes bursting from its throat, setting fire to the upper balconies and the padins stationed there. Screams echoed as demons scrambled to escape the bze.

  The dragon y trapped beneath the rubble it had brought down.

  Perseo colpsed in the sand, gasping. His body no longer obeyed him. The old man fell beside him, his eyes gzed with exhaustion, his skin scorched by the infernal heat.

  The dragon’s final roar was a dying thunder, a cry swallowed by its own destruction. The Coliseum was in ruins, its walls cracked, its structure swaying.

  But the demons… the demons were satisfied.

  A loud crash echoed across the arena. The spectators, still drunk on bloodlust, fixed their gaze on the two remaining survivors.

  Perseo and the old man—barely standing, covered in ash and blood. They had no strength left to fight, barely enough to breathe.

  A squad of demonic guards descended from the upper tiers. There was no resistance. No more fight.

  Perseo felt their cold hands grab him roughly. His legs gave out, and only their grip kept him from colpsing. The old man was seized as well, his face twisted in pain.

  Both were dragged back into the dungeon’s darkness.

  Perseo barely felt the impact as his body hit the stone floor. Everything hurt. Every breath was a torture. Every muscle begged for rest.

  But the cold floor… was a small mercy.

  “No way…” murmured a prisoner with a trembling voice.

  “I saw them taken… a miracle in the nd of demons,” whispered another.

  Perseo lifted his head slightly, meeting the stares of the other prisoners. Dozens of eyes, wide with disbelief.

  “Damn it…” the old man gasped beside him. “How… are we still alive?”

  The fallen noble didn’t answer. He had no strength left—not even to think. He closed his eyes, letting exhaustion pull him into darkness.

  Against all odds, they had survived.

  But how much longer could they endure?