The arena—once roaring with the clash of steel and screams of battle—was now eerily silent.
The ground was cracked and bloodstained. Craters marred the floor, and broken weapons lay scattered among the lifeless corpses of both bandits and fallen contestants who had fought for survival in Roy's deadly game.
A faint wind passed through the shattered pillars, whispering like ghosts mourning the dead.
Then…
A strange sound echoed from the ancient entrance tunnel.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Footsteps.
But not just any footsteps. They were slow. Purposeful. Hollow, yet heavy with menace.
Suddenly, black smoke—thick, unnatural, and pulsing with darkness—began to slither from the tunnel, crawling along the cracked stone like a living creature.
From within the veil of shadow, a figure emerged.
A tall man, cloaked in a black hooded jacket, his face hidden behind a sleek silver-and-black mask. Only his piercing dark eyes were visible beneath the hood.
His presence alone sent a chill through the dead air.
He stepped over corpses casually, like one walking through a museum of trophies. The wind carried the smell of death, yet he seemed unaffected.
He walked toward the most prominent corpse in the center of the arena—Roy, the fallen leader of the bandits. His body was frozen in a twisted pose, shattered ice still clinging to his armor and limbs.
The hooded man knelt beside him, resting one elbow on his bent knee and staring at the corpse.
A slow smile crept beneath the mask.
"You were strong," he whispered. "A real gem in this garbage heap. Ice magic that freezes life itself... rare and beautiful."
He stood and raised his hand toward the corpse. His voice dropped to a low, chilling tone:
"Now… become part of my collection."
The shadows around the arena suddenly thickened—twisting, swirling—until the entire battlefield was engulfed in darkness.
And from within that darkness… something began to move.
Roy's shadow.
At first, it flickered—then stretched unnaturally across the ground like oil. The dead man's body remained still, but the shadow twitched. Grew. Took shape.
Slowly, rising from the ground like a specter, the shadow of Roy stood tall—black as night, void of emotion, its eyes glowing faint blue.
The man smiled again, admiring his newest creation.
"Welcome to the Shadow Slave… Black Ice User."
Just then, another shadowy figure emerged behind him—slimmer, darker, and cloaked in flickering embers.
"Ah, Black Flame," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "You now have company."
Two shadows now stood at his side—one of fire, one of ice. Both once mighty warriors. Both now enslaved to his will.
The hooded man threw his arms open wide and laughed—low at first, then louder, rising into a chilling cackle that echoed across the dead arena.
"Yes… I am one step closer. One step closer to Goal."
He turned to the blackened sky, eyes gleaming behind his mask.
"This world… this world is special. It's nothing like Earth."
He clenched his fist.
"Here, I am not what i was on Earth ."
A pause. Then, colder:
"God has given me a second Chance... But he will come to regret it "
The shadows recoiled into his cloak. The two spectral warriors followed him silently into the mist as he turned and walked back into the darkness.
And as he vanished…
…the arena fell into a deeper silence than before.
A silence pregnant with the rise of something far more dangerous than anyone had imagined.
Chapter End.