Under the dark navy night, within the colosseum existed two distinct groups, not fans of opposing warriors or demographics, but those who knew what would begin at the 18th hour, and those who did not.
While the ignorant enjoyed their cyclical draw of entertainment from the river, those informed could not help but tread carefully within the waters, knowing the flood that would ensue soon.
The penultimate match of the day decided the victor of the 433rd RGA Fall Seasonal, sponsored by the royals and other prominent brands such as Engine, Axiom, Solammantu, Felis and Deptford. It was a booming industry, raking in billions of Fares annually as the most popular sport of the nation — perhaps in the world.
As Reginn watched from the back, behind all seats looking down onto the ants, he could not help but be reminded of how he and his siblings used to play such games. The goal was not to kill the opponent but to either knock them out or force them into submission. It was a game of strength and battle prowess, but also of respect. By tumbling in the dirt together, neither age nor status mattered — only the natural order. It was a great way to learn and play.
The hero disappeared into the shadows of the colosseum. He would need to prepare for his grand entrance.
Within the special booths provided sat Sivrit and her father. The third seat was usually occupied by Attila, and its absence invited the cold wind to Sivrit’s side.
“...How are you feeling, Sivrit?”
“...I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” said Sivrit, “You should focus on the match and not worry about me too much.”
Gram knew better than anyone of the cruel scars of death, but Sivrit’s expression was not indicative of such a curse. Instead, he could tell that his daughter believed. Believed in miracles.
She was always this way, always having faith that eventually, the good and the bad will equalize — that karma was true. However, she did not categorize people as ‘sinners’ and ‘saints’, but rather a temporary frame — one in a trillion states. Victim, perpetrator, bystander, hero, all these names were dependent on context, and it would be unreasonable to believe that the world would punish the evil justly, and reward those who were good.
Instead, she focused on individual actions. Sivrit had faith that by doing good things, good things would return to her. It was logical — you reap what you sow after all — but not always consistent. Sometimes, good intentions could backfire, and underhanded tactics won the game.
As her father, he knew better than anyone that the fate of her friend would shape her future. Perhaps with just one more miracle…
At another booth sat the Endlegion Silverguards and a special guest — Ayn. The group centred around Siege, then Ayn and Alveolo to either side. Gallatin and Mal positioned in continuity from Alveolo, while Yuta sat next to Ayn. It seemed that Siege was quite popular though he was mostly silent. That was the quality the hero admired the most from the man — his charisma. Of course, what Ayn possessed was similar to charisma, but also a world apart. For him, the world protected him due to paternal, and maternal emotions, emotions born of an appreciation of beauty, religious fervour and attraction. The world revolved around him, but he could not control his moons. Siege, on the other hand, was a true leader. Instead of others orbiting him, they followed him. No, they positioned exactly how Siege liked — like a game of chess.
However, it was incredibly difficult to discern whether such an image of the great hero was true — whether he was a true mastermind or not. Sometimes, he seemed to experience emotional outbursts, and perhaps that contributed to his success. Instead of feeling like a deity, he felt more like a respectable king — someone great, but still fallible. Someone who could reach great things with the help of others. Ayn wanted to learn more about Siege, and how he became this way. If he was to be a hero, this hero was who he wanted to be.
Siege could feel the eyes surrounding him, focused directly on him. Reporters, fans, Alveolo… Sir Calendar? The hero was quite used to the sensation and learned to ignore it. It was an efficient practice of focus — which he would need this day. When the 18th-hour strikes, the hero Kyriekaos would most likely arrive, or at least Reginn assured so. Depending on the outcome, the Endlegion may have to step in, to prevent the death of an innocent girl. He had planned a strategy after gathering data on Reginn from the first fight, and with Sir Ayn’s help, he calculated their chance of success at 32%. As long as it was greater than zero, it was possible.
Through the impenetrable armour, Siege could feel a warm sensation wrapping around his arm — Alveolo. Was she feeling nervous today? Well, it made sense because her most powerful spell was easily tanked by Reginn. Or perhaps it was the fact that she felt that Ayn was slowly replacing her position as the second in command — which of course would never happen.
Siege was not particularly a fan of touching. He never did such things unless the situation required him to. The sweat, the dirt, the heat — he disliked all of it. However, as fire is welcome in the coldest winters, it isn’t too bad sometimes.
The hero looked up to see the match had already ended — 17:55 — five minutes left.
He held Alveolo’s hand. It was a bit sweaty, and he could not see her eyes, but it was fine. Siege looked to the others, and they looked back at him. They were all ready in their hearts.
“...Are you ready, Alveolo?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“...Yes.”
“Do not fear fate,” said Siege, “we will win.”
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17:56
17:57
17:58
17:59
…
…
…
Suddenly, the dark sky splits just for a second into the shape of a double-crossed star. Not the presence of true light, but the absence of darkness. From such area falls a cross — though it may also be a casket — and a girl.
“Good people of the kingdom Avangarden, it seems that we have an additional match for the night.” said not the familiar announcer, but King Johaness himself.
“It has been a difficult few weeks, and you may feel that the nation is under attack from a mysterious force undermining our safety and liberty.” continued the King, “That is why we, the royals have prepared a special occasion today: the public execution of the former hero and serial killer, Kyriekaos.”
Reginn understood his cue and dropped down onto the coarse sands of the arena. Showmanship was his blood, for he was the infallible protector of Avangarden. He had acted for the humans before and he shall do so till the end of time. The hero landed gracefully, and all the sand seemed to disintegrate from his skin. Equipped with the armour the royals had prepared for him, Reginn was ready to be the executioner of this trial.
“Tonight, we are joined by the second hero, the child of blood Reginn. They have been resurrected by the royal to benefit and protect the nation, and by the royal decree, Kyriekaos, the thirty-third hero of Avangarden, is to be executed — by any means necessary.”
A subtle lie — or perhaps not so subtle. The validity of the evidence matters not, only the delivery.
The casket finally opened in silent anticipation. No one was brave enough to make a noise. No one questioned what was happening. Something like this had never happened before, and it may never happen again. However, the audience is entranced in this battle of the century, no, of all time. All rented seated, quiet, frozen.
From the casket entered the body of Attila. A few recognized her, but most only saw the demon. Of course, most did not study the heroes of the past and were not aware even of the nation’s past — not that they were at fault. All misinformation is deliberate. The royals showed only what the people needed to see — needed on defeated by a triumphant, absolute hero.
“...An execution?” said the figure, “I have no plans to die here. The smell of blood merely led me to my fate — or perhaps it was the homunculi.”
Reginn did not respond to his partner but to the audience instead. His voice was amplified, and all was heard.
“Avangard is but a shell of its former self, and the inability to defeat a single pest is to show the degradation — a divine reminder and punishment. The nation has strayed from the path of the Goddess — the path of the human. Have we all been blinded to fall to our knees, living with our heads down? To lower ourselves to their level?”
“When one day we shall be no more, then the coming generations shall be able to look
back with pride upon this day — the day on which a great hero affirmed the nation of the Goddess.”
“In the past, millions of men shed their blood for this kingdom. How merciful a fate to be
allowed to create this world today without suffering. No rise, Avangardians, subscribe to it,
hold it tightly in your hands!”
“I wish to thank her who allowed me to return to my homeland so that I could return it to my Alsland! May every man and woman realize the importance of the hour today, assess it and then bow one’s head in reverence before the will of the Almighty who has wrought this miracle in all of us within these past few weeks.”
A careful increase in the dose of adrenaline, dopamine and testosterone in testosterone. Speech is chemistry, for it ensues these reactions. So, chemistry must be speech. Reginn was a scientific man, though a devout believer of the Goddess. He knew the exact commands to illicit vivid reactions.
A thunderous applause surrounded Kyriekaos, like guns shot in her direction. A welcome parade — just for her.
“...You sound just like my father.”
“Then I suppose he was a great man.”
“...”
Kyriekaos’s nonexistent smile was extinguished — Reginn could see. Who was he talking to again? It must’ve been the flower. Too many questions surrounded this hero. Solution: to rid of the question.
It took a few minutes for the applause to turn to whisper, then whimper, then silence. Reginn basked in the sound until then, against his usual hatred for loud noises. His blood began pumping even harder as he loosened and stretched his muscles. Each fibre shook with anticipation, and his mind raced in foreign excitement. This was a moment just for him, placed on a silver platter.
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“So, when are we supposed to intercept?” asked Yuta.
“You’ll see it in his eyes,” replied Siege.
“Of course, that’s assuming that he is a human,” added Alveolo.
“You’ll see.”