The circular arena was a cauldron of noise, a smooth 10 meter walls amplifying the roar of the crowd. The crowd’s energy was electric, a chaotic blend of jeers and cheers that rattled the walls. Green flames from the torches licked the air, their shadows dancing across the loamy ground like specters. Each footstep sent small clouds of dust rising, carrying the acrid stench of burn toast and sweat. Feels the same under the feet as the sundered plains, she noted offhandedly.

The twisted forms of demonic spectators loomed above, their glowing eyes fixed hungrily awaiting their evenings entertainment. Her.

When her opponent entered from the opposite gate, Kerrigan’s stomach dropped. Squire Zalfon. He sauntered into the ring, a blank menacing looking mace resting on one shoulder. His eyes locked onto hers, filled with smug confidence.

“Surprise” he called out, his voice dripping with amusement. “I have to admit, once you said you were an Out-realmer, so oblivious, so naive, how could I resist. ” He twirled his mace lazily, the sharp, metallic points along its head glinting in the light.

Kerrigan tensed, raising her axe. “Zalfon. Funny running into you here. Let me guess—you wanted to ‘welcome’ me personally?”

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed in the arena. “Of, course. First come, first serve. You're untouchable out of the arena within your grace period. In here though, you're all mine"

"Why are you so egar to fight me", she asked.

"Your an Out-realmer with power you don’t deserve. You think you’re special?” Zalfon sneered, circling her. “I clawed my way up from nothing. My first kill wasn’t even a demon—it was my own damned brother. Because that’s what it takes to survive here. You? You haven’t earned your strength. You’re an insult to every demon who’s fought for power. You don’t know the rules, the customs, or even the meaning of what it is to be Legion. So, I thought I’d do the Legion a favour and take that unearned strength of yours for myself.”

Her jaw tightened. “You murdered your own brother…wow, that’s fucked up, dude.”

“Ambition is survival here, Kerrigan,” he spat, his smirk fading into something darker. “Trust is a weakness. Betrayal is inevitable. The sooner you learn that the longer you might last.”

He took a step forward, his tail swishing behind him like a serpent preparing to strike. The crowd grew louder, cheering for blood.

“Trust?” Kerrigan sneered, planting her feet. “Oh, don’t worry. I already know better than to trust anyone in this hellhole. Especially someone like you.”

Zalfon grinned, raising his free hand. With a swift, practiced motion, he traced glowing runes into the air. The symbols burned like embers, and in an instant, a fireball erupted from his palm, streaking toward Kerrigan.

She dove to the side just in time. The fireball slammed into the ground where she’d been standing, sending a shower of black sand and heat across her face.

"Fuck Me!", she screamed in shock.

He could shoot fire from his fucking hands! Which was horrifying in her situation...but yet outrageously cool at the same time. Could she learn to do that? she wondered. The thought of being a human...well, a demon flamethrower was exciting as hell...Haha, you're a bloody wizard Kerri!

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

She rolled to her feet, gritting her teeth as the edge of her sleeve smouldered.

“That’s a neat trick, asshole,” she said, patting out the small flame. “Let’s see if you can do that after I’ve chopped OFF YOUR FUCKING HEAD.”

Kerrigan charged, swinging her axe in a brutal downward arc. Zalfon met it with the shaft of his mace, the weapons colliding with a deafening clang that vibrated up her arms. He was stronger than she’d anticipated, but she pushed, forcing him to take a step back.

“You’ve got spirit,” Zalfon admitted, his grin returning as he pulled away and spun, aiming a strike at her side. “Shame it won’t save you.”

Kerrigan ducked, the mace whistling past her head, and retaliated with a wide swing of her axe. He jumped back just in time, the blade slicing through the air mere inches from his chest.

The two circled each other, weapons at the ready.

“Come on, Kerri,” she muttered. “Think. He’s a wizard, you’re not. But you’re smarter—use your head.”

“Think you’re clever, do you?” Zalfon taunted, his tail snapping like a whip toward her legs.

He’s Bloody good hearing though, she thought as she jumped over it, landing awkwardly but managing to stay on her feet. “Not clever,” she shot back. “Just not a dick.”

With a snarl, Zalfon drew another rune in the air. This time, the fireball was larger, brighter, and it came at her faster than before. Kerrigan raised her axe instinctively, the flat of the blade catching the brunt of the flames. The impact sent her skidding back, her arms screaming from the force, and the heat seared her skin.

She staggered, her breathing heavy. The crowd roared louder, sensing blood in the air.

Zalfon advanced, his mace raised high. “You see, Kerrigan, this is what happens to the weak in the Legion. Everyone’s out for themselves, every single one.” His eyes gleamed with malice. “And you? You’re just easy meat...basically a free meal”

“Funny,” she panted, wiping sweat and soot from her brow. “I was about to say the same thing.”

She charged again before he could respond, closing the distance between them in a blur. Zalfon swung his mace, but she sidestepped, twisting her body and bringing her axe down in another overhead chop. She wasn’t going to win on skill, she had squat in that department. The only thing she’d used an axe on before was chopping firewood...but she’d done that a metric fuckton on the farm. She should swing an axe as good as any of her three larger older brothers.

Zalfon again blocked her strike with his mace, but the force of the impact drove him to one knee.

Kerrigan didn’t give him a chance to recover. She used her head…headbutting him in the nose while his mace was locked up. He cried out at the unexpected move. Kicking out, her boot catched him in the chest and sent him sprawling onto his back. He snarled, scrambling to his feet, but she was already on him.

He swung his mace wildly, and she ducked under it, her tail lashing out to knock his legs out from under him. Zalfon hit the ground hard, his weapon slipping from his grasp, she kicked it away keeping an eye on his hands.

Kerrigan stood over him, her axe raised high. “Any last words?” she growled.

Zalfon glared up at her, defiance burned bright. “You’ll never last here. The Legion will eat you alive.” He sneered up at her, his lips curling into a final, mocking grin.

Kerrigan raised her axe, the weight of it solid and cold in her hands. She hesitated, just for a heartbeat…then Zalfon’s hand twitched as if to cast something, and her hesitation vanished. The axe fell, a brutal arc of dark metal and fury, and the world seemed to pause as it struck. The impact echoed with a wet thwack, silencing the crowd for one endless moment before the roar resumed.

She smirked. “Maybe. But at least I’m not dying with a smug grin on my face.”

On his death, Kerrigan felt a new rush of power coursing through her veins. She yanked her axe free, it caught on something, bone probably, and she had to see-saw it a little to free it. Just like chopping firewood, she thought.

“Guess betrayal’s not such a great survival strategy after all,” she muttered, turning to face the roaring crowd.

The cheers quickly began to fade, replaced by a low murmur that rippled through the crowd like an undercurrent. Kerrigan stood over Zalfon’s corpse, her chest heaving, black ichor dripping from her axe. She could feel their eyes on her, hungry and appraising. This wasn’t just entertainment to them—this was a test, a judgment. And she had passed. For now. She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, smearing sweat and soot, and glanced toward the stands. Knight Lord Bolten was in the crowd watching her, his expression unreadable. He gave her the barest nod before turning away. Kerrigan’s stomach twisted. She had won—but had she won well enough?