A hush fell as Olag, the Fallen King of the Barbarian North, emerged first.

His massive frame bore the scars of countless battles, and he walked with the stiff dignity of a wounded predator—shoulders squared, stride steady. Yet, a quiver ran through his limbs. The slave curse seared through his circuits, and poison coursed through his veins.

From the other gate stepped Kravtsov, the Iron Maul—the reigning champion. Nearly as large as Olag, with thick arms crackling with arcs of lightning, he exuded cool confidence.

A magically amplified voice boomed from above:

“Presenting Olag, the fallen king of the Barbarian North! Once a warlord who led armies, now stepping into the Death Throne! And his opponent—our undefeated champion—Kravtsov, the Iron Maul, wielder of lightning’s fury!”

A roar rattled the stands. Some spat curses at Olag, calling him a barbarian. Others cheered on Kravtsov with fervent loyalty.

Lightning danced around Kravtsov’s forearms as he strode forward and tossed a length of chain aside. “So, you’re the ‘Barbarian King,’” he said in a gravelly accent. “I expected someone more… alive.”

Olag’s rugged face betrayed no emotion, though he dropped into a low, defensive stance—well-suited to counters and grapples.

Kravtsov sneered, short arcs of electricity sparking around his fists. “Fight me like a warrior,” he spat. “Have some spirit—we’ve got a show to perform.”

“Just shut up and kill me,” Olag replied, his voice hollow. “Or I’ll make it someone else’s job.”

His eyes were empty, yet the sheer focus in his gaze set Kravtsov on edge. This was no mindless brawler.

“START!”

The gong’s reverberation sent a ripple of anticipation through the crowd.

Olag lunged forward, his cursed body ignoring the burden of decay. He feinted high, forcing Kravtsov to raise his guard, then abruptly dropped low, sweeping at his ankles. The champion faltered. Olag seized the opening, driving his shoulder into Kravtsov’s midsection. The impact sent the larger man staggering back.

“That all you got?” Olag growled. He hooked an arm around the champion’s torso and wrenched him off-balance, his grip ironclad.

Gasps rippled through the audience. Olag pivoted, slamming Kravtsov face-first into the dirt.

The champion snarled, muscles bulging as he thrashed free, raw power shattering Olag’s hold.

Both fighters rose, eyes locked.

“You’re… better than you look,” Kravtsov admitted, wiping the dust from his face. A thin trickle of blood ran from his lip.

Kravtsov cracked his knuckles and surged forward, fists swinging like wrecking balls. Olag met the charge without hesitation. He sidestepped a wild hook, then twisted, catching Kravtsov’s wrist mid-swing. With a grunt, he yanked Kravtsov forward and ducked low. His knee shot up, hammering into the man’s gut.

Kravtsov coughed, doubling over. Olag hooked an arm under his opponent’s armpit and threw him over his shoulder. The ground shook as Kravtsov slammed into the dirt.

The champion rolled to his feet. “Lucky... shot,” he rasped.

Olag’s expression remained empty. “I don’t have luck.”

Kravtsov lunged again, fists becoming a storm of strikes. Olag caught the first punch mid-swing—an iron grip locking around Kravtsov’s wrist. The champion’s eyes widened, shock flickering across his face.

"Wha-"

Before he could react, Olag yanked him in and drove a brutal knee into his gut. A violent cough burst from Kravtsov’s lips as air fled his lungs. Olag didn’t hesitate. He latched onto the champion’s waist like a steel vice. The crowd barely had time to gasp before he hoisted Kravtsov off his feet and slammed him into the ground with a bone-crunching suplex.

Kravtsov groaned but instinctively swung a fist at Olag’s temple. It connected with a sickening crack, sending Olag sprawling sideways. The crowd cheered the show of brute strength.

But Olag was already rolling to his feet.

Kravtsov charged with a roar, hands raised for a hammer blow. Olag darted in, slipping under the strike. His hands shot out, one gripping the champion’s wrist, the other snaking around his throat. The pivot was seamless. Kravtsov found himself airborne again, flipped over Olag’s hip and slammed into the ground.

Realizing brute force alone wouldn’t win, Kravtsov kindled arcs of lightning around his arms. Sparks danced at his knuckles, crackling with pent-up mana.

BANG!

A shock burst forced Olag to disengage, leaving a scorched mark on Olag's chest.

“You don’t disappoint me,” Kravtsov rumbled. “You’re strong. Now it's time for me to repay your strength!”

He lunged, propelled by a burst of lightning. Olag attempted to parry, but Kravtsov’s crackling fist smashed his defense aside.

SLAM.

A jolt of electric force surged through Olag’s body, locking his muscles. He staggered back as Kravtsov unleashed a flurry of blows, each flickering with blue-white sparks.

THUNDERCLAP.

BOOM!

Olag coughed, the shock lingering in his ribs. He recognized he was slipping behind in raw speed.

Pain flared inside him, fueling the dark magic of his curse.

Still determined, Olag exploited a narrow opening to clinch with Kravtsov.

Stolen novel; please report.

If he could force the champion into a close-quarters hold, he might negate those devastating bursts of lightning-fueled strikes. He hooked an arm around Kravtsov’s waist, trying to drive him down.

Kravtsov retaliated with savage body shots that crackled with electricity, each punch slamming into Olag’s side. Olag gasped, forced to let go. For a fleeting moment, Kravtsov wavered—nearly trapped by Olag’s skillful lock—but escaped through brute strength.

“That all you got?” Kravtsov growled. “You had me worried for a moment. Keep fighting!”

Dark veins bulged under Olag’s skin as the slave curse flared, granting him unnatural stamina even as it eroded his mind. A faint snarl tore from his lips.

Not yet… let me stay in control…

Summoning all he had, Olag ducked Kravtsov’s next lunge and caught the champion off-guard with a brutal elbow to the jaw. The lightning arcs flickered out momentarily, and Kravtsov reeled, blood splattering onto the arena floor.

“You… look like you still have it in you after all!” the champion spat, blood dripping from his mouth, thunder rumbling around his fists once more.

With a desperate pivot, Olag slammed his forearm into Kravtsov’s torso, forcing a painful grunt from the champion. The crowd roared in shock at the sight of Kravtsov truly hurt.

But the champion grit his teeth, fury burning in his eyes. Kravtsov channeled a burst of lightning around his body, forcibly blasting Olag away.

The fallen king was hurled backward, tumbling across the ground until he crumpled against the arena wall.

Trying to stand, Olag tasted blood in his mouth, limbs shaking. A savage darkness clouded his vision. Each attempt to breathe stoked the curse deeper, forcibly knitting broken bones and scorching away rational thought.

Kravtsov approached, arcs of lightning crackling with renewed vigor.

“You’re good, Barbarian King. Shame I never got to meet you in your prime. That would've been a real fight,” he muttered, stepping in for the final assault.

Olag coughed, forcing himself upright. His mind frayed, instincts creeping in. He was losing himself.

I knew this was coming when I stepped into the ring…

He wished he could die as himself. Not as this… thing.

Seeing Kravtsov closing in, a single thought crossed his mind.

What was that boy's name again?

Ah... Yun Jin. At least my legacy is in a worthy warrior's hands…

CRACK.

Kravtsov’s strike shattered Olag’s guard, smashing into his collarbone. Pain ricocheted through his chest. Blood splattered across the arena floor as his vision darkened.

The slave curse surged to keep him standing. But Olag was already gone.

From this moment on, Olag was dead.

Kravtsov saw the shift.

“Don’t you fade on me now!” he snarled, launching another strike.

But Olag’s eyes were vacant. Primal instincts hijacked his limbs.

Olag’s eyes clouded over, the last shreds of reason dissolving beneath the oppressive weight of the slave curse.

His breathing grew ragged, chest heaving as his body contorted unnaturally. Dark veins bulged under his skin, pulsing with malignant energy.

The grounded fighter who had once commanded armies was gone; what remained was raw instinct—a creature driven solely by pain, survival, and bloodlust.

Kravtsov took a cautious step forward, the arcs of lightning crackling around his fists faltering as he registered the change.

"What the hell..." he muttered. The man's body language had shifted entirely; the stillness of a predator replaced by the spasmodic tension of a cornered animal.

His body lurched, muscles spasming with each twitch. The crowd fell into a stunned silence, held captive by the grotesque transformation of the fallen king.

Kravtsov widened his stance, drawing lightning into his core. "You still want to fight? Fine. Come get me."

The moment the words left his mouth, Olag charged.

Not with the disciplined footwork of a grappler, but in a staggering, four-limbed sprint.

Kravtsov swung, a right hook crackling with electric force aimed at the oncoming threat. Olag didn’t dodge. He took the blow to his temple with a sickening crack—but instead of falling, he latched onto Kravtsov's extended arm with both hands.

"Damn it!" Kravtsov cursed, electricity surging along his limb in an attempt to break free.

But Olag held on, lips peeling back further as he lunged with sudden, terrifying purpose.

His jaw snapped shut around Kravtsov’s neck.

The champion's eyes bulged. The searing agony of flesh being pierced sent shockwaves of pain through him. Olag’s teeth tore through skin and muscle, blood spilling over his face as he clamped down harder, shaking his head like a rabid wolf.

The crowd erupted into horrified shrieks. The calculated duel they had cheered for had devolved into savage brutality.

Kravtsov roared, electricity crackling wildly across his body. He hammered his fists against Olag's ribs, but the cursed warrior refused to release his grip.

The veins along Olag’s neck bulged further as he bit down with renewed force. Bones ground beneath the pressure. Kravtsov's legs wobbled; his vision swam.

"Enough!"

The champion drew on his mana reserves, summoning every last volt of power. Lightning surged outward in a crackling sphere that blasted Olag away.

The force launched the fallen king across the arena, his body skidding through the dirt and crashing against the stone wall with bone-crunching force. Smoke rose from his charred skin, his limbs twitching.

Kravtsov staggered back, clutching the wound at his neck. Blood streamed between his fingers, and a jagged crescent of torn flesh throbbed beneath his grip.

"You crazy bastard," he gasped.

Across the arena, Olag stirred. He pressed his hands against the ground, struggling to rise. His eyes were vacant, lips flecked with blood.

The curse had stripped him of everything but one instinct: escape.

With a strangled, animalistic whimper, Olag turned and fled, limping toward the edge of the arena. His broken limbs jerked with each step, his breaths rattling with panic.

The crowd’s confusion melted into disgust.

"He's running!"

"Coward!"

"Kill the beast!"

Olag didn’t hear them. There is no Olag here.

It only heard the primal command echoing in his shattered mind.

Survive.

He reached the stone barrier and clawed at it desperately, broken nails scraping across the surface. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from his chest as his body fought to climb the impossible wall.

Behind him, Kravtsov wiped the blood from his chin and set his jaw. He stalked forward, the arcs of lightning reigniting along his arms.

WHAM.

He seized Olag by the back of the neck and slammed him into the dirt. The beast groaned, limbs flailing uselessly.

Kravtsov raised his boot.

CRACK.

The sickening sound of bone shattering silenced the colosseum.

Olag's body went still. Blood pooled beneath his skull. The dark veins receded; the curse finally extinguished.

The champion stood over the lifeless corpse, breathing heavily.

"What a waste," he muttered.