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Wyatt Graves

I find myself abruptly transported to the entrance of an immense coliseum, its grandeur beyond comprehension. Stumbling backward, I stare upward at the structure that towers like a titan, its walls gleaming with silver and gold, adorned with intricate marble inlays that exclusively depict balances, courtrooms, and jail cells. Yet, despite its opulence, there is an unsettling absence of life and vibrancy within its confines.

My head shifts back and forth, searching my surroundings, and I catch wind of the walls behind the arena. Walls stretch endlessly to the ceiling above, appearing to journey until the end of the horizon in both directions. To my astonishment, while fulfilling my previous perceptions, the walls behind the arena are encased by walls of fleshy blood, pulsating with the fiery glow of lava and flames.

The air hangs heavy with an eerie silence, one that fills my lungs with disturbance.

This... what is this? Are these the Weirs that I thought I saw? I stride forward just a single step as I truly take in the once majestic arena that now lies desolate and abandoned, devoid of the excitement and grandeur it must have once held. The absence of anyone, or anything at all, leaves the space feeling hollow and empty, a mere shell of its former glory. Though, I suppose I don't know what that glory was.

Perhaps it never was anything more than this. Walking toward the building, I gain some momentum, quickly reaching a wide-open arch, evidently meant for me to walk beneath. The arch leads me into a tunnel, just as uncomfortably beautiful.

Though the walls reflect the brilliance of the precious metals and the intricate craftsmanship of the marble, there is a sense of decay and neglect that taints the atmosphere. The once vibrant colors have faded, and the polished surfaces now bear the scars of time and neglect.

Somehow, that only adds to the charm, and I find myself staring at the twists and curves, unable to look away. Still, despite its breathtaking beauty, the coliseum exudes a haunting aura of desolation, as if it were a monument to a forgotten era, lost in the annals of history.

In a way, it was. The Devil must have made this place. That much is clear. And he likely did so a thousand years ago or so. I wonder how he did it. How did such a grand creation spawn from such a lazy God?

My legs carry me through the tunnel as the noise begins to grow. I hear the clashing of... something. It doesn't sound like steel against steel. It sounds... more blunt. It is more direct and less metallic.

"Bone against metal."

Blodwyn provides the answer, and I nod alongside him. He's right. That is the noise we hear, bone against steel, repeatedly. Again and again, the sounds only growing more frenzied and frantic. My footsteps increase in pressure and swiftness as light manifests at the end of the tunnel, washing over my eyes.

For a split second, I'm blinded, that is, until I see him—my father. I recognize him not from the picture or the memories. He's far too battered for any of that to click together. An arm is missing, removed at the elbow, while the other is nothing but shaved bone. Despite that, the bones don't look close to human-like, discolored, and blue in tone.

Furthermore, his right knee is bent backward, the bone jutting out from the other side. Only his left leg is not horribly disfigured, but there is still a rapier shoved through the heel. Eight more thin blades reside in his chest, as well as one through his throat horizontally.

Purple blood slides out of Killian Graves' many wounds as his lungs lie open, ripped into view by some creature that removed all his ribs. My jaw lowers as I witness the other side of seeing a Graves' fight. Though... he doesn't have an aid like Blodwyn. These wounds would be lethal to any Angel, even me, if I didn't have the artifact within me.

I mean, one of his lungs looks like scrambled meat. His face is similarly beaten up, one eye gone and the other unnaturally colored and inflamed. The only reason I even recognize him is because something sparks up within my body. My blood shifts ever so slightly, my hands tremble just a bit, and my eyes dilate.

It's an odd sensation, and not an inherently positive or negative one, but my father doesn't seem in such a good place.

Bodies line the vast, sandy arena, with the blood of many different colors spilled all over. I creep forward yet another step, endeavoring to enter the vast arena to see more, to do something, but a film of gold blocks my hand. As... while my eyes scan over the corpses, I feel a thrash of remnant Ether, lingering Dominions, Virtues, and Powers. If I were to guess... more Angels are buried here by my father than I've ever met. The sheer knowledge of that has my hand tighten against the film.

I press on it further, unable to push past it even as Blodwyn imbues my body with strength and Painsforge joins in. The film doesn't even budge. My father also doesn't seem to notice me. The man, disfigured beyond repair for nearly all methods of healing, twists and catches a massive cleaver with his petite forearm bone.

Like an expert swordsman, reminding me of Lennon when he had arms, my father deflects the cleaver to the side. The steel slams into the earth, digging several feet deep. Killian darts forward toward his opponent, an oversized demon with rippling muscles who dual-wields a rapier and a cleaver.

The demon hauls back the cleaver, but my father kicks the back of the unwieldy blade with his working leg, using the force to lunge at the demon. In response, a rapier pierces through my father's heart, but that doesn't even slow the man. Instead, as calmly as a doctor would open an incision, the Undying slips his own forearm's bone into the demon's eye cavity.

It enters so smoothly, so effortlessly, that I can only be impressed by the finesse of the violence. Killian Graves is unfazed by the pain from his wounds, something I know all and well, but the ease at which he treats his injuries is beyond what I expected. It's practiced. It's... almost ordinary how the grand demon crashes backward, dying without a wheeze.

A moment passes of silence after the demon falls. Again, I knock on the wall, unsure of how things work but expecting this door to open after the battle ends. Yet it does not. A light emerges on the other side of the vast arena as I squint, finding an identical wall fading away to reveal another demon. This one is an 8th Sigiled, marked by Darklight to be a Motherbound, obviously sent to die against my father.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

But as my fists slide down the golden wall, some things lock in place in my mind. Eldest isn't directly fighting my father. He's sending others in his stead to gradually weaken him. But how? Why is he in this arena? Why can't I enter?

And where is Lily? The Colt is still on my hip, but I don't sense her presence. I spin around and walk back down the long hallway of inscriptions, but with just a step, an old man appears. His hands are behind his back, and his head is slightly bowed. Behind him is a little girl peeking her head out with a smile. The sharp teeth in her grin alleviate some of my worries.

"I am sorry, young Graves, but this... Crimson Court of mine is not eligible for more than one participant from each side. If you wish to aid your father and me, you must take his place."

I furrow my brows as Lily skips past me, prancing right to the golden barrier and staring at our father. Still, my focus remains on the God as Killian strikes down another Virtue.

"Why do I have to take his place? What is happening here?"

The Devil clears his throat, striding beyond me and up to the grand wall of gold. His hand extends out, the wrinkled fingers splaying to touch the wall as it undulates to his flesh.

"I created this shortly after becoming a God. It... it is my second Sirza—the Crimson Court Bars Judgment. The purpose was to design a wall, a gate for the Underworld to Hell. For... a few years, I could control it, deviate how many and who it would take inside to fight. But over time, like all Sirzas, it grew beyond my control, developing far beyond my Godly limits. Once that happened, some restrictions fell into place."

The Devil forms a single line within the wall as words manifest for me to read. They are inscribed into the impenetrable wall, just as profoundly as my Sigil is into me.

Rule 1: No Gods. Those who have reached such a level are demoted within these walls. Otherwise, they will be repelled with all the Court's might.

Rule 2: Duels only. Judgment is made through the blood and suffering of the few, not the many.

Rule 3: For one to leave without judgment, one must replace. Otherwise, death is the only result of a Session.

Rule 4: The Devil, the Arbiter Of Chaos, the Red Judge, is forbidden from entering a Session.

"That last rule is new, as of the previous... how old are you? Eighteen or so years? Only in the past few months have I been unable to overpower it. Any time your father left these binds, I had to sacrifice to buy him time to return. These halls, this arena, it loathes me, for I keep it from growing naturally."

Gazing past the barrier, I observe my father in action. The man is swift, as fast as Virgil, if not more so. His every act carries Marshall's momentum and strength, and his instincts are on par with Johnny's. How he treats himself is beyond Lennon's self-cruelty, and his Ether curdles in a way I've never seen before.

It... is more than alive. Ether swims around him, shifting through that forearm with... a... with... the feeling of death itself, or perhaps the refusal of such death, of immortality. The Ether is denser than Plasmic by such a magnitude that it could only be the stage beyond Solid.

With awe, I watch the ambient Ether in the air become infected by that 'concept' of immortality, spreading further and more insidiously. Killian's opponent, a lithe, snake-like demon, immediately recoils from the trembling air. Smartly so, it would appear as the little bit of Ether she touches boils and blackens like advanced necrosis.

Shaking my head, I pull my focus from the battle, turning back to the Devil. He says he cannot control this place any longer, that it has gone beyond him. But what are we supposed to do about it?

"Is there anything we can do? I need to speak to him. If you can no longer enter..."

The Devil sighs and pushes his palm against the wall. As he does so, a blinding aura emanates from him, practically shoving me to my knees. I look away, immediately feeling relieved. The light dissipates shortly after, and I glance back, still disturbed by Bonfire's heart held in Lily's petite hands.

"I cannot. I am sorry. For a long time, I was the only God willing to lessen my own strength to that of a mortal. That is... this building is why the other Gods cannot leave Hell. Some broke out of Purgatory after their total infections, but this has held them with me at the helm. But there is another man with you that shouldn't fear a 9th Sigiled. Lennon Hull can take a Dominion to the grave, barring it's not an Offspring."

I nod to his words, most certainly directed toward Eldest, Ireful, and Gorgeous. Still, I catch his hidden meaning within his story. Inside here, even if he wanted to, he would be unable to respond to prayers. I meet his eyes as the respect I have for him increases considerably.

He might not have answered us, but he was still fighting.

Sighing, I twist back to watch my father as I notice some text written into the film as if it were created by a furious entity. The Crimson Court must have its own mind at this point.

LOUIS FERN! YOU ARE NOT PERMITTED ENTRY INTO THESE GROUNDS! YOU HAVE EARNED YOUR LIFE AND YOUR FREEDOM! CRIMSON JUSTICE HAS DECLARED YOU RIGHTEOUS! DO NOT INTRUDE!

Louis Fern. My mind tickles as I slide an eye back over to the God. Some part of me knew it. There are so few names that are held to such an extreme standard as Re—ow! and Louis Fern are. The inventor of Excavator turns his face down to me and releases a slight smile.

"I see. You recognize my name. Excavator has not been lost, then. Be careful with that one. It led to this, after all. Come. Let us see how the others are doing."

With a wave of his hand, my sights warp, and I stumble forward as I appear beside Lennon, Birdie, Virgil, and the whole group in the stands of the arena. Marion and Otto are cheering loudly as my friend stands with crossed arms. Lily prances to the railing, shouting over the side despite another golden wall blocking her voice. Aniwye is already staring over, wide-eyed and vehemently focused.

I watch my father kill yet another demon. This time, however, he falls to a knee afterward, long, straining gasps of air filling his remaining lung as he attempts to stand once more. Louis Fern shakes his head sadly beside me while Lily moves more of the Cardinal's fluid into Bonfire's heart. Stretching to ignore how awful it is, I listen to the Devil.

"He is extraordinary, isn't he? One hundred Powers. Forty Virtues. Eight Dominions. And still. He has not fallen. My record is not much higher, despite the centuries I have reigned, and I'm a God. While I stood there, few were willing even to try. The bigger issue was just resisting the Crimson Court's influence."

Squinting, I find the other door opening some more, and the light starts to spill out from the door. A figure begins to appear, and I turn to Lennon, the swordsman sitting with interest in only Killian.

"Lennon. Can you—"

"Sounds like fun. Send me in. How do I join?"

What? I raise my hand to question him, but Louis grabs Lennon's shoulder and hauls him to the railing. The swordsman's eyes show vehement surprise at the God's physical strength despite his stature as he's tossed like a child. Then, he places Lennon's head against the wall, and the swordsman ceases to resist.

An instant later, a large balance appears above the arena with a phantasmal nature. It is see-through, yet I can see a similar kind of Ether as my father was using earlier; it is constructed of a duality of order and chaos instead of Killian's deathly immortality.

Everyone falls motionless under its light as if enchained. I am unimpeded, however, likely due to my Sigil's nature. Curious, I step around Birdie as golden light covers Lennon, and in the next moment, he is gone, replaced by a lethally wounded man several years his senior.

I lose focus of Lennon as my attention falls entirely onto the figure before me. Finally, I found my father. Finally.

Killian Graves shakes his head as if concussed and confused before shifting his remaining eye across the silent seats to me. An expansive smile stretches on his half-missing lips. It's almost the smile of a corpse, however. My heart freezes at the sight of him, but I'm unsure of the exact emotion, whether its excitement, worry, or dread.

I step toward him while all the others are still frozen, and he lifts his hand toward me before glancing down at the bone that now composes his forearm. A low, jubilant laugh leaves my father's wretched throat.

"Well done, boy. Late start, but you made it in time. I—"

Neither he nor I get to speak as a blinding light forms on the opposite sight of Lennon's arena. Another balance appears above us, crippling everyone but me once more. Then, I see a familiar face, a beautiful one affixed to a human-like figure, as she strides onto the arena against Lennon.

Her clothes are elegant, expansive, and ornate, and her delicate laughs echo throughout the air.

"Ah ha! Let us dance, Killian! Oh... How unexpected! But this is alright. He will return after you become family. Swordsman without a sword! Tonight... tonight! Let us dine with our blades! With our lives! The Crimson Court is about to bleed!"

Killian's face loses all of its hardly remaining color as he pivots away from me once the restraints recede. Even the Devil sighs while staring down at the arena. Aniwye doesn't care, however, and steps to hug my father. The man doesn't resist, too caught up in the current events I am just beginning to comprehend.

A rumble fills the coliseum as the Devil groans, raising his hands only to have blood leaking from his nose. Letters appear on the vast barrier that blocks us from interfering in Lennon's battle, and the tremors only worsen.

Court is in session. Due to recent events, namely, a consolidation of higher powers, a second juror has appeared. A third is on its way. As usual, the worthy party is allowed to cross onto the other side of the Court. Those deemed guilty cannot. If one does not volunteer to fight, then they forfeit, and the challenger may hold the next session with an advantage. Thanks to the Court's growth, all other minor passages through have been forcibly closed.

5...