CHAPTER 11: ART OF WAR: PART 2

The battle to the death between brothers, Keane and me, began swiftly, like a well-played game of chess. One had to make the first move. He did.

Without hesitation, he flicked a finger at my forehead. My small, frail body was powerless against his brute strength, and I collapsed to the ground instantly. If I could be felled so easily by a mere gesture, what hope did I have? Keane wasted no time. He stomped the ground, trying to crush me beneath his feet as I struggled to recover. But being small had its advantages, I rolled away just in time, escaping unscathed.

I was like a fly, darting frantically to avoid death. Only five minutes into the match, and the outcome was already clear. I didn't stand a chance.

But I refused to be remembered as the Colossal who met the fastest defeat in the Battle of Successor. I had to use the earring's ability.

"Die. Die!" I commanded over and over again, but nothing happened.

Realization struck me like a dagger to the chest. Xanthe had tricked me. She was also a candidate for the throne, of course she wouldn't give a rival a true advantage.

Keane laughed, his voice a booming echo in the colosseum. "What nonsense are you muttering? Has fear finally driven you insane?"

He advanced toward me. Step by step, the end drew closer.

I knew I couldn't win. It was my time.

The moment he was close enough, my body surrendered to fate. No more running. No more struggling. Just acceptance.

His kick landed with devastating force, launching me across the arena. I crashed into the concrete wall, pain exploding through me as blood filled my mouth. My breaths came in shallow gasps. My vision blurred. My strength faded.

"I'm sorry, Mother… I guess this is how it ends, huh?"

Then—

A deafening boom.

The colosseum trembled. A storm of dust engulfed the arena.

Through my hazy vision, I saw a third figure lying motionless beside us. A female Colossal.

My heart stopped.

It was her.

Mother.

The breath I didn't know I was holding escaped me in a broken gasp. I forced my body to move, stumbling toward her. No, no, no… I prayed I was wrong, that she was still breathing. But when I reached her side, all hope shattered.

She was gone.

A memory surfaced, playing like a cruel illusion:

"I don't want to lose you. Let's run away before the Battle of Successor. We'll go somewhere they'll never find us, a place like the woods."

She wanted to leave. She wanted to escape. And yet, because of me, because of my selfish desire to win, to make her queen, she was dead. Forever gone.

Tears streamed down my face as another memory followed, a whisper from the past:

"Do you hate seeing your mother kneel? If you take the throne, she will never bow to anyone again."

But that promise was broken.

I lifted my head and saw him. Our father. Standing above Mother's lifeless body with his two wives at his side, gazing down at her as if she were nothing.

"What a shame," he muttered before turning away, retreating to his seat.

One of them had pushed her. I could see it in their eyes, they felt nothing. No remorse. No guilt.

Keane smirked. "Don't worry, little brother. You'll be joining her soon."

The crowd erupted into laughter, chanting kill, kill, kill! as if they were nothing more than beasts drunk on bloodlust.

They didn't respect the dead.

"How dare they laugh?"

Rage coiled around my heart like a serpent. I wanted to annihilate them all, every last Colossal in Caelum, just as they had erased the last of the Hydra moments ago.

This was no longer about survival.

This was war.