The show must go on

The chamber was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and beasts. A lone magic stone lamp hung from the ceiling, its pale light casting flickering shadows over the cluttered space. Wooden crates lay scattered across the floor, some cracked open to reveal stacks of straw, iron chains, and weaponry. Along the walls, blades and spears glinted faintly, half-buried in dust.

Monster stables lined the room, their rusted bars barely holding back the creatures within. Growls and hissing breaths filled the space, punctuated by the scrape of claws against metal. A massive, dog-like beast pressed its snout against the gaps, its yellowed fangs gnawing at the bars. It whined, low and restless, as if sensing the shifting air.

Far above, the roar of a crowd rumbled through the coliseum, a distant, vibrating storm. The sound barely reached here—muted, yet undeniable.

A door creaked open.

"What's going on?" A woman's voice, impatient. "The next match is starting! Where's the monster?"

Boots clicked against the stone as she strode into the chamber. A member of Ganesha Familia, charged with managing the event, her red cloak swayed behind her as she glanced around in frustration.

Her irritation faded the moment she saw them.

Four of her comrades lay sprawled across the ground. Limbs slack, eyes unfocused. Not dead—she could see their chests rise and fall—but unnaturally still. The woman rushed to the nearest one, pressing a hand to his forehead. No wounds. No sign of struggle. But his skin was warm, his breath shallow.

Poison? No. This was something else.

A chill crept up her spine. This was no ordinary accident.

She straightened, scanning the room. The beasts still snarled behind their bars, unaware of the stillness that had overtaken their caretakers. Nothing was out of place, and yet—

The air shifted.

It wasn't the subtle tremor of an approaching attack. Not the sudden movement of a predator leaping from the shadows. No, this presence moved slowly. Deliberately.

And it was right behind her.

"Don't move," a voice murmured.

Something soft brushed against her skin—hands, impossibly smooth, impossibly gentle, covering her eyes from behind.

Then, her world broke.

A breath. A whisper against her ear. A scent that burned through her mind like sweet, cloying poison. It was not magic in the way spells were cast, not enchantment in the way the gods wove fate, but something deeper, more absolute.

Her body locked in place. Thought vanished. Her will—gone.

The voice spoke again, soft and laced with quiet amusement. "The keys. Where are they?"

She shivered. The words pierced her mind, slipping beneath the surface like a needle threading through silk.

She obeyed before she understood.

Her fingers fumbled at her waist, grasping the cold metal of the keyring. Slowly, trembling, she lifted it up.

"Thank you."

The hands withdrew. The presence faded.

She collapsed.

Her legs refused to support her, and she crumpled to the floor in a graceless heap, joining her fallen comrades. The world blurred. She could not move, could not think, could only sit there, her breath quick and shallow, waiting for the feeling to return to her limbs.

She barely registered the sound of footsteps, fading into the distance.

"I'm sorry," the voice whispered.

Freya did not look back.

She moved through the coliseum's underground corridors with the ease of someone who had long since ceased to fear any and all sorts of barriers. The guild's guards, the Ganesha Familia members stationed at the west entrance—they had all been dealt with in the same manner. Gently. Effortlessly.

She had no strength. No weapons.

She did not need them.

Because she was beautiful.

No, that was not quite right. She was Beauty. A force, a presence, something that bent wills and shattered defenses without ever needing to lift a blade.

It was a power that could not be reasoned with, could not be resisted. Gods and mortals alike had fallen before it.

And now, she would wield it once more.

Freya reached the heart of the chamber and stopped. All around her, locked behind iron bars, monsters snarled and paced, their bodies tense with frustration. Some clawed at the stone, some rammed the metal, their restless energy filling the space with an oppressive, almost electric atmosphere.

Then, she removed her cloak.

Silence.

The growls died mid-throat. The scraping of claws ceased. The restless movement of dozens of creatures halted in an instant.

Silver hair cascaded down her back, gleaming in the dim light. Her pale skin, smooth as polished glass, reflected the flickering glow of the magic stone lamp. But it was her eyes that captured them—the swirling silver depths that pulled, consumed, devoured.

Even beasts, primal and mindless, could not escape her.

She smiled.

"I'll pick you."

Her gaze drifted over the cages, considering. They all stared back—some trembling, some frozen in place, but none able to look away.

Then, she found it.

A hulking form, fur as pale as moonlight. Broad shoulders, thick limbs corded with muscle, its long silver hair trailing down its back like a tail.

A Silverback.

It panted, its breath shallow. Its eyes twitched, locked onto hers. She could see it already—it had fallen.

Freya stepped forward, lifting the keys. The lock clicked open.

The iron gate swung outward with a groan.

The Silverback stepped through.

Monsters did not bow. They did not serve. They did not submit.

And yet, as it crossed the threshold, the great beast knelt before her.

Freya reached out, fingers brushing against its fur. It shuddered under her touch.

"Yes," she murmured, tracing its cheek. "You'll do."

A soft laugh bubbled in her throat, light, amused, almost childlike.

It was not often she played such games.

But this boy… he was special.

'That child has come here, hasn't he?'

Bell Cranel.

The name sat warm on her tongue, the thought of him sending a strange, pleasant thrill through her chest. That foolish, reckless, astonishing boy. She had watched him, watched him grow, watched him defy reason and expectation. A flame that should have been snuffed out, yet burned ever brighter.

How long had it been since she first noticed him?

'Ah, truly. I wanted to watch a little longer…'

She sighed, almost regretful.

But she had already set things into motion.

This was her game. And Bell—darling, fascinating Bell—was its centerpiece.

She wanted to see.

His confusion. His fear. His determination. His heroism.

'What will you do, Bell Cranel?'

She chuckled, pressing her fingers to the Silverback's forehead.

The monster shuddered, and the world trembled with it.

Its roar shattered the silence.

Above, the coliseum's walls shook as the beast's cry echoed through the tunnels, reaching the arena where thousands of voices screamed for blood.

Freya smiled.

And let the monster go.