Chapter 15: The Champion’s Wish
The roar of the arena still echoed in Aron's ears as he stood victorious, his body battered but unbroken. The bloodstained sand beneath him bore witness to his triumph, and now, as champion, he was granted a single wish.
He could have wished for power, for wealth, for freedom.
But only one thought consumed him—Greg must suffer.
He clenched his fists, his body trembling not with exhaustion, but with rage. He had no way to take the throne; Greg had made sure of that. The new rule had already been enforced the moment Aron claimed victory—no king could be overthrown or killed. Greg had sealed his fate the second he sensed Aron's rise.
Aron exhaled sharply, his lips curling into a bitter smirk. "Then I wish for Greg's five wives to be given to me."
A murmur rippled through the temple as the gods bore witness. The wish could not be denied. The very system Greg had manipulated was now the source of his own humiliation. His reign would remain, but the women beside him—his symbols of dominance—would be stripped away. Greg's expression twisted in fury, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrest of his throne. He wanted to object, to demand retribution, but the gods had spoken. His voice, once filled with arrogance, now carried an edge of desperation. Yet, he could do nothing but watch as his wives were taken from him, his power chipped away piece by piece.
As the divine magic wove reality into submission, a presence heavier than the air itself settled over the temple. A deep, amused voice rang out, smooth yet chilling.
Zeraphis had returned.
"Ah… entertaining as ever. The pieces are now set. The game has become stagnant, and so I have… adjusted it. Let's begin again. The game is only fun when the pieces struggle against their fate."
A cold chuckle filled the chamber. "I grew bored, so I replaced my piece with a new king."
From the shadows, another voice—silky and playful—joined in. Vaelora.
"Hmph… Let my new husband play. He still has a role to fulfill, and I'm rather curious to see how he fares this time." Her tone carried amusement, but beneath it lay something unreadable, something dangerous.
The gods had begun their next game.
And Aron was now at the center of it.
The Present
Aron stood in the arena once more, wearing a mask that hid his identity, ensuring no one knew he was the past champion, the roar of the bloodthirsty crowd surrounding him. He was not alone—twenty survivors remained, each desperate for victory. Yet Aron felt no fear, no hesitation. His strength, stamina, and intelligence had made him the last arena champion, and now, he would win again.
His gaze swept across the battlefield before locking onto Greg, who sat smugly in the royal stands, surrounded by his ten wives. The same man who had manipulated the rules, ensuring his untouchable status.
A smirk played on Aron's lips. Not this time. He knew Greg was watching, but this time, Aron wasn't just another contestant. He was the unseen challenger, the hidden piece the gods had set in motion. And whether Greg realized it or not, the true battle had just begun.
Among the masked contestants stood Ethan and Nile, their faces concealed just like Aron's. None of them knew who their allies were, or if they even had any. The masks turned them all into strangers, forcing them to rely only on instinct and survival.
The arena fell into a tense silence.
Then—
GONG!
The deep, resounding sound of the gong shook the very air, signaling the beginning of another blood-soaked trial. The crowd erupted into cheers, their thirst for violence unmatched.
From his throne, Greg leaned forward, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. But as his gaze swept the arena, it briefly faltered when it landed on Aron's side of the field. His jaw clenched, his fingers curling against the armrest of his throne. There, among the onlookers, were five familiar figures—his former wives, now belonging to Aron.
A flicker of hatred crossed his face, but he quickly masked it beneath his usual arrogance. Still, Aron had seen it. Greg was seething.
"Let the game begin."