Chapter 7: The Hunters and the Hunted

The tournament was no longer just a competition.

It had become a battlefield.

The moment Aetheron absorbed Titan's Wrath, everything changed. He could feel it in the air—the way people looked at him, the way their whispers crawled through the coliseum like an unseen force.

They knew.

And now? They were afraid.

Selene's expression was unreadable as she walked beside him through the underground corridors beneath the coliseum. The matches would continue, but Aetheron had already drawn every pair of eyes onto himself.

"I should have seen this coming," she muttered, voice sharp. "But I didn't think you'd actually reveal it so soon."

Aetheron sighed. "I didn't have a choice. If I held back, I would've lost."

Selene stopped, turning to face him. "You don't get it, do you? There's no going back now."

Aetheron frowned. "What do you mean?"

She leaned in, lowering her voice. "The High Houses. The Nobles. The Academies. The Royal Court." She listed them off like a death sentence. "They all have one thing in common: They fear what they cannot control."

Aetheron stiffened.

Selene continued, her golden eyes burning. "And you, Aetheron? You are completely uncontrollable."

A silence stretched between them.

And then the torches flickered.

Aetheron felt it immediately—a presence, lurking just beyond his senses. Someone was watching.

Selene noticed it too. Her hand instinctively drifted toward the dagger at her waist.

Aetheron turned his head slightly.

A shadow moved at the end of the corridor.

Then—a whisper.

"Devourer…"

A Dead Man's Warning

Aetheron reacted instantly.

His body blurred, propelled by Titan's Wrath as he shot toward the source of the voice. Shadows twisted, figures slipping into the darkness, but Aetheron was faster.

His hand lashed out—black tendrils of Void Dominion wrapping around a hooded figure, dragging them into the dim torchlight.

The figure gasped, struggling against the void tendrils, but Aetheron tightened his grip. "Who are you?"

The man shuddered. "You shouldn't have shown it… You shouldn't have revealed it!"

Selene stepped closer, her dagger glinting. "Explain. Now."

The man's hood fell back, revealing sunken eyes and gaunt features. His voice was hoarse, desperate. "They'll come for you. They always do."

Aetheron narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

The man's breath hitched. "The Inquisitors. The ones who hunt those with abilities that should never exist."

Selene's expression darkened. "The High Inquisition?"

The man nodded frantically. "You don't understand. The moment you stole that ability—they saw. And now? They'll never stop hunting you."

Aetheron's pulse quickened. He had known revealing his Devourer ability would have consequences, but this?

This was worse than he expected.

The High Inquisition.

A secretive order, rumored to be the enforcers of ancient laws—hunting down those who wielded forbidden abilities.

Abilities like his.

Aetheron clenched his fists. "How do you know all this?"

The man trembled. "Because I… I used to be one of you."

Silence.

Aetheron's eyes sharpened. "Used to be?"

The man swallowed. "I was born with an ability that let me rewrite my own existence. The Chrono Remnant." His voice cracked. "And they hunted me for it. I ran for years. But it didn't matter. They found me. They always find us."

Selene's grip on her dagger tightened. "If they already found you, why are you still alive?"

The man's lips trembled. "Because I did something worse." He inhaled shakily. "I betrayed them."

Aetheron's breath slowed.

This was dangerous.

But it was also an opportunity.

Aetheron loosened his grip, letting the void tendrils release the man. "If they're coming for me… then I need to be ready."

The man stared at him. "You don't understand. You can't win against them."

Aetheron's expression hardened. "Maybe you couldn't. But I'm not you."

The Hunters Move

Far above the coliseum, in a chamber of darkened marble and towering pillars, they gathered.

Seven figures, cloaked in obsidian robes, their faces hidden beneath hoods.

The High Inquisitors.

A golden sigil burned at the center of their chamber, flickering with arcane energy. Within its glow, Aetheron's image was reflected—his battle, his victory, the moment he took Titan's Wrath.

One of the figures spoke, their voice a chilling whisper.

"The Devourer has surfaced."

Another figure stirred. "Impossible. That bloodline was eradicated centuries ago."

A pause.

Then, the leader of the group spoke.

"And yet… here he stands."

Silence reigned.

Finally, the leader turned, their voice cold as death.

"Send the Executioners."