CH: 28: Arena And It's Darkness

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{Chapter: 028: Arena And It's Darkness}

After centuries of relentless expansion and extravagant reconstruction, the Colosseum had evolved into a monstrous architectural marvel, spanning an area greater than ten football fields. Towering with ancient yet enduring stonework and surrounded by intricate banners that rippled with the winds of bloodlust and glory, it had become one of the most iconic and imposing structures in the royal capital. Its sheer magnitude allowed it to accommodate well over one hundred thousand spectators in a single event, earning its title as the beating heart of the city's brutal entertainment culture.

Entry into this grand arena was, of course, divided by wealth and status. There were two main passageways leading into the Colosseum—each one symbolizing the stark contrast between the capital's social classes.

One passage was lavishly adorned with golden railings, crimson carpets embroidered with mythical beasts, and elegant torches that emitted a fragrant glow. This route was strictly for the nobility, wealthy merchants, foreign dignitaries, and other individuals of influence. It led directly to the VIP lounges—soundproof chambers built with enchanted glass walls and lavish furniture, offering both privacy and an unobstructed view of the bloody festivities below.

The second passage, though still quite decent in quality, was more modest by comparison. Stone archways and simpler wooden doors greeted the common folk, yet even here, the air carried the charged excitement of upcoming slaughter and spectacle. Despite their standing, even peasants received the full sensory experience: the screams of dying men, the roar of bloodthirsty beasts, and the sheer adrenaline of gambling everything on a single swing of a blade.

"What a marvelous place," Dex mused aloud, trailing behind his attendants as he walked leisurely through the ornate corridor reserved for the elite.

The air reeked of old blood, resentment, and despair. It was thick with sin, and Dex inhaled it like a sommelier savoring the scent of an ancient vintage.

The housekeeper, always attentive, smiled gently and offered, "If it pleases you, Sir, we can arrange for you to visit regularly. It is a fine place to establish connections with the upper class."

Dex's smile deepened, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement. "We'll see. But yes, this place... it reminds me fondly of my homeland. Soaked in vice, yet proudly standing." He glanced sideways, his voice like velvet wrapping a dagger.

As Dex moved further inside, he became the object of many curious glances. Nobles and ladies, guards and servants—everyone who laid eyes on him was subtly drawn to the striking contrast of his features.

Though red hair was not uncommon, his was of a deeper, more unnatural hue. It looked less like a color and more like the aftermath of a massacre—vivid and metallic, as if every strand had been dipped in blood. His eyes, too, were mesmerizing: a deep red iris rimmed with golden pupils, filled with unnatural depth and quiet menace. They exuded an oppressive, almost divine aura, as though peering into them could unravel a man's sins.

The nobility, especially the young daughters of influential houses, found their eyes returning to him again and again, whispering behind fans or subtly nudging one another. Had this been a banquet or an evening ball, the number of bold invitations would have likely broken some kind of record.

Dex noticed, of course. But their shallow curiosity barely registered in his mind. He had the ability to veil his presence, to mimic the features of humans more seamlessly, but he had no desire to do so. Why should he suppress his nature? He walked among them not to blend in, but to remind them of the gulf between true power and petty nobility.

Eventually, the two graceful female Maids who had been leading the way halted before an exquisite double door, intricately carved with scenes from the founding myths of the Principality of Marton. Dragons, gods, warriors, and devils waged eternal battle across its polished surface.

With silent precision, they opened the doors wide, revealing a private box decorated with golden trim, soft velvet drapes, and enchanted torches that filled the room with a subtle warmth. A grand balcony extended outward, granting a perfect view of the vast, bloodstained arena below. Waves of excitement rippled through the crowd, and even from up high, one could feel the pulsing heartbeat of the Colosseum.

As with most noble rites held in these private chambers, shit always got insane. While warriors down below fought for their lives—blood spraying, bones snapping—the nobles watched from above, their primal instincts stirring like beasts behind silk.

There was something about the violence—raw, unfiltered survival—that awakened the animal in them. With every scream, every splatter of gore, their arousal grew. The thrill of death ignited lust. And as the chaos in the arena reached its peak, so did the frenzy in the chamber.

It wasn't just a spectacle—it was fuel. The sight of blood, the sound of agony, the scent of fear—it stirred something ancient in their veins. Primal. Unforgiving. As the violence escalated, so did the passion. Hands roamed, lips devoured, and the chamber descended into carnal chaos. They didn't hide it. They celebrated it.

Bold, brutal sex followed. Clothes ripped. Bodies slammed. Moans mixed with battle cries. It was savage, almost ceremonial.

Sex and violence—twin desires buried in the marrow of countless races. two danced together, people didn't just indulge—they got drunk on it. The chamber became a temple of intoxication, a place where power and lust blurred beyond recognition.

But in the shadows of that pleasure, a darker truth lingered—young girls often died in these chambers. Whether in the frenzy, the cruelty, the passion or as part of the entertainment itself… innocence had no place here. Only dominance. Only desire. Only blood.

And now, standing within the chamber, Dex could feel it—an overwhelming tide of resentment, anguish, and twisted ecstasy. The air itself pulsed with the echoes of long-silenced screams, the wails of tormented souls clinging to every stone and shadow. It was like the room had swallowed a thousand lives and never stopped chewing.

Most had been young. Too young. Barely more than audult. Of them, nearly 95% were girls—offered up like lambs to the blade, the whip, or far worse. The rest were boys, but fewer. After all, not all cruelty rests solely on the shoulders of men. Women… women were just as capable of Monstrosity. Even if nearly all of them happened to be young girls.

"All monsters wear masks, some prettier than others." The words floated through his mind like an old whisper, sharp as broken glass.

And thinking of that truth—the irony of it all—brought a smirk to Dex's face.

"Equal opportunity evil. Gotta admire the feminism." While thinking about his joke, he couldn't help but grin.

Moments later, a procession of young, beautiful maids entered, balancing trays of exotic fruits, glazed meats, and carafes of aged wines. They moved like dancers, placing everything neatly along the long table that dominated the chamber. The lead maid stepped forward with a smile trained in a hundred mirror rehearsals.

She stole a glance at Dex's other attendants, then stood tall and curtsied. Her voice was soft but brimming with implication. "My lord, should you desire anything else, anything at all, we will be honored to provide it."

The suggestion was clear, her tone honeyed with unspoken promises.

The housekeeper and the two maids who accompanied Dex subtly stiffened. Though none of them dared to speak out, their eyes darkened. They had already prepared themselves for the possibility, knowing their master's whims were law. But that didn't mean they welcomed the competition.

Dex, however, showed no particular reaction. With an indifferent wave of his hand, he dismissed them all.

"That will be all."

The lead maid faltered for only a second, hiding her disappointment behind a practiced smile before bowing again and exiting the room with her companions.

Dex leaned back in his seat, folding one leg over the other as he gazed down at the bloodstained sands below.

"Now," he muttered, a smirk playing across his lips, "let's see what kind of entertainment this world has to offer."

The Colosseum roared, and the games were about to begin.

Looking down from the balcony, Dex gazed at the sea of people bustling with anticipation in the stands below. The arena was filled with voices—cheers, conversations, and the occasional scream of a vendor hawking snacks. It was a chaotic chorus of life, and yet, amidst the commotion, Dex felt something oddly comforting. There was a sense of rhythm in the disorder, of structure in the madness.

He picked up a plump piece of fruit from the lavish spread before him—something akin to a violet plum with silver streaks on its skin. He bit into it lazily, its sweet juice dripping slightly from the corner of his lips. Glancing sideways at the three figures accompanying him—his housekeeper and the two maids—he asked with mild curiosity, "Have you ever been to a show like this before?"

The housekeeper, a woman who had been in Dex's service for some time, paused. Though she wasn't sure why he was asking, she answered truthfully, keeping her tone respectful. "I've been to the Colosseum a few times, my lord, but only in the common seating area. This is the first time I've entered a noble VIP suite."

The two maids nodded almost simultaneously, their expressions demure. "It's the same for us, Master," one added. "This view is incredible."

Dex gave a small nod, leaning back slightly on his cushioned couch. His gaze swept the grand amphitheater with a newfound interest. Row upon row of seating stretched endlessly, encircling the massive central stage of dirt and bloodstained stone. The vast dome above was an architectural marvel, allowing sunlight to stream in golden beams through strategically placed arches.

He began to study the layout carefully. The stonework, the placement of sigils on certain pillars, the subtle seams in the floor—all details many might ignore. But to Dex, they whispered secrets.

Then, as if recalling a memory from a dream, his crimson eyes shimmered. Dex nodded and began to observe the venue carefully.

After a long time, his eyes lit up. He gently tapped the armrest of his seat, a subtle gesture as his mind clicked into place. "So that's why this place felt familiar..." he muttered to himself, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

With a fluid motion, he extended his slender index finger. A single bead of blood welled up from the tip, unnaturally bright and glowing faintly as if alive. With a flick, he sent it soaring over the edge of the balcony. The droplet fell quietly, unnoticed by all, before striking the center of the arena's dirt with a soft plop. As soon as it touched the ground, it was gone—absorbed completely, as if it had never existed.

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Deep below the central platform—dozens of meters beneath the arena floor—a group of cloaked figures worked in a chamber lit only by the soft glow of blood-red candles. The air was thick with the scent of iron, incense, and secrecy.

The chamber was a forgotten relic, older than the Colosseum itself. The robed cultists were painting a massive summoning circle with intricate strokes, their brushes dipped in thick crimson paint that clung to the floor like syrup. This wasn't a crude ritual; this was something old and refined, perfected through years of forbidden knowledge.

The circle bore resemblance to the one that had summoned Dex himself, but this version was leaner, smoother, perfect. It lacked the explosive chaos of Dex's summoning but contained a frightening precision—like a scalpel compared to a warhammer.

As the final strokes neared completion, something changed.

From the pristine marble ceiling above them, a single drop of foreign blood materialized. It defied gravity, falling without sound, landing perfectly in the very center of the ritual circle.

The paint shimmered.

The entire room exhaled as if alive.

One of the black-robed men, crouched near a glyph, caught something strange in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head around, scanning the space.

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