Chapter 26
Zarathos
The cacophony of the crowds rang in Zarathos’s ears as ten champions fought for the right to be the next demon arch king.
He grasped the hour glass necklace he’d been handed before entering the arena.
As one of the three winners, he could slow a single opponent that was within twenty feet of him for thirty seconds.
Enough time for one kill. Except it wouldn’t work on another ranking champion, so Xaphoron and Tigon were off limits.
“Back me up, Tigon. Use that useless brawn to protect your prince,” Kaelroch from Terra Monstrum commanded. The moment they entered the arena, he’d pursued Zarathos. How predictable.
Zarathos snarled at Prince Kaelroch. He dodged the initial attempts of the prince to pin him, but then his rival came in close and the two exchanged blows.
A swift hit to Zarathos’s jaw sent sparks of pain and a dull warning in the back of his mind.
His hand went to his hourglass. Unlike the other contestants, it was imperative that he not lose even one drop of blood.
Kaelroch shoved him to the ground. Zarathos needed to be careful.
These demons had been training for years for this trial.
Each of them had impressive combat skills.
Which was why Zarathos had used the vampire princess to secure the sword that should always return to the owner.
Except someone must have put a spell blocker on it, because it wasn’t coming, no matter how much he mentally called out to it.
He wasn’t sure whether to feel consternation or gratitude that no weapons were available at the moment.
When he’d last seen the prince, Kaelroch looked as if he’d like nothing better than to split Zarathos down the middle with his mace.
Like the other champions, he had likely received expert training.
He wrestled with the prince and gained the advantage. Getting under his armor, Zarathos slashed hard, ripping across Prince Kaelroch's abdomen.
Zarathos had been training as well.
Kaelroch roared, grasping his stomach. The cuts were deep, and he stumbled to his feet. Zarathos rose swiftly, ready to deliver the final blow. But for some reason, Prince Kaelroch seemed frozen in time.
“He is mine,” a low voice rumbled, like huge boulders being ground together.
Zarathos turned to find Tigon behind them, the hourglass clutched in his massive fist and glaring at Prince Kaelroch.
“I want his death slow and sure,” the half-giant snarled.
Zarathos wanted the kill, but he also wanted to win this trial more. He held up his hands. “He’s yours.”
Terror slashed across Prince Kaelroch’s sluggish expression as Tigon stomped up to him and grasped the minotaur by the throat, lifting him off his feet. “Call me a brute? Let me show you what this useless brawn can do.”
No amount of slowed time paused the screams that followed as Tigon gripped onto Prince Kaelroch’s leg and pulled. The sound of tearing flesh causing the crowds to whip into a frenzy.
Zarathos clenched bloody hands, its warmth running between his knuckles.
This was the first of three preliminary trials before the final fight.
He looked to the top of the rocky hill they’d somehow transplanted into the arena.
In each of the preliminary trials, one victorious demon claimed a crown that ensured them a spot in the last trial.
Kill the demon that claimed a crown in a previous trial and one could win their crown.
This trial’s crown resided atop the tall, jagged hill above him. Rough sides, like a cliff face, necessitated climbing instead of walking. He spread his wings.
He cast a glance toward the large pit where Aryana must be, battling the icy sting on his bicep that urged him to fly over and check on her.
But he couldn’t afford to act on impulse.
She was a warrior—more than capable of holding her own.
The most reliable path to ending this involved reaching the crown first, securing their place in the final trial, and bringing this round to a swift close.
Giant braziers and lanterns kept the underground arena lit, but also cast long shadows in other spots.
How easy it would be to shadow himself to the top of the hill and take the crown for himself.
Except that Zarathos couldn’t use his powers.
Aryana and some of his servants knew about his shadow abilities, but this remained unknown to most demons.
Full-blooded abaddons didn’t have shadow powers.
And besides that, he’d signed the blood contract agreeing not to use powers until the final round. If he used them, he’d die.
With a running leap, he launched himself into the air. Glancing beneath him, he did a quick survey of the other champions.
Tigon busily spread Prince Kaelroch’s guts over the arena, staining the floor red, much to the spectators’ delight.
The second champion from Misophae, Rebos, was in the process of killing the troll from Espiritu Malignos, squeezing the life out of it with his massive basilisk tail. When the body stopped moving, a specter of white drifted up into the air and dispersed into nothing.
Balafur was facing off with Lentira, from Kingdom Inferna.
Xaphoron grabbed Noctyssa, the other champion from that kingdom, and bit into her flesh.
Her screeches permeated the surroundings.
She swiped at his chest, not scratching him, but snapping the chain of the hourglass and sending it flying into the dirt.
Xaphoron looked up, meeting Zarathos’s gaze, and snarled.
He tossed Noctyssa aside and unfurled his wings.
Forgetting about the hourglass and his fight with Inferna, he took flight, leaving them both behind.
The council sat in their own box up in the stands watching the death match with eager eyes.
Most members of the trial council might have wanted him dead, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other champions they each despised more—rivals from enemy nations they couldn't bear to see on the throne.
That gave Zarathos a measure of protection.
He just had to be careful not to do anything that might convince them to set aside their petty rivalries and unite in making his death a shared priority.
Zarathos landed on the rocky ledge. The crown sat on a raised platform.
Plants grew up, encompassing it, but he saw it in a narrow opening between the leaves and vines that rose and closed off around it on every side.
There would be no flying over it. Shit. This would be so much easier if he had his sword.
It was still possible to tear his way through, but it would take longer.
He lunged forward and began snapping the vines, gnawing through their length, all the while keeping the cliff edge in his peripheral vision. When Xaphoron landed, Zarathos jerked back with a snarl. Damn it, he wasn’t fast enough.
If he could have shadowed his way in, he would have had it by now.
Xaphoron sneered at him. “Thought you’d get an early lead, Your Majesty?”
Xaphoron was full abaddon. Kingdom Aeria had been careful, staying clear of Zarathos’s deals. They had played the long game, and they’d played it well.
His opponent was massive, his form built for war and for bringing down the demon arch king himself.
“You thought you’d gain the upper hand when you ambushed me in the woods,” Zarathos said coldly. “But it didn’t work then, and it won’t work now.”
Xaphoron raised an eyebrow. “Like I said before, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But then he chuckled. “You don’t know how long I have been waiting, training for this. I am going to rip you to shreds in front of your own subjects.”
Zarathos got into a fighting stance and bared his teeth. “Don’t count your victory before it is assured.”
“It is assured.” Xaphoron launched himself at Zarathos.
The punch that landed on Zarathos’s gut knocked the air out of him and sent a spasm of pain through his abdomen.
Luckily, his armor, made of dragon scales, absorbed some of the impact.
Zarathos forced himself forward, grasping Xaphoron about the waist, knocking the other demon off balance so he couldn’t follow up his hit with another devastating blow.
The two grappled on the ground. Xaphoron was stronger than Zarathos. He followed up with several hits that left Zarathos dazed. Gods, should his skin be broken, it would be all over, but he only felt bruised so far.
Xaphoron slammed Zarathos to the ground, pressing an arm hard against his throat. A malicious grin reached his face.
“You’re dead, my arch king.”
Zarathos twisted, striking out, slashing across Xaphoron’s shoulder, causing him to jerk back. He used the rest of his body to shove his enemy off of him with such force his opponent hit the cliff’s edge and tumbled over it out of sight.
But time did not allow enjoyment of his brief triumph. Balafur was on the cliff with them and he was almost to the crown. He’d already ripped through much of the vines.
Zarathos got to his feet. He needed to find out what had happened to Xaphoron. Surely he wouldn’t be defeated that easily. But he also couldn’t let Balafur claim the crown. He gripped the hourglass and flipped it.
Balafur’s movements suddenly stalled.
Check on Xaphoron and then go for the crown.
Without warning, Xaphoron lunged up over the side of the cliff with a sword in his hands. He ducked low, sweeping Zarathos’s feet out from under him, causing him to land hard in the dirt, pain sparking through his wings as they took most of the impact.
Where the hell did Xaphoron get a sword?
Xaphoron lifted his deadly weapon, ready to strike. Zarathos tried to lunge out of the way, but he wouldn’t be able to move fast enough.
Fatal blow or non fatal blow, that sword slicing into his skin would be his doom.
A cry sounded and a figure burst from over the cliff’s edge.
Racing forward. Xaphoron shifted just enough that it wouldn’t be a frontal blow, but not sufficiently to escape.
The vampress slammed a long sword, Zarathos’s long sword, into Xaphoron’s right wing, breaking fully through the skin.
And she pulled, yanking the weapon till it came through and out the side, tearing the wing almost completely in half.
Xaphoron let out a bellow of pain and fell sideways, allowing Zarathos to rise. It was time to finish off this bastard.
A horn blared, marking the end of the first trial. What? His gaze swung to the vines and platform. Balafur, having claimed the crown, raised it high in triumph.
The first trial was over.