The next three months were a brutal, unending cycle of agony and adaptation.
Each day was a fresh lesson in pain, sculpted by Numi's relentless demands. My world narrowed to the searing heat of the fire-track, the bone-jarring impact of the training dummies, and the crushing weight of demonic strength exercises. I learned to read the subtle shift in a dummy's stance before it struck. I learned to pace my breathing on the track, my body slowly learning to ignore the burn in my lungs and the scream in my muscles. I was learning to think, move, and fight like a demon.
The reward system was stark and effective. A day where I pushed past my limits, where I showed improvement in speed or technique, ended in that opulent elevator. I'd dine in the five-star restaurant, surrounded by high-ranking demons. In these halls, I learned something crucial about their culture. Status wasn't just inherited; it was proven. An "elite" demon was one who commanded respect through sheer strength, strategic wits, and unwavering will. They respected my progress not because of who I was, but because of the blood and sweat I spilled to earn a seat at their table.
A bad day, however, meant a return to the common cantina for a slop that was barely edible, a constant reminder of the consequences of failure.
After exactly three months, the rhythm broke. Numi entered my room, not to bark orders, but holding a garment bag.
"Your old suit is an eyesore," she stated, tossing the bag onto my cot. "Blue is the color of the winged pricks. We don't wear it."
Inside was a impeccably tailored black suit with a blood-red tie. It was sleek, professional, and looked deadly.
"It's time for the final test," Numi said, her pink eyes serious. "In one week, you will fight in the arena. Your task is to defeat fifty mid-ranking demons and one elite demon. In succession."
My blood ran cold. Fifty. And an elite.
"You are free until then," she continued. "No scheduled training. Do what you want."
The weight of the mission, of everything I'd endured, settled onto my shoulders. This was it. The proof of my training. I stood up from the cot, my body now moving with a fluid strength that felt foreign and earned. I turned to Numi, and I bowed deeply from the waist, a sincere, formal gesture of respect.
"Thank you," I said, my voice low but clear. "For teaching me all this way."
Numi snickered, a hint of that old amusement returning. "No problem, man. I'm interested in how you're going to do in your fight." She gestured to the suit. "There are more in the making, so don't worry about ruining that one."
As soon as she left, I changed into simple training gear and headed straight for the gym. I bypassed everything else and walked into the chamber of demonhide dummies.
The crimson orb floated over, pulsing softly. "YOU'RE NOT DONE YET, HUH?"
I looked at the waiting dummies, my fists clenching. "No. I need to train more," I said, my voice firm. "There will be a tournament to see if I am fit for the job... a test to see if I can survive. I can't lose now. I won't let Numi and Yoclesh down after everything." I met the orb's glowing surface. "So, give me your all."
The orb was silent for a moment, then its light glowed a shade warmer, its tone losing its usual mocking edge.
"YOU HAVE MY RESPECT, ASTRO."
The countdown began.
"TRAINING STARTS NOW."
The week flew by in a whirlwind of self-imposed punishment. Every day, I returned to the dummy chamber, pushing my Mimic's Grasp ability further. I wasn't just copying movements anymore; I was absorbing the flow of combat, predicting chains of attacks, and finding tiny, exploitable openings. The orb was a relentless partner, increasing the difficulty each day, but it never mocked me again. There was a silent, professional respect in its corrections.
The day before the match, I forced myself to stop. A rest day. The concept felt alien, but my body needed to heal and store every ounce of energy. I walked the less-traveled corridors of the citadel, watching the endless, chaotic industry of Hell. I saw forges that roared with eternal fire, libraries filled with scrolls of damned knowledge, and even a bizarre, fiery marketplace. I just watched and breathed, trying to quiet the storm of anticipation in my chest.
Then, it was the day.
The waiting room was a small, stark chamber of basalt, deep beneath the roaring cacophony of the arena. I could feel the vibration of thousands of stomping feet through the floor. I adjusted the cuffs of my black suit, the red tie feeling like a target against my chest.
Numi was there with me, a silent, towering presence.
"You ready for this, surface boy?" she finally asked, her voice uncharacteristically flat.
I turned to her. "As ready as I'll ever be." I held out my hand. "Whatever happens out there... thank you. For not going easy on me."
She looked at my hand, then grasped it in her own massive, clawed one. Her grip was firm, but controlled. "Don't thank me yet. Save it for when you're still breathing." She released my hand and leaned in closer. "One more thing. All those demons out there? They've been sentenced to death. This is their chance at a pardon. They will be fighting for their lives, so don't you dare hold back. They won't."
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. "Alright," I said, my voice steady. "I won't disappoint."
A horn blared, muffled by the thick walls. The announcer's voice, magically amplified, boomed through the entire complex, the words indistinct but the crowd's reaction deafening.
Then, our door slid open. Numi gave me a final, hard look and then left to take her seat in the stands.
The announcer's voice became clear. "...AND NOW, A SPECIAL CHALLENGE! A HUMAN! TRAINED UNDER THE VICIOUS NUMI HERSELF! HIS RANK, HIS VERY WORTH, WILL BE DECIDED IN THIS BLOOD-SOAKED ARENA! GIVE HIM A HELLISH CHEER FOR... ASTRO!"
I took a deep breath, straightened my tie, and walked out into the blinding light and overwhelming noise.
The arena was colossal, a vast, round pit of sand and stone surrounded by tiers of screaming, jeering, cheering demons. Thousands of them. The sound was a physical force. And already in the center of the arena stood the fifty mid-ranking demons, a chaotic sea of muscle, horns, and scales. They were armed with spiked clubs, jagged swords, and chain-flails. Their eyes, filled with desperation and bloodlust, locked onto me.
I stood alone, in my suit, my hands empty.
High in a private box, I saw Numi take a seat next to Yoclesh. Yoclesh's amber eyes were fixed on me, unreadable.
"We will see now," Yoclesh said, her voice barely a whisper lost in the roar.
A deep, resonant gong sounded.
The start signal.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. The fifty demons and I stared each other down.
Then, with a collective roar, they charged.
The gong's echo was swallowed by a tidal wave of roaring chaos.
The next three months were a brutal, unending cycle of agony and adaptation.
Each day was a fresh lesson in pain, sculpted by Numi's relentless demands. My world narrowed to the searing heat of the fire-track, the bone-jarring impact of the training dummies, and the crushing weight of demonic strength exercises. I learned to read the subtle shift in a dummy's stance before it struck. I learned to pace my breathing on the track, my body slowly learning to ignore the burn in my lungs and the scream in my muscles. I was learning to think, move, and fight like a demon.
The reward system was stark and effective. A day where I pushed past my limits, where I showed improvement in speed or technique, ended in that opulent elevator. I'd dine in the five-star restaurant, surrounded by high-ranking demons. In these halls, I learned something crucial about their culture. Status wasn't just inherited; it was proven. An "elite" demon was one who commanded respect through sheer strength, strategic wits, and unwavering will. They respected my progress not because of who I was, but because of the blood and sweat I spilled to earn a seat at their table.
A bad day, however, meant a return to the common cantina for a slop that was barely edible, a constant reminder of the consequences of failure.
After exactly three months, the rhythm broke. Numi entered my room, not to bark orders, but holding a garment bag.
"Your old suit is an eyesore," she stated, tossing the bag onto my cot. "Blue is the color of the winged pricks. We don't wear it."
Inside was a impeccably tailored black suit with a blood-red tie. It was sleek, professional, and looked deadly.
"It's time for the final test," Numi said, her pink eyes serious. "In one week, you will fight in the arena. Your task is to defeat fifty mid-ranking demons and one elite demon. In succession."
My blood ran cold. Fifty. And an elite.
"You are free until then," she continued. "No scheduled training. Do what you want."
The weight of the mission, of everything I'd endured, settled onto my shoulders. This was it. The proof of my training. I stood up from the cot, my body now moving with a fluid strength that felt foreign and earned. I turned to Numi, and I bowed deeply from the waist, a sincere, formal gesture of respect.
"Thank you," I said, my voice low but clear. "For teaching me all this way."
Numi snickered, a hint of that old amusement returning. "No problem, man. I'm interested in how you're going to do in your fight." She gestured to the suit. "There are more in the making, so don't worry about ruining that one."
As soon as she left, I changed into simple training gear and headed straight for the gym. I bypassed everything else and walked into the chamber of demonhide dummies.
The crimson orb floated over, pulsing softly. "YOU'RE NOT DONE YET, HUH?"
I looked at the waiting dummies, my fists clenching. "No. I need to train more," I said, my voice firm. "There will be a tournament to see if I am fit for the job... a test to see if I can survive. I can't lose now. I won't let Numi and Yoclesh down after everything." I met the orb's glowing surface. "So, give me your all."
The orb was silent for a moment, then its light glowed a shade warmer, its tone losing its usual mocking edge.
"YOU HAVE MY RESPECT, ASTRO."
The countdown began.
"TRAINING STARTS NOW."
The week flew by in a whirlwind of self-imposed punishment. Every day, I returned to the dummy chamber, pushing my Mimic's Grasp ability further. I wasn't just copying movements anymore; I was absorbing the flow of combat, predicting chains of attacks, and finding tiny, exploitable openings. The orb was a relentless partner, increasing the difficulty each day, but it never mocked me again. There was a silent, professional respect in its corrections.
The day before the match, I forced myself to stop. A rest day. The concept felt alien, but my body needed to heal and store every ounce of energy. I walked the less-traveled corridors of the citadel, watching the endless, chaotic industry of Hell. I saw forges that roared with eternal fire, libraries filled with scrolls of damned knowledge, and even a bizarre, fiery marketplace. I just watched and breathed, trying to quiet the storm of anticipation in my chest.
Then, it was the day.
The waiting room was a small, stark chamber of basalt, deep beneath the roaring cacophony of the arena. I could feel the vibration of thousands of stomping feet through the floor. I adjusted the cuffs of my black suit, the red tie feeling like a target against my chest.
Numi was there with me, a silent, towering presence.
"You ready for this, surface boy?" she finally asked, her voice uncharacteristically flat.
I turned to her. "As ready as I'll ever be." I held out my hand. "Whatever happens out there... thank you. For not going easy on me."
She looked at my hand, then grasped it in her own massive, clawed one. Her grip was firm, but controlled. "Don't thank me yet. Save it for when you're still breathing." She released my hand and leaned in closer. "One more thing. All those demons out there? They've been sentenced to death. This is their chance at a pardon. They will be fighting for their lives, so don't you dare hold back. They won't."
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. "Alright," I said, my voice steady. "I won't disappoint."
A horn blared, muffled by the thick walls. The announcer's voice, magically amplified, boomed through the entire complex, the words indistinct but the crowd's reaction deafening.
Then, our door slid open. Numi gave me a final, hard look and then left to take her seat in the stands.
The announcer's voice became clear. "...AND NOW, A SPECIAL CHALLENGE! A HUMAN! TRAINED UNDER THE VICIOUS NUMI HERSELF! HIS RANK, HIS VERY WORTH, WILL BE DECIDED IN THIS BLOOD-SOAKED ARENA! GIVE HIM A HELLISH CHEER FOR... ASTRO!"
I took a deep breath, straightened my tie, and walked out into the blinding light and overwhelming noise.
The arena was colossal, a vast, round pit of sand and stone surrounded by tiers of screaming, jeering, cheering demons. Thousands of them. The sound was a physical force. And already in the center of the arena stood the fifty mid-ranking demons, a chaotic sea of muscle, horns, and scales. They were armed with spiked clubs, jagged swords, and chain-flails. Their eyes, filled with desperation and bloodlust, locked onto me.
I stood alone, in my suit, my hands empty.
High in a private box, I saw Numi take a seat next to Yoclesh. Yoclesh's amber eyes were fixed on me, unreadable.
"We will see now," Yoclesh said, her voice barely a whisper lost in the roar.
A deep, resonant gong sounded.
The start signal.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. The fifty demons and I stared each other down.
Then, with a collective roar, they charged.
The gong's echo was swallowed by a tidal wave of roaring chaos.
I didn't dodge; I simply ceased to be in that spot. The air cracked where I had been standing, a pathetic little sonic boom trying to keep up with my absence. I was just… inside the brute's guard, my right fist already a blur of its own accord. The connection with the demon's jaw wasn't an impact; it was a detonation. The sound was more explosion than impact. My knuckles registered the shattering of teeth, the wet resistance of flesh, and then the pure, concussive force of my own power blasting outward. I saw the shockwave tear a ring in the sand, saw the brute become a bloody ragdoll crashing into his allies.
Chaos erupted, and I was its calm, calculating eye. A phantom in a black suit.
A scaled demon came at me with a scimitar, a move it probably thought was lightning fast. To me, it was a leisurely, telegraphed swing. I pivoted, feeling the whisper of the blade slicing through fabric. My hand snapped out, captured its wrist, and in a motion that required no conscious thought, I used its own momentum to hurl it into the path of a spiked mace. The wet, sickening crunch of the collision was the sound of a problem solving itself.
The mace wielder, blinded by the spray of its ally's blood, was an open equation. My left jab was the solution, moving at the speed of sound. I felt the distinct, satisfying fracture of its skull under my knuckles, a sensation like splitting dry wood.
Weapons came from all angles, a predictable geometry of violence. A spear thrust was a line I sidestepped. My hand closed on the shaft, and I drove the butt end into the spearman's face a wet smack, the cartilage of its nose dissolving into pulp under the impact. I spun the spear, deflecting a sword slash in a shower of sparks, then drove the point deep into a charging axeman's thigh. A hot, arterial spray of ichor jetted over my hand as I ripped the axe from its screaming owner.
Now armed, I became a supersonic whirlwind of dismemberment. I met a downward sword strike, the axe haft ringing in my hands. A kick a mere blur of intent buckled the swordsman's knee with a loud, definitive pop. My axe swung in a short, brutal arc, shearing through armor and bone, burying itself in another demon's shoulder. The gout of black blood was expected.
A spiked chain whistled through the air. I ducked, but not quite fast enough; I felt a line of fire tear across my back. As it retracted, I lunged, a streak of focused will, grabbing the chain and yanking its wielder into a right cross that shattered its snout. Cartilage and bone fragmented under my knuckles.
I was a storm. I registered a few hits a shallow gash across my shoulder bled freely, a bruising blow to my ribs sent a spike of pain through me but they were just data points, fueling my focus, narrowing my world to the next target.
One by one, they fell. The fifty strong horde dwindled to nothing around me. The sand was a churned, bloody mire. Finally, only one demon remained, panting heavily, its eyes wide with a terror I observed with clinical detachment.
I stood opposite him, my suit torn and stained, my breathing even. The crowd was a distant, buzzing hum. I looked at the last demon. It screamed, a final, desperate sound, and charged.
I didn't dodge. I became a blur, stepping into the charge. My left hand deflected the broadsword, my right hand driving forward in a punch that connected with its chest. A final, deep thump. A ripple of force traveled up my arm. The demon froze, a fine red mist puffing from its mouth, then collapsed. Its heart was pulp.
Silence.
I stood alone, surrounded by the wreckage. My chest heaved slightly, but my gaze was already lifting, scanning the far gate. This was just the warm up. The real fight was next.
The silence was shattered by the announcer. "AND NOW THE MOMENT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR THE FINAL CHALLENGE FOR THE HUMAN HIS OPPONENT GIVE IT UP FOR KRAXUS, THE UNBROKEN"
A gate ground open. Out he walked. Kraxus. He was a head taller than Numi, a masterpiece of terrifying, functional anatomy. His skin was cooled lava, cracked and glowing with inner heat. Four powerful arms, each one a weapon, sprouted from his torso. His eyes burned like embers.
I kept my eyes locked on him, my breathing steady, analyzing. This is different. The aura of power radiating from him was a physical pressure, thickening the air around me.
There was no taunt. He simply moved.
He surged forward, not with a sonic boom, but with a terrifying, silent speed that matched my own. How My eyes widened in shock. I barely twisted my torso, the wind of a clawed swipe tearing the rest of my suit jacket to shreds. The next attack came instantly from a second arm a brutal hammer fist to my ribs. I felt bones crack. The third arm, an uppercut to my jaw, snapped my head back. The fourth, a clawed rake across my chest, sent me stumbling back, bleeding profusely.
I was overwhelmed. For the first time since my training began, I was completely outclassed. Blow after blow landed with sickening thuds. A kick to my leg buckled it. A punch to my gut drove the air from my lungs. I was a punching bag, my own blood painting the sand.
Finally, a devastating blow from all four fists striking simultaneously sent me flying. I landed in a broken heap, my own blood pooling beneath me. The world swam, fading to gray, then to black.
I floated in an endless, silent void. The pain was gone. There was only nothingness.
Is this death
Suddenly, a presence manifested before me. A being of breathtaking, impossible beauty and power. It had an androgynous, futuristic form, dominated by white and a shimmering, holographic rainbow sheen. A triangular, rainbow colored halo floated above its head. Its left arm was an intricate mechanical marvel.
"You cannot die yet, Astro," its voice echoed, not in the void, but within my very soul.
"Who who are you" I asked, my spirit voice a whisper.
The being's expression remained neutral, serene. "I am the one who brought you to this world when you died under that truck. But you cannot die here. Answers will reveal themselves eventually."
Before I could speak again, the being faded, and the void collapsed.
Awareness returned not as feeling, but as a command. A collective gasp rippled through the distant crowd. I felt a new energy, a flickering, dark heat, igniting around my broken body.
I pushed myself up. My movements were slow, deliberate, mechanical. I rose to my feet, my body a battered vessel now filled with an unnatural, solid power. I lifted my head, and I saw the world through a new lens. A hellish, red lens. The pain was gone, replaced by an endless, burning void of purpose.
Kraxus, for the first time, felt a sliver of fear. "Oh You don't want to die just yet, huh" he snarled.
He surged forward again, putting all his weight and speed into a single, devastating punch from all four arms aimed at my head. The impact was deafening.
But I didn't move. Not an inch. The blow landed, and it was as if he had struck the unbreakable foundation of the world itself. His fists stopped dead, the force dissipating harmlessly against my skin.
Kraxus jumped back, his ember eyes wide with terror. "How How is that possible"
My head tilted slightly, my red eyes locking onto him. There was no teleportation, no sonic boom. I simply decided to be beside him, and I was.
I didn't swing with rage. It was a casual, almost dismissive backhand.
My fist connected with his torso.
The resulting boom was apocalyptic. I felt the entirety of his being compress, then explode away from me. He was launched across the arena like a cannonball, a blur until he smashed into the far wall. The impact shook the entire colossal structure, a concussive force that was my will made manifest.
I stood still, my expression unchanged. Then, I felt it a massive surge of power, a wave of black and red energy that was mine to command. It exploded outwards from me, washing over the entire arena like a silent, terrifying tide. I felt every demon in attendance shrink back, their primal, soul deep fear a palpable scent in the air.
The champion was gone.