Darkness. Silence. Then—a voice. Cold, painfully familiar.
—"Make way."
The human crowd parts like a sea splitting before a storm. From within them steps HER. Lianisa. In radiant armor, hair unbound, eyes that no longer forgive. Behind her—thousands. Knights, mages, elves, dwarves, former slaves… even children with swords in their hands. All of them looking at him.
—"This swine wants to run. Let him run. But let him know—there's no place for him among people. And there never will be. Never."
He wants to scream. To justify himself. To fall to his knees. But the voice vanishes. The ground beneath him turns to mire. He runs. But where? Behind him—fire. Ahead—darkness. Around—silence. Only his own breath, like the rasp of a strangled man.
His legs buckle. Knees bite into the cold earth. His hands tremble.
—"Please… forgive me…" he whispers. —"I just… wanted… power…"
Lianisa stands a few steps away. She is no longer human. She is the verdict.
Eyes like blades. Her mouth does not move. But the whole world speaks:
—"You are nothing."
He woke with a scream. His heart pounded as if it wanted to burst through his ribs. The bed—soaked with sweat. The pillow glued to his back.
The bedroom—dark. Only a red glimmer from the coals in the hearth. And silence. The kind that feels… suspicious.
Locris sat up, breathing hard. He ran his hands over his face. In his eyes—fury and fear at once.
"I have no peace even in dreams. I rule a continent… and cannot rule my own mind."
He rose and went to the window. Beyond the glass—the city. His city. Yet somehow so foreign.
"Lianisa… alive? No. They're all dead. Gone. Gone!.."
Then why does he feel it? A presence. The breath of danger. The whisper of treachery.
His gaze slid to the candle by the bed. Extinguished. On its own. A trifle… but not tonight.
"Why is the lord silent? A week now. And he never keeps silent. The lord is not one to tolerate delays…"
He fell back onto the pillow, covered his face with his hands, and lay still for a long time. Because he knew: something was coming. And dreams were only the beginning.
Night draped the city, but it had no intention of sleeping. Lanterns with bone shades burned a dim red, casting ominous shadows across the cobbled streets. The air was thick with spices, roasting meat, and smoke—a stubborn blend of a market that never closes.
Lianisa walked beside Mort, arms folded over her chest. Her figure—proud and restrained—cut sharply against the crowd around them: half-beasts barely clothed, merchants, girls in gauzy garments, beggars who sang instead of asking.
Mort chewed some roasted leg and looked around with an indifferent smile.
—"See," he said, swallowing, —"even at night it's livelier here than in the palaces of your people. They fear the dark. We don't. For us, darkness is a holiday."
Lianisa said nothing. She only watched from the corner of her eye—every motion, every loud laugh. The crowd was too dense. It would be easy to get lost. Or… disappear.
—"Don't lag behind, princess. Tonight is special. I'm taking you to a real show."
—"The coliseum?" she asked softly.
—"The coliseum," Mort confirmed. —"Every evening they fight to the death here. No finery. No ideals. Just—flesh against flesh. Blood, bone, the roar of the crowd. That's how we celebrate life."
—"I've seen war," Lianisa sighed. —"Giants, armies, magic, death."
—"And I've seen theater," Mort snorted. —"You fought for honor, land, a throne. We fight to survive. Big difference."
They climbed a narrow lane between clay houses with carved windows. Music thudded from underground. With every step, the crowd thickened. People shoved, laughed, argued. One beastman shouted "ten says the lion wins!", another snorted "fool, that champion will rip him apart with his eyes closed!"
—"And how often do they die here?" Lianisa asked.
—"Every day," Mort answered blandly. —"But don't fret. It's not death, it's entertainment. Death here is currency."
A high arch rose before them, trimmed with bones and red banners. The gates of the coliseum. Two massive orcs guarded the entrance.
—"Lady and guest," one nodded. —"VIP box is ready."
Mort bowed with a hand to his heart and threw Lianisa a look:
—"Time to see what people are really worth when they face not an idea… but a lion."
The crowd's rumble rolled like a storm about to tear through the walls. The coliseum was a giant cauldron of wild flesh and hot blood. Stone tiers climbed high, crammed with beastmen, humans, slaves, traders, even children. The air smelled of sweat, wine, and blood.
At the very center—the arena. Sand already blotched with red. Above it—massive iron grates, from beyond which came the roaring of…
Lions.
Mort settled into the VIP box with satisfaction, crossing one leg over the other like the true master of spectacle. Lianisa remained standing, her face calm, her jaw set.
—"Perfect," Mort said. —"Tonight—the classic. Humans versus lions. No magic. No tricks. Just—screams, claws, and blood."
The metal gates jerked open. Three men stepped onto the arena. In their hands—quivering swords. One swept his gaze over the stands, the second spat on the ground, the third… simply stood there, stunned like a tree.
And then they released the lions.
Three massive predators lunged toward the men. One of them screamed—and ran. The sand beneath his feet was too soft. He managed a few steps…
A roar. A leap. And the lion clamped onto his leg.
—"Oh, here we go!" Mort cried, clapping in delight.
The lion wrenched the leg—meat split, bone cracked, and the man's body flew several meters, crashing down with a broken spine. A scream… and another lion sprang onto him, locking its jaws on his throat. Teeth sank into flesh like cheese. Blood geysered.
Lianisa ground her teeth. For a moment she shut her eyes, but she did not look away. Her fingers clenched the railing.
—"Think it's cruel?" Mort whispered, leaning closer. —"This isn't cruelty. This is the real world."
—"It's a meat grinder."
—"It's life, princess. Predator or prey. There is no third option. Choose."
The last man on the arena threw down his sword and began to flee, staggering. Panic flooded his eyes; his lips muttered something, but no words carried. One lion chased him and…
A leap. A blow. A scream. Silence.
The crowd erupted. The roar of the tiers was almost animal. People laughed, tossed coins, some even stood to applaud.
Lianisa lifted her hands from the railing. Her eyes were cold.
"I lived among aristocrats. Among false smiles and cunning words. Among magic that kept hands clean. But here it's different. Here it's either you… or you're done."
She drew a deeper breath. Her posture straightened.
"I will survive. I will become the predator. As much… as I must."
—"Oh, and here comes the real show," Mort said with satisfaction. —"The champion enters."
The grates thundered. Something shifted in the air—even the crowd fell hushed.
—"Watch closely, princess. He's not just a fighter. He's living death."
The arena fell utterly still. Someone in the crowd dropped a goblet, and the ring of glass echoed like in an empty cathedral.
The grates crept upward. From the dark opening he did not walk out—he appeared—HIM.