With a snap of Ayra's fingers, I'm thrown into a massive arena, surrounded by vampires filling the stands.
I'm not even sure how—one moment I was in her room, then a red flash… and now I'm here.
At least she didn't send me here naked—she made me wear a blue robe straight out of the Middle Ages.
In front of me stands a man twice my age and three times my size, wearing the same blue robe.
Ok, he must be my opponent.
I glance around—nothing.
No weapons: no swords, no guns, not even a stick.
Not a trace of armor either.
Do they really expect me to fight this giant barehanded and without protection?
A small red sphere of energy floats toward me and slips into my ear like a glowing earpiece.
«Listen, Lyon! Don't you dare embarrass me, or you'll regret it!»
Ayra's voice hisses sharply in my ear, her irritation perfectly carried through the red sphere.
«HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO NOT EMBARRASS YOU?!» I yell, my voice echoing through the arena. «That guy's arms are bigger than me!»
Ayra lets out a deep sigh, her voice heavy with exasperation—patience clearly isn't her strongest trait.
«In our world, strength isn't measured only by physical power. What matters most is how you control your magical energy.»
«Oh, fantastic…» I shoot back, dripping with sarcasm. «So if I had even the slightest chance of winning before, it's officially gone now. I don't even know how to use magic!»
«You think I don't know humans can't use magic?! The bonding ritual wasn't just to make you my little loyal pet—it also unlocked the dormant magical power in your soul. Why do you think I gave you some of my energy? That was the spark to awaken yours!»
I let out a long, frustrated sigh.
«Fine, alright. Just tell me how to use this magic power.»
«Well, um…» her voice wavers, dropping to an embarrassed whisper. «...I don't know…»
«ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!» I snap, stomping my foot on the ground.
«Watch your tone when you speak to me! Remember I'm your master!» she fires back, sharp but a little flustered. «And you're my first familiar! I've never trained one before. Improvise—but don't make me look bad in front of my little sister!»
«Your little sister…?» I repeat, blinking in confusion.
«Your opponent is my younger sister's familiar—Priscilla Volkom, seventh daughter of Viktor Volkom. She only got her first familiar recently, so he should still be pretty weak. Second to last in the rankings, to be exact. Beating him shouldn't be too hard.»
Rankings? Yeah, of course these Blood Games aren't just random fights—they're part of a competitive circuit.
Judging by her uncertain tone, even she doesn't seem too convinced I've got any real chance of winning.
Very encouraging…
«Let me guess… you're last in the rankings,» I say, trying to sound confident while hiding the terror boiling inside me. «Fine. I'll come up with something.»
«Win this match, and I'll give you… a very special reward.»
Her voice takes on a distinctly seductive tone.
A special reward?
Maybe she'll press up against me again—completely naked—but this time while I'm awake.
Or… maybe something even more intense?
Since my opponent's also a newbie, it won't be much different from a regular fistfight between two humans.
I'll use the speed that made me captain of my soccer team to take him down—or at least try.
«Lyon Volkom, familiar of Princess Ayra Volkom, and Gerard Volkom, familiar of Princess Priscilla Valakys, take your positions at the center of the arena!»
The announcement booms through the amphitheater, amplified by what feels like invisible loudspeakers.
My opponent and I start walking toward each other, and… seeing him up close is even more intimidating.
He's a walking mountain of muscle. If he grabs me, it's over.
But with all that mass, he can't possibly be that fast… right?
«So you're the rookie? You're a twig. I hope I don't hurt you too much,» Gerard looks down at me with confidence, cracking his knuckles as he mocks me.
«And you… must be the second to last,» I fire back, trying to sound confident while hiding the fear boiling inside me.
At opposite ends of the arena, seated in facing positions, are our mistress.
Behind me is Ayra; behind him is a girl who looks much younger than Ayra.
Short, curly fuchsia hair, a tight black glossy dress that shines, a tail, and wings that look like plastic.
In her hand is a black whip.
She looks like a loli cosplaying as a succubus.
That must be Priscilla.
«Don't you dare lose again!» Priscilla screams furiously, snapping her whip with force, the crack echoing across the arena floor. «If you lose and we end up last… a hundred lashes on your knees over broken glass! No—make it a thousand!»
Ayra is the opposite—sitting with elegance on a golden throne, radiating an aura of cold detachment.
But it's only for show.
Through the red earpiece, I can hear her muttering prayers to some dark vampire deity.
«You heard her, boy? Unfortunately for you, I have to take this seriously,» Gerard grins.
This guy struts around like he's the final boss of a video game—way too cocky for someone who, aside from me, is the weakest here.
«A clash of titans, huh…» I mutter, warming up with a few stretches and quick hops.
Let's just hope I don't get crushed like a bug.
The ethereal voice of the announcer rings out again: «Let the battle begin!»