Cronicals of the Abyss

The streets of Drakmor buzzed with life as the midday sun bore down upon the city. Revan, Kael, and Kaelar moved through the winding alleyways of the lower districts, their destination a place whispered about in the dimly lit taverns and shady corners of the Dominion—the Crimson Arena.

"Are we seriously doing this?" Kael muttered, tugging his hood lower to avoid the gazes of curious onlookers.

"We need funds," Revan said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And the arena isn't just about money. It's a place where power is displayed, where alliances are forged. If we're to navigate Drakmor's labyrinth of politics, we need to start here."

Kaelar sighed, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade. "Let's just hope we don't attract the wrong kind of attention. This isn't like the forests or ruins. Here, every move will be watched."

The Crimson Arena wasn't hard to find. It was an imposing structure, carved from black stone and adorned with crimson banners depicting a roaring flame. The roar of the crowd inside was audible even from the street, a chorus of cheers and jeers that made the air hum with tension.

At the entrance, a burly man with a scar running across his bald head stood guard, his arms crossed over a chest as solid as a wall.

"New blood?" the man growled as they approached.

Revan nodded. "We're here to fight."

The guard's eyes swept over them, lingering on Revan. "You don't look like much," he sneered. "But the arena has a way of sorting the strong from the dead. Entry fee's twenty gold. No refunds."

Revan handed over the coins without hesitation. Kael's lips twitched, but he held back his usual sarcasm.

The guard stepped aside, and they entered.

---

The arena's interior was a cavernous space lit by fiery torches. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and smoke, a heady mixture that set the tone for what lay ahead. Fighters of all shapes and sizes filled the preparation area, sharpening blades, adjusting armor, or simply sitting in grim silence.

Kael glanced around, his eyes narrowing. "This place is a powder keg waiting to explode."

Revan ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. A short, wiry man approached them, his sharp features twisted into a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

"You the new fighters?" the man asked, his voice high-pitched and grating.

"We are," Revan replied.

"Name's Rask. I handle the new blood," the man said, looking them over with a critical eye. "You'll fight in the opening matches. Think of it as a trial. Survive, and you'll earn a spot in the higher tiers. Die, and… well, you won't have to worry about anything else."

"What are the rules?" Kaelar asked.

Rask snorted. "Rules? This is the Crimson Arena, not some nobleman's duel. The only rule is to survive. Kill your opponent, incapacitate them, or force them to surrender. No restrictions on weapons or techniques."

Revan nodded. "When do we start?"

Rask grinned. "Eager, huh? Good. You're up next. Get ready."

---

The waiting area was a small, dimly lit room with a single door leading to the arena floor. The muffled sound of the crowd grew louder as Revan and his companions prepared for the fight.

"Are you sure about this?" Kael asked, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

"We need to make an impression," Revan said, checking the straps on his armor. "The arena is more than just a place for fights. It's a network of power and influence. If we're going to uncover the secrets of Drakmor, this is where we start."

Kael sighed, shaking his head. "Just don't get yourself killed. I'd hate to lose the only person crazy enough to drag me into this mess."

The door opened, and a guard motioned for them to enter.

---

The arena floor was a circular pit of sand and stone, surrounded by tiered seating packed with spectators. The crowd erupted into cheers and shouts as Revan stepped into the light, their bloodlust palpable.

Across the arena, a group of three fighters emerged, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight. They were seasoned combatants, their confidence evident in their predatory smiles.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" boomed a voice from above. The announcer stood on a raised platform, his voice amplified by a Fire Seal. "Tonight, we have a special treat for you! New blood versus veterans! Will the fresh meat survive, or will they be nothing more than ashes in the wind? Let the match begin!"

The crowd roared, and the fighters sprang into action.

---

Revan moved first, his Shadow Seal activating instinctively. Tendrils of darkness coiled around him, forming a protective barrier as he closed the distance between himself and the nearest opponent.

The man swung a massive axe, its blade glowing with heat from a Fire Seal embedded in its edge. Revan sidestepped the attack, his movements fluid, and retaliated with a burst of shadow energy. The tendrils lashed out, striking the man's legs and sending him sprawling.

Kaelar engaged the second opponent, a woman wielding dual daggers. Her speed was impressive, but Kaelar's precision was unmatched. He parried her attacks with ease, his blade flashing in the light as he countered with a series of strikes that forced her onto the defensive.

Kael faced the third opponent, a burly man armed with a spiked mace. "Just my luck," Kael muttered, dodging a swing that could have crushed his skull. He retaliated with a well-aimed dagger throw, the blade embedding itself in the man's shoulder.

The fight was brutal and chaotic, the sand beneath their feet stained with blood as the combatants clashed.

Revan's opponent rose, fury in his eyes, and charged with a roar. Revan met him head-on, his shadow tendrils forming a spear that pierced the man's chest. The crowd erupted in cheers as the man fell, his body lifeless.

Kaelar disarmed the woman with a swift strike, his blade at her throat. "Yield," he commanded, his voice cold. She hesitated, then dropped to her knees, raising her hands in surrender.

Kael's opponent was still fighting, swinging his mace wildly despite the dagger lodged in his shoulder. Kael dodged another attack and lunged forward, driving a second dagger into the man's side. The burly man collapsed with a grunt, and the crowd roared its approval.

---

The announcer's voice boomed once more. "A stunning victory for the newcomers! Let's hear it for our champions!"

The crowd's cheers were deafening, their bloodlust sated for the moment. Revan, Kael, and Kaelar stood in the center of the arena, their breathing heavy but their resolve unshaken.

As they left the arena floor, Rask met them with a wide grin. "Not bad, new blood. You've earned yourselves a spot in the next tier. Keep this up, and you might just survive long enough to make a name for yourselves."

Revan's eyes narrowed. "This is just the beginning."

Rask chuckled. "Spoken like a true fighter. Rest up. Your next match won't be any easier."

As they returned to their quarters, the weight of their victory hung heavy in the air. The Crimson Arena had been their first test, and they had emerged victorious. But Revan knew that the challenges ahead would only grow more dangerous.

The shadows within him stirred, a reminder of the power he wielded—and the price he might one day pay for it.