It was no surprise that shortly after Gladys's opening announcement, the fight was over.
A bit after the tournament started, Eve found herself pacing back and forth through her cell. Her first opponent was Galbert. How strong was he? What type of powers did he have? Eve didn't know, but she would get her answers soon enough.
Just as her pacing came to a halt, multiple sounds of footsteps filled the corridors—more precisely, iron-clad footsteps. The guards came, and multiple men stopped in front of her cell. Their bodies were covered in iron armor. Some were taller, some shorter. Some had swords, others axes, and one had a halberd.
Eve met their gaze.
"Looks like my time has come, huh?" she said, no emotion hearable in her words.
The man with the halberd spoke first.
"Silence, vermin. Put your wrists through one of the openings of the bars."
Eve did as instructed; she squeezed her wrists through the small opening of the rusty bars. Cold handcuffs now bound her wrists together.
"Withdraw your hands!" the guard with the halberd shouted.
She was a bit surprised that the guards didn't enter her cell to cuff her personally. But remembering the types of people who were here, she brushed that thought to the side.
The door to her cell flung open. The two biggest guys in the group entered, and they grabbed her by the shoulders and began to push her out of the cell. The other guards got in front of her. Trapping Eve in a circle, they started moving in a perfect formation.
No one said anything; they didn't need to. Their heavy footsteps and the rattling of the chains were more than enough. They walked past corridors made out of stone, right up until they reached a massive wooden gate with holes through it. The arena was visible behind it.
"Wrists!" one of the bigger guys exclaimed. She presented them to him. The other guards readied their weapons, pointing them at Eve.
Her shackles fell to the ground; her wrists felt lighter than they had ever been.
The guard who unchained her hurried over to the wall. He pulled a lever, making the gate ascend. Once the gate was halfway up, they pushed her into the arena. The gate began to fall back down.
"Make sure to put on a good show," one of the guards told her, laughing.
Eve turned her head toward the middle of the arena.
It looks bigger on the inside. It looks bigger because I'm the one fighting for my life.
The blood from the previous match was visible on the fresh sand. Opposite to her sat a door the same height as the one she had entered. The torches lit up the whole arena. Thousands of people stared at her, waiting. They didn't applaud or cheer; she was not worthy enough.
Eve scanned the crowd for a while, trying to find Elyon or maybe even the boy, but without any luck.
Her gaze fell. How could she have missed it? Nightfall was right at her feet, covered in sand. Its eye appeared closed; maybe it didn't want any sand entering its precious eye. Eve bent down to pick it up, and then the other door groaned open. Her opponent was here.
A slim man entered the arena. His face was covered with a crying theater mask. On his head rested a black and red cap 'n' bells. His clothes were the same color as his cap. Just like Eve, he scanned the arena for a while, then spotted his weapons on the ground. He bent down to pick up two dark daggers. But he didn't put one in each hand; he put both of the daggers in his right hand. Gripping the two at an unnatural angle, the blades formed a V-shape.
Eve grabbed her sword and dusted off the excess sand on it.
"In the left corner, we have Eve, the cursed child, one of the most wanted criminals in our history! How did we capture her? We didn't; Eve came here like she owned the place," Calliopius told the crowd. Some people even started laughing. "In the right corner, we have Galbert the clown—the former enigmatic leader of Hell's party. Former, because his taste in fashion is quite horrendous. Enough of the small talk—let the fight begin!"
Eve pointed her sword at Galbert.
"Great, my first opponent is a clown."
The clown began to walk toward her. He tilted his head to the side.
"Y-you have s-something that's not y-yours," his voice was raspy and quiet.
"Oh, you mean Nightfall? Well, guess what? It's mine. Your precious Goddess of Hell didn't need it anymore, and I'm the next best thing."
Galbert broke into a run, his right arm held high, ready to come crashing down on Eve once he was close enough to strike her. Just as the daggers were about to make contact with Eve's skin, she kicked him in his left knee. The man was launched to the side, rolling in the sand a few times before coming to a stop. Eve was left confused.
I know for a fact I'm not that strong. It's just that he is too weak. I mean, really weak—I barely put any power into that kick. What is going on?
Eve began to search the arena for something—a trick, a hidden weapon. But she didn't find anything. Her gaze went back to Galbert; he wasn't doing any tricks, and there was no hidden power. No, nothing. He was just trying desperately to get back up, trying to search for something. He tried to lean on his right leg, but he kept falling back down.
Don't tell me... I thought maybe he would have some powers because he was a cult leader or something. Anything. But no... he is just a... guy who worshiped a god that wasn't supposed to be worshiped. He is probably insane, but still.
Eve walked over to him, her gaze lingering on the man who was trying to get back up. A sense of pity was brewing in her eyes. Galbert looked up at her. He stopped trying; he just stood there, trembling. He didn't even try to pick up his daggers.
I get it now. This tournament is not about who is stronger or weaker, eviler or kinder. It's about who the people consider more entertaining.
Eve readied her weapon above her, preparing to put an end to this fight.
You didn't lose because you were necessarily a bad person. You didn't lose because you were weak. You lost because you were forced here for a show you weren't ready for—one that didn't welcome you.
"May you find rest in your Goddess's embrace."
Galbert's shoulders slumped in defeat, knowing his life was about to end. He stopped trembling altogether.
Nightfall bit the crying mask, putting an end to the fight.
After a moment of silence, the announcer spoke.
"Well, ladies and gentlemen, that was an anticlimactic fight. Let's hope our next match will be more entertaining."
The gate she had entered through opened back up again.
Her first fight was over.
The crowd was silent.