The boisterous cheers for Euphyne's dazzling victory gradually settled into a rhythmic, low thrumming as the automated brass drones hovered back out of the tunnel, having thoroughly swept the sand and cleared the heavy debris left by the shattered wall. The air within the Building of Entertainment remained thick, hot, and heavy with the metallic tang of blood and burned mana, a constant reminder of the stakes hidden within this red-lit underground district. Up in our section of the stands, the atmosphere was a mix of exhaustion and hyper-vigilance. Elphyete sat back slightly, her long ears drooping from the sensory overload of the stadium, though her arms remained wrapped protectively around Salphy. The little girl had finally stopped covering her ears, but she kept her face carefully turned away from the pit. Alea and Hanashighi stood like anchors on either side of our row, their hands never straying far from their gear, while Euphyne took a seat with a self-satisfied smirk, gently smoothing down his golden hair to ensure not a single strand was out of place. I leaned my forearms against the cold obsidian railing, my eyes straining against the dim, crimson glow of the soul-lamps that lined the high stone arches. My mind was still trying to process the sheer absurdity of the previous bouts, from time-bending scythe strikes to ego-driven physical transformations, and I wondered just how much more intensity my eyes could take before the night was through.
The massive violet display above the center of the stadium flickered violently, erasing the lingering golden letters of the previous match and replacing them with two entirely new sets of characters. The announcer's voice cut through the murmuring crowd with its usual magically amplified, booming resonance, offering no prologue or flavor text for the upcoming contestants.
"Celes vs Jhespa!"
I blinked, staring down at the text on the screen, and then looked over at Celdrich and Eufrien to see if either of them recognized the names. Both of them remained perfectly silent, their expressions blank and unmoving as they stared down into the pit. I didn't know who either of them were. Unlike the previous fighters who carried themselves with the unmistakable aura of well-known legends, notorious monsters, or high-tier martial artists, these names drew no immediate, explosive roar of recognition from the thousands of spectators around us. The crowd simply kept up their steady, bloodthirsty chanting, eager for any form of violence, regardless of who was providing it. It was clear to me that we were about to watch two random people, likely hardened mercenaries or desperate gladiators from the deeper levels of the underground, fighting purely for survival or a meager purse.
From the left tunnel, Celes stepped out onto the blood-stained sand. She was a lean, athletic fighter, moving with a cautious, practical stride that lacked the theatrical flair of the previous contestants. She wore simple, scuffed leather armor over her dark clothing, the surface covered in nicks and scratches from what looked like dozens of past skirmishes. In her hands, she held a pair of curved hunting knives, the steel dull and utilitarian rather than polished and glowing. She didn't look at the crowd, nor did she make any grand proclamations; her focus was entirely locked on the opposite gate, her chest rising and falling in a steady, controlled breathing pattern. She adjusted her grip on the leather-wrapped hilts of her knives, her knuckles turning white as she dropped into a functional, low-centered combat stance.
From the right tunnel came Jhespa, a broad-shouldered, weather-beaten man who looked as though he had spent his entire life inside gritty training rings and dark alleyways. He wore mismatched pieces of iron plating over a heavy wool tunic, and his face was lined with old scars that cut through a rough, unkempt beard. He carried a heavy iron-bound spiked club over his right shoulder, the weapon looking incredibly dense and brutal. He didn't look overpowered or divine; he just looked like a dangerous, primitive brawler who relied on raw muscle and dirty tactics to get the job done. He spit into the sand as his heavy boots crushed the golden grains, his small, dark eyes fixing onto Celes with a grim, humorless determination. He lowered the heavy club from his shoulder, letting the spiked end drag lightly through the sand with a harsh, grating sound.
I watched from the railing, my muscles tensing automatically as the two random fighters closed the distance, stopping roughly fifteen paces apart. There was no pre-battle banter, no exchange of philosophies, and no grand displays of swirling magical energy. The absence of terrifying, world-shaking auras actually made the air feel more grounded, yet entirely unpredictable. I gripped the smooth stone of the barrier tightly, my eyes tracking the subtle movements of their feet.
Jhespa was the first to break the tension. With a guttural grunt that echoed softly in the lower tier, he lunged forward, swinging the heavy spiked club in a brutal, horizontal arc aimed directly at Celes's ribs. The movement wasn't blindingly fast like Xhi's speed, nor was it heavy with the crushing pressure of Vhemrie's power, but it was fast enough to kill an ordinary person in an instant. Celes reacted with a quick, agile duck, the spikes of the club whistling loudly just inches above her head. The momentum of the heavy swing carried Jhespa forward, and Celes immediately took advantage of the opening. She slithered around his flank like a snake, her curved knives flashing in the dim red light as she delivered two rapid, slashing strikes against the exposed side of his leather-wrapped thigh.
A sharp gasp escaped my throat as I saw a spray of dark red blood hit the sand. Jhespa let out a sharp bark of pain, but instead of staggering back, his combat instincts took over. He twisted his massive torso around with surprising agility, using the pommel of his club to strike backward like a hammer. The heavy iron base caught Celes square in the shoulder. I heard a dull, sickening thud from our section, and Celes was thrown sideways, her boots skidding wildly across the sand as she struggled to maintain her balance. She managed to stay on her feet, but her left arm hung slightly loose, her face contorting into a grimace of pure pain as she quickly retreated to create some distance.
"They're not holding back anything," I muttered to myself, my voice swallowed by the roaring crowd. It was a gritty, visceral exchange that felt entirely different from the high-magic anomalies we had just witnessed. These two were bleeding and bruising from standard physical impacts, making the fight feel incredibly raw and hazardous.
Jhespa didn't give her a chance to recover. Recognizing that she was injured, he pressed his advantage, rushing forward with a series of heavy, erratic overhead chops. He was a brawler through and through, utilizing his superior weight and physical presence to overwhelm her agility. Celes was forced entirely onto the defensive. She backed away in a wide circle, her knives clattering desperately against the heavy iron bands of the club whenever she was forced to parry. Each collision sent a harsh vibration through her arms, forcing her to give up ground. The sound of metal scraping against iron filled the pit, a chaotic rhythm that kept my heart hammering against my ribs. I leaned further over the railing, my eyes wide as I watched Celes duck under another devastating swing that shattered a loose stone block on the floor, sending a shower of sharp gravel across the arena.
Celes was clearly the more technical of the two, but the sheer weight of Jhespa's weapon was wearing her down rapidly. She stumbled slightly as her boot caught a furrow in the sand, and Jhespa seized the moment, driving his shoulder straight into her chest like a battering ram. The impact was massive. Celes was lifted off her feet and launched backward, crashing heavily into the hard sand. Her hunting knives slipped from her fingers, spinning away into the grit. The crowd erupted into a frenzied cheer, sensing that the end was near for the lone woman.
I clenched my fists, my breath catching in my throat as I watched Jhespa loom over her, raising the spiked club high above his head with both hands. His face was twisted into a snarl of impending triumph, his muscles bulging as he prepared to deliver a crushing, final blow that would put an end to the match. Celes looked up at the descending weapon, her blue eyes wide with a flash of panic, but her survival instincts didn't fail her. Just as the club began its downward arc, she threw her body to the right, rolling frantically across the sand.
The spiked club slammed into the earth exactly where her head had been a fraction of a second prior, burying itself deep into the compacted dirt with a muffled boom. The force of the miss left Jhespa's guard completely open as he struggled to yank the heavy weapon back out of the ground. Celes didn't hesitate. She scrambled to her knees, lunging forward with a desperate, bare-handed dive. She scooped up one of her fallen hunting knives from the sand and used her momentum to drive the curved blade straight into the gap beneath Jhespa's iron shoulder plating.
Jhespa let out a roaring scream of agony, his grip on the club loosening instantly as the steel bit deep into his muscle. Blood erupted from the wound, soaking his tunic in a matter of seconds. Celes twisted the blade with a cold, ruthless efficiency, using her foot to kick off his chest and pull the weapon free as she jumped backward. Jhespa stumbled away, clutching his streaming shoulder, his face turning pale from the sudden, massive blood loss. The heavy club remained stuck in the sand, a useless monument to his failed aggression.
I watched, completely transfixed, as the dynamic of the fight shifted in an instant. Both combatants were now severely weakened, panting heavily, their bodies covered in sweat, dirt, and deep crimson stains. There was no beauty in it, no dazzling splendor, just two ordinary people tearing each other apart for the amusement of the underground. Celes circled him warily, her breathing ragged, her left shoulder still stiff from the earlier bludgeoning. Jhespa glared at her through a haze of pain, his breath coming in short, raspy gasps as he tried to stabilize his footing with his remaining good arm.
The final exchange happened with a sudden, desperate burst of energy from both sides. Jhespa, knowing he was bleeding out, abandoned his weapon entirely and lunged forward with a wild, clumsy tackle, intending to use his sheer weight to crush her into submission. Celes stood her ground until the absolute last second. As the massive brawler reached her, she slid underneath his outstretched arms, her low-centered stance allowing her to avoid the grapple entirely. With a fluid, upward sweep of her right hand, she drove the curved hunting knife deep into the side of his neck.
The motion was swift and absolute. Jhespa's momentum carried him forward for two more steps before his knees buckled completely. He crashed face-first into the sand, the heavy impact throwing up a small cloud of dust around his still form. He didn't move again, the blood quickly pooling around his head and staining the golden grains a deep, dark crimson. Celes stood over him for a long moment, her chest heaving violently as she held the bloody knife down at her side. She looked thoroughly exhausted, her body trembling from the physical toll of the struggle, but she had survived.
I let out a long, shaky breath that I hadn't realized I was holding, slowly releasing my grip on the obsidian railing. My palms were damp with sweat from the sheer tension of the grounded, brutal spectacle. I looked down at the fallen brawler and then back to Celes, who was already turning her back on the corpse and limping slowly toward the exit tunnel, her head bowed against the deafening noise of the arena.
The massive violet display above the pit flickered once more, updating the text as the final results were processed by the system. The announcer's voice boomed through the high stone arches of the Building of Entertainment, delivering the cold, unvarnished truth of the outcome to the thousands of cheering spectators.
"Celes wins!"