Blood and Shadows
The final stage of the tournament was held in a grand arena that dwarfed the previous challenges. Its towering walls enclosed a space filled with deadly traps and obstacles, designed to test the remaining competitors to their limits.
In the center of the arena stood a pedestal, glowing faintly with an eerie light. Atop it rested a single key—the token of passage to the tournament’s final prize. But the key was guarded by a circle of vampire knights, elite warriors handpicked by the Vampire King.
Eryon stood among the remaining competitors at the arena’s edge, his gaze locked on the key. The air was thick with tension, the crowd’s cheers and jeers blending into a chaotic roar.
“Remember,” Lyra had whispered to him before he entered. “Don’t let your guard down. And don’t let anyone see what you are.”
Eryon nodded, his resolve firm. But the weight of the earlier fight with Misery lingered. Her suspicion was like a shadow following him, and he knew it wouldn’t fade easily.
The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena, signaling the start of the match.
The competitors surged forward, the chaos immediate and brutal. Traps sprung from the ground—spikes, pits, and razor-sharp wires that sliced through the unwary. Eryon moved with precision, dodging a spear trap and vaulting over a collapsing platform.
The vampire knights descended into the fray, their movements ruthless and efficient. Eryon avoided them as much as possible, his focus on the key.
Misery appeared in his path, her blade slick with the blood of another competitor. She didn’t look surprised to see him.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she said, her smirk sharp.
“Stay out of my way,” Eryon replied, his tone clipped.
Misery laughed, the sound low and predatory. “Not a chance.”
Their rivalry played out in the chaos of the arena, their strikes and counters almost as intense as their earlier match. But Eryon’s focus faltered when he spotted Adrian watching from the royal balcony.
Adrian’s gaze was cold and calculating, his presence a reminder of the danger Eryon and Lyra faced.
Shaking off the distraction, Eryon pressed forward. He reached the pedestal just as a vampire knight descended upon him, its blade flashing. Eryon ducked, but not quickly enough. The knight’s blade slashed across his chest, tearing through his shirt and leaving a deep wound.
Pain flared, but it wasn’t the blood that worried him—it was its faint glow. Amber light pulsed from the wound, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but enough to send a chill through Eryon.
Misery was watching.
Her gaze locked onto the wound, her smirk fading into something sharper, more dangerous.
“Interesting,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the chaos.
Eryon grabbed the key and bolted, his chest burning as he moved. The arena’s traps and competitors blurred around him, his only thought on escaping before Misery could say—or do—anything more.
