By the time Damon lifted his face, those nearest the arena floor gasped in shock. His eyes had changed. His pupils dilated. His breathing was shallow and raspy. One eye was swollen shut, and his ribs were visibly broken under his torn coat.
More shocking was his hair, the dirty white waves were darkening. It transformed into pitch-black spikes that seemed to absorb the light around him.
(Physical energy: 28 percent)
Tlepolemus grinned.
"Finally," he said, his voice seemingly excited, "I knew the rumors were true. The last Devourer of Light graces us with his true nature."
Damon stood perfectly still, his posture relaxed despite the grievous wounds covering his body.
His healing was slow due to the fatal damage.
When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost bored.
"Are you done talking?"
Tlepolemus glared in anger.
With a roar, he charged, grabbing a double-bladed axe from the sand as he rushed forward.
He swung the massive weapon in a horizontal arc that would have separated Damon's head from his shoulders….had it connected.
Damon sidestepped at an insane speed, one hand rising to catch the axe handle mid-swing. The impact should have shattered his arm, but Damon didn't flinch. He held the weapon in place as Tlepolemus strained uselessly against him.
"Weak," Damon whispered.
The champion tore the axe from Damon's grip and attacked again, a flurry of strikes that cut only air as Damon weaved between them.
They were evenly matched, but Tlepolemus's rage made him predictable as the crowd's murmurs began to grow louder.
Frustration building, Tlepolemus discarded the axe and snatched up a fallen spear. He thrust it forward with enough force to pierce diamond.
Damon caught the shaft an inch from his chest. Shadows swirling, he snapped the weapon with a flick, leaving Tlepolemus holding a useless stick.
"Impossible," the champion muttered, backing away.
His confident smirk had vanished, replaced by something resembling fear.
"The mighty champion seems troubled," Wildfoot commented, his voice carrying an edge of concern. "Never before has Tlepolemus been so thoroughly....played"
The champion's eyes darted frantically among the corpses littering the arena until he spotted what he sought.
A huge broad sword.
This time, Tlepolemus approached more cautiously, circling and observing his opponent. When he struck, it was a feint followed by a vicious backswing that would have crushed Damon's ribcage.
Damon wasn't there. Moving like the shadows, he slipped inside the champion's guard and struck him once, a simple open-handed blow to the chest that sent Tlepolemus staggering backward.
The champion looked down in disbelief at the handprint burned into his flesh.
"No more games," Tlepolemus snarled. He planted his feet wide, dropped the sword, and raised his arms to the darkening sky.
"Witness my sacrifice, Seventh Prince! I offer my vessel to the void!"
Tlepolemus closed his eyes and roared. This time not with rage, but invocation. The darkness in the arena shifted again, as though answering.
Black cracks burst along his skin as his muscles swelled unnaturally. Veins pulsed like rivers of tar. His chest glowed violet as the ground beneath him trembled.
He had tapped into his negative energy. His injuries began to heal.
(30 percent: Fatal stage)
The crowd screamed in ecstasy as power rippled through the stadium. Tlepolemus 's negative Energy and Damon's darkness abilities began to shroud the entire arena in darkness.
The two figures vanished in motion, reappearing only to exchange titanic blows that made the heavens ring.
One punch from Damon flung Tlepolemus across the field. An immediate counter-smash from the champion buried Damon in a crater.
Tlepolemus's eyes turned completely black, and when he exhaled, dark mist poured from his mouth. The ground beneath him cracked, sand turning to glass from the sheer power radiating from his form.
"Now," the monstrous champion growled. His voice distorted and echoing, "we end this."
Tlepolemus surged forward, every step leaving craters. His sword reformed in his hand, larger and burning. Damon was still.
Until he wasn't.
Their clash split the sky. The darkness cleared at once.
Tlepolemus was on him again, raining blows that shook the entire structure. Shockwaves ripped through the capital. People screamed in far-off streets.
"The capital itself trembles!" Wildfoot cried, clinging to the podium as it swayed. "Never has such power been unleashed in these sacred grounds!"
The beating continued for long minutes, Tlepolemus's transformed body seeming immune to fatigue as he pummeled Damon backward.
Finally, he stepped back, breathing heavily despite his supernatural endurance.
Damon lay in a crater of shattered stone. He groaned in pain. Blood pooled beneath him, yet somehow, he again began to move.
"Why won't you die?!!" Tlepolemus demanded in pure fury.
Damon pushed himself up, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the sand. He smiled. A terrible, knowing smile that chilled the champion's heart.
"You misunderstand," Damon said quietly. "I haven't started fighting back."
"Lies!" Tlepolemus snarled. "I've felt your power!"
Damon cracked his neck. "Since you have decided to tap into your negative energy, I guess it would be rude of me not to do the same."
When the change came, it was subtle at first. A deepening of the shadows around Damon.
Negative Energy
A drop in temperature that turned breath to fog.
28 percent
Then his hair, already black as night, began to move as if underwater, tendrils of darkness extending from each spike.
29 percent
His hands shook as he struggled to control his negative energy. His open eye shifted, the pupil elongating like that of a cat.
"By the abyss," Wildfoot whispered, forgetting his role as announcer. "He truly is a Devourer."
32 percent
Unlike Tlepolemus's transformation, Damon's was silent, contained. No shockwaves, no cracking earth, just a profound silence that made even the demigods in the audience shrink back.
35 percent
Light itself seemed to bend around him, reluctant to touch his form. Damon's rage surged almost to madness.
Damon shifted.
Tlepolemus hesitated. Then, with a bellow of defiance, he launched himself at Damon once more. This time, Damon didn't dodge.
He caught the champion's fist in his palm.
The impact created a thunderclap that shattered what remained of the arena's walls. Tlepolemus strained against the smaller man's grip, his enhanced muscles bulging with effort.
Damon didn't budge.
"You are overusing your negative energy," Damon whispered. "You don't want to burn out, do you?"
"Keep quiet," Tlepolemus howled angrily.
He hit Damon hard with the other hand, sending him flying backwards. Just as he was about to fall, he caught himself mid-air and balanced himself with his hands with feline grace.
"My turn," Damon said, his voice layered with voices upon voices; all in a screeching tone.
Tlepolemus hurriedly backed off, but Damon's body blurred. He reappeared in front of the champion mid-swing.
His palm struck Tlepolemus's chest. Bones shattered with a sound of crushed ice.
A second blow cracked his shoulder.
A third twisted his neck unnaturally.
Tlepolemus tried to scream, but only blood came out.
Still, he fought.
He lunged forward with a guttural roar, channeling every ounce of negative energy into one final, forbidden move. His bones warped, spikes tearing through his arms and back. His mouth split open into a monster's snarl.
He drove himself toward Damon like a comet.
But Damon was already behind him.
"You should have never saved me for last," he whispered.
"Please," Tlepolemus begged. His transformed body began to flicker as the negative energy consumed him from within. Black blood leaked from his eyes and mouth.
"Mercy..."
Damon sighed. "You would have time to rest when you are dead."
Damon plunged his hand into Tlepolemus' back and ripped out his spine, vertebra by vertebra, as the crowd let out a collective, horrified gasp.
Blood sprayed in a fountain. Tlepolemus twitched once, then collapsed on the sands with a booming thud.
"I dedicate this death to your gods," Damon called out, his voice carrying to every corner of the now-silent arena…..
"May they choke on it."
The negative energy surrounding him abruptly dissipated as he dropped to one knee, his strength failing. His limbs trembled as he tried and failed to open his mouth.
His hair gradually lightened, returning to its natural white waves. Using such power had nearly destroyed him as well.
The demigods in the stands rose as one, their faces twisted with rage at the blasphemy they had witnessed.
"The champion has fallen!" Wildfoot finally muttered, though his voice shook. "But at what cost? The winner stands condemned by his own…."
The announcer's words ended in a wet gurgle as an arrow punched through his throat from somewhere in the stands. His body teetered for a moment before pitching forward into the sands.
In the sudden confusion, Damon's eyes found the source of the shot, a slender figure in black, perched in the shadows of the upper tier.
For just a moment, the assassin's hood slipped, revealing piercing blue eyes and a determined, feminine face. Their gazes locked in recognition.
"You!" Damon growled.