Arya's vision blurred as he struggled to his feet, his body battered and weak from the relentless beatings. His wrists ached from the ropes that bound him, his breath ragged. But even in his exhaustion, his first instinct was to reach for the twins, to make sure they were safe. He took an unsteady step toward them.
Upendra watched him with mild amusement. "You never stop fighting, do you?" he said, shaking his head. "A shame, really."
Arya's lips curled into a snarl as he lurched forward, swinging a desperate punch at the warlord's face. But Upendra barely moved. With ease, he caught Arya's fist in his large hand and twisted, sending Arya stumbling backward onto the stone floor. Laughter rippled through the gathered crowd of guards and criminals who had assembled to watch the spectacle.
"You're strong," Upendra admitted, dusting his hands off as though Arya's struggle had dirtied him. "But strength alone won't get you far in this world. Power, boy, power is what you lack."
He stepped closer, crouching beside Arya. "I could give you power," he whispered. "Join me, and you won't have to scrape by in the gutters anymore. You won't have to steal to survive."
Arya said nothing, his gaze burning with silent defiance.
Raghav, however, had heard enough. "Go to hell, Upendra!" he spat. "We'll never work for you!"
Upendra sighed as if genuinely disappointed. Then, without warning, he drove his fist into Raghav's face. The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the chamber as Raghav collapsed, blood dripping from his nose and mouth.
A cold fury unlike anything he had ever felt consumed Arya. His body, battered and broken, surged forward on sheer instinct. He launched himself at Upendra, but the guards intercepted him. They grabbed him by the arms, shoving him back. But Arya wasn't like other prisoners. Even bound, he fought. He twisted, kicked, and slammed his head into one of the guards' noses, breaking it in an instant.
The guards hesitated—just for a moment. A moment was all Arya needed. Using their grip against them, he wrenched his arms free, snapping the ropes against the jagged edge of a metal torch bracket. His wrists stung as the ropes tore through his skin, but he didn't stop.
Men came at him—three, then five. Then ten. One by one, they fell.
Upendra chuckled as he stepped back, watching the carnage unfold. "Leave him," he ordered, turning away. "Let him entertain himself."
The fight raged on, Arya a blur of destruction, knocking down opponent after opponent. By the time he reached the door, the chamber was littered with the unconscious bodies of Upendra's men.
He stepped out into the open—and the sight before him nearly took his breath away.
The Gladiator's Pit
A massive arena stretched before him, its stone floor soaked in old blood. A pit where the strong survived and the weak were devoured. Crude iron bars lined the upper walls, separating the spectators from the fighters below.
The roar of the crowd was deafening. People screamed, cheered, and placed bets. Some of them were criminals. Some were nobles. All of them were entertained by the suffering of others.
Two men rushed at Arya the moment he stepped into the pit. No hesitation. No mercy.
Arya met the first attacker head-on, ducking beneath a swinging club and driving his elbow into the man's ribs. A crack. A scream. A body hitting the ground.
The second man was smarter. He came in fast, a dagger glinting in his hand. But Arya was faster. He caught the man's wrist, twisted it violently, and wrenched the dagger away before slamming his knee into the attacker's face.
The crowd erupted.
A sword lay near one of the fallen men. Arya picked it up, gripping its hilt tightly. Now armed, his rage had a sharper edge.
More fighters came. Men, women, desperate souls all fighting for survival. One by one, they fell to Arya's blade. His body ached, his limbs screamed in pain, but he did not stop.
Atop the arena's balcony, Upendra watched, his amused expression fading. Something changed in his gaze as Arya turned, standing atop a pile of broken bodies, and pointed his sword directly at him.
The crowd roared in approval.
Upendra, for the first time that night, frowned.
"Enough," he ordered. "Send in my best."
Four warriors entered the pit. Trained killers. Bigger. Stronger. Armed to the teeth. Arya exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. This was going to be different.
The first warrior lunged. Arya sidestepped and drove his blade into the man's thigh, sending him crashing to the ground. Another came at him with twin axes, swinging wildly. Arya barely dodged the first strike, feeling the wind of the blade slice past his ear. He countered, but the warrior was relentless.
The battle dragged on. Arya fought, bled, and struggled. He was powerful, but he wasn't invincible. Eventually, exhausted, he fell to one knee, panting. The remaining fighters circled him like wolves sensing the kill.
A steel door slammed shut.
Guards poured into the arena. Upendra had seen enough.
"Take him back to his cell," he ordered.
Arya fought to rise, but there were too many. They overwhelmed him, beat him down, and dragged him back into the darkness.
The Price of Defiance
When Arya woke, he was in chains once more. His body ached. His head throbbed.
Across the cell, Rudra and Raghav sat in silence. Rudra had returned with the Ratnas. He had given them up to save them.
Upendra had taken everything.
Days passed. The twins wouldn't speak to Arya. Not out of anger, but out of awe.
They had known Arya was strong. They had never seen anything like what they saw in the arena. A monster unleashed. A force of nature.
A week in prison. No food. No rest. Just more fights. More blood.
Then, on the eighth day, something changed.
For the first time, they were given proper food. Fresh water. Rest.
A reward for their victories.
As Arya ate in silence, his mind churned. He had spent his life scraping for survival, thinking of nothing beyond the next day. Now, he understood. Power ruled this world. Strength dictated fate.
He clenched his fists. He would no longer live like this. He would rise. He would break free. And one day—he would bring down men like Upendra.
But for now, he waited.
Silently.
Watching.
Planning.
Because this world belonged to the powerful.
And one day, it would belong to him.