Immortal descent

The rules were straightforward yet daunting. Each participant was to pick a numbered tag, and the person with the same number would be their opponent. The trials were inter-racial, ensuring that humans would face not only each other but competitors from other races. The human bouts were scheduled for the fourth day, along with two other races. This arrangement provided the humans ample time to observe their opponents and prepare.

When it was Aeron's turn, he stepped forward and drew a tag. The number 14 was etched into the small metal plate. He raised it high, and across the arena, another boy lifted his hand, acknowledging the shared number.

The boy appeared to be around 18 or 19 years old, exuding an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. His attire and demeanor screamed wealth and privilege, a stark contrast to Aeron's own subdued presence.

Aeron silently inquired of the book, "What's his stage?"

"He's at the Initiate level, but in the late stages," the book responded.

Their eyes met briefly before they were instructed to shake hands. The boy approached with a smug grin, clearly underestimating Aeron. Without a word, Aeron extended his hand, clasped the boy's briefly, and then walked back to his spot as if the interaction was of no consequence.

The booming voice of the overseer echoed through the arena once more. "A simple reminder: this is not a game. If you do not surrender, you may die. No one will be held responsible for your demise. So, if you're here just to 'gain experience,' remember, death is always a possibility. Good luck."

---

Back in his room, Aeron wasted no time. He plunged into the familiar depths of the Death Land. The suffocating yet invigorating air filled his lungs, rejuvenating his senses. With a focused mind, he willed his Death Magic, feeling it coalesce around his hands before transforming into a formidable scythe.

The weapon gleamed ominously, its very presence exuding an aura of dread. The blade seemed to carry the weight of countless souls, and every movement was accompanied by a haunting wail, as if the scythe itself mourned the lives it had claimed.

Aeron admired the scythe for a moment, then swung it in a wide arc. The weapon sliced through the air, obliterating the trees around him in a devastating sweep. The ground trembled as the area within a twenty-meter radius was reduced to splinters, the sheer force of his attack sending shockwaves through the Death Land.

The air grew thicker with the essence of death, its concentration intensifying with each passing moment. Aeron practiced relentlessly, becoming one with the scythe, mastering its weight, its balance, and its deadly potential. The Death Law flowed through him, empowering his every move.

Days passed in this intense training until the book's gentle reminder echoed in his mind. "It's been four days. Time to return."

Aeron exited the Death Land, feeling a newfound strength coursing through him. The book's voice resonated with approval, "You're improving rapidly."

He nodded, glancing at his reflection. His white hair had grown to his calves, a symbol of his transformation, but it was becoming a nuisance. With little time to spare, he hurried out of his room, his gaze meeting his opponent briefly before making his way to the arena.

---

The arena buzzed with energy as the shrill bell rang out, signaling the start of the human bouts. The voice of the overseer echoed once again. "Now, for the humans. According to your numbers, step forward, starting from one."

The first match was between two girls. They approached each other, exchanged a brief handshake, then retreated to their positions. The tension was palpable as the crowd leaned in, eager for the fight to begin.

"Fight!" the overseer bellowed.

The girl with short hair lunged forward, her hand transforming into a monstrous claw, radiating raw power. She slashed down with ferocity, her speed and strength overwhelming. Her opponent quickly conjured an ice wall, a desperate attempt to block the attack. The claw tore through the ice like paper, continuing its deadly trajectory.

The crowd roared, their cheers and gasps echoing through the arena. Aeron watched intently, his eyes analyzing every movement, every weakness. The short-haired girl's aggressive style left openings, her overconfidence a potential flaw. The other girl, though struggling, displayed resilience, her defensive maneuvers calculated but ultimately insufficient.

The fight ended with a resounding victory for the short-haired girl, her opponent lying defeated. The overseer's voice announced the next pair, and the arena erupted into a frenzy once more.

Aeron remained composed, his mind absorbing every detail of the battles. He saw through the facade of strength, noting the flaws and vulnerabilities of each fighter. The remaining fights blurred together, a cacophony of clashes and roars, each one a study in strategy and survival.

Finally, the voice called out, "Number 14, step forward."

Aeron rose, his expression calm but focused. The time had come to prove himself, to test his skills against the best the academy had to offer. As he walked toward the center of the arena, the crowd's anticipation reached a fever pitch.

His opponent awaited him, the air between them charged with tension. The arena fell silent, the eyes of countless spectators fixed on the two figures standing poised for battle. This was the moment of truth, a clash that would determine not only victory but the very essence of their strength and will.

The arena buzzed with a mix of anticipation and boredom as the non-human spectators watched the human bouts unfold. Among the crowd, an orc whispered to his friend, "This is going to be another boring fight."

"Yeah, Dad just had to force us to be here," another orc muttered, leaning back with a sigh.

Meanwhile, Aeron stepped into the arena, his calm demeanor concealed beneath a dark cloak. His opponent, Denstine Lasward, sauntered forward, adjusting a strand of hair that had fallen out of place. His confidence was palpable.

"You can surrender now," Denstine offered with a smirk, his voice dripping with condescension. "And what's with the cloak? Trying to look mysterious?"

The overseer's voice cut through the chatter. "Denstine Lasward, a HarpyHuman, versus Aeron Blackthorn, a human."

Aeron's eyes narrowed as he silently questioned the book, "What are HarpyHumans?"

The book's response was swift. "HarpyHumans possess a blend of human and harpy traits. They are fast, can fly, and have a strong ability to control the wind."

"Begin!" the overseer commanded.

The atmosphere shifted as wind began to swirl around Denstine. He assumed a fighting stance, his wings unfurling slightly, feathers ruffling in the rising gale. The spectators, once disinterested, leaned forward in their seats, curiosity piqued by the sudden change in intensity.

Aeron stood still, his eyes closed as he summoned the Death Law to envelop him. The potent aura of death seeped into the arena, turning the air cold and heavy. The murmurs among the crowd grew louder.

"I've never seen a human wield the Death Law... and with such potency," someone whispered in awe.

Denstine's gaze locked onto Aeron, a flicker of unease crossing his features. When Aeron opened his eyes, they were no longer human -they were dark, soulless voids that seemed to pierce through Denstine's very essence.

Shaking off his apprehension, Denstine charged forward, his fist whipping through the air with a force that generated a powerful gale. The wind roared as it rushed towards Aeron, aiming to knock him off balance.

Aeron sidestepped with uncanny precision, his movements fluid and deliberate. Denstine pivoted, his wings creating a sharp gust that sent debris flying. He slashed with his talons, the sharp claws gleaming as they aimed for Aeron's chest.

Aeron ducked and retaliated with a swift strike of his own, his fists cloaked in the malevolent energy of the Death Law. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, forcing Denstine to leap back, using his wings to stabilize himself mid-air.

The crowd erupted in cheers and gasps, their initial boredom replaced with sheer excitement. The orc from earlier leaned forward, eyes wide. "This isn't boring at all!"

Denstine hovered in the air, his piercing eyes scanning Aeron for any weaknesses. With a flap of his wings, he launched a series of wind slashes, the cutting gusts slicing through the arena floor, leaving deep grooves in their wake Aeron dodged each attack with calculated precision, his cloak billowing in the wind. He could feel the rhythm of the battle, the ebb and flow of Denstine's energy. As Denstine closed in for another attack, Aeron seized the moment. He reached deep within, summoning the scythe once more.

The weapon materialized in his hands, its dark blade radiating an eerie glow. The crowd fell silent, the chilling wail of the scythe echoing across the arena, as if the souls of the damned were crying out in agony.

Denstine's eyes widened in horror. "What... what is that?"

Without hesitation, Aeron swung the scythe.

The blade cut through the air with a haunting whisper, the sound of countless souls reaped in its wake. Denstine tried to evade, his wings flapping furiously, but the scythe was relentless.

The blade connected, slicing through Denstine's side. Blood sprayed across the arena, painting the ground in crimson. Denstine staggered, clutching his wound, his face contorted in pain.

Aeron advanced, his expression cold and unyielding. He swung the scythe again, this time aiming for Denstine's legs. The harpy-human cried out as the blade severed his tendons, sending him crashing to the ground.

The crowd watched in stunned silence, the brutal display leaving them breathless. Aeron stood over Denstine, the scythe poised for the final blow. Denstine's eyes filled with terror as he realized there was no escape.

With a swift, decisive motion, Aeron brought the scythe down, the blade plunging into Denstine's chest. The harpy-human's body convulsed as the weapon drained the life from him, his soul torn from his body in a final, agonizing scream.

The arena was deathly quiet, the only sound the soft whisper of the wind carrying the remnants of Denstine's soul away. Aeron stood over the lifeless body, the scythe dissolving into the air, its task complete.

The overseer's voice finally broke the silence. "The winner... Aeron Blackthorn."

The crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers and horrified murmurs Aeron turned and walked away, his cloak trailing behind him, leaving the blood-soaked arena in his wake.

This fight was far from boring. It was a chilling reminder of the deadly stakes and the monstrous potential that lay within the human race.