Immortal descent

...later in the day,

but Aeron had little interest in watching his fellow humans. His mind was preoccupied with strategy, and the anticipation of facing an opponent from a different race intrigued him.

As the participants lined up to draw their tags, Aeron observed the other students closely. Each wore varying expressions—confidence, anxiety, excitement. He noted the subtle differences in posture, the way some clutched their tags tightly while others held them loosely, almost dismissively.

Aeron's turn came, and he reached into the box, drawing out a small, smooth stone with the number 13 etched into its surface. His gaze lingered on the number, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint smile. 13—an ominous number in many cultures, but for Aeron, it felt fitting.

"Number 13, huh?" a voice drawled beside him. He turned to see a towering orc with emerald skin and a broad grin, holding up a matching tag. "Looks like we're paired up, human."

Aeron sized up his opponent. The orc was massive, his muscles rippling under his coarse clothing. Yet, there was a glint of intelligence in his eyes, suggesting he was more than just brute strength.

"I suppose we are," Aeron replied evenly, his expression unreadable. He slipped the tag into his pocket and met the orc's gaze. "May the best one win."

The orc chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Oh, I intend to."

As they returned to their respective spots, Aeron's mind raced with potential strategies. The orc would likely rely on strength and endurance, typical of his race. Aeron, however, planned to exploit any weaknesses—speed, agility, and, most importantly, his burgeoning mastery of the Death Law.

The first round of bouts began, and the arena buzzed with energy. Aeron watched closely as various races clashed—elves demonstrating their agility and precision, dwarves showcasing their resilience and cunning, and humans relying on wit and resourcefulness.

Each fight revealed more about the academy's students and their abilities. Aeron paid close attention, cataloging strengths, weaknesses, and fighting styles. His turn was drawing near, and every bit of information could prove vital.

Finally, the announcer called for the next match. "Aeron of the humans versus Gorak of the orcs!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as Aeron and Gorak stepped onto the arena floor. The contrast between them was stark—Aeron, lean and composed, versus Gorak, towering and muscular. The spectators murmured, speculating on the outcome.

Aeron felt the weight of their gazes but remained focused. The announcer's voice boomed again, signaling the start of the match. Gorak wasted no time, charging forward with a roar, his massive fists aiming to crush Aeron in a single blow.

Aeron sidestepped with ease, his movements fluid and precise. He summoned a fraction of his Death energy, channeling it into his palm. As Gorak swung again, Aeron dodged and struck, his hand grazing the orc's arm. A faint, dark mist clung to Gorak's skin, spreading like a shadowy infection.

The crowd gasped as Gorak stumbled, his movements slowing. Aeron's Death energy was taking effect, sapping the orc's strength and agility. Gorak realized this and roared in frustration, summoning a surge of raw power to shake off the debilitating effects.

But Aeron was relentless. He darted around Gorak, striking with calculated precision, each touch leaving more of the dark mist behind. The arena seemed to darken as Aeron's power grew, feeding off Gorak's dwindling life force.

Gorak swung wildly, his strength diminishing with each passing moment. Aeron evaded effortlessly, his expression cold and calculating. With a final, precise strike, he sent Gorak crashing to the ground, the orc's massive form lying motionless.

The arena fell silent for a moment before erupting into cheers and applause. Aeron stood over his fallen opponent, his gaze distant. The announcer declared him the victor, but Aeron felt no triumph—only a cold satisfaction.

As he left the arena, he glanced back at Gorak, who was being tended to by healers. Aeron knew this was just the beginning. The trials were far from over, and his path was only growing darker.

---

Aeron walked steadily through the corridors, his footsteps echoing softly on the cold stone floors. The crowd's cheers still reverberated in his mind, but their noise faded into a dull hum. His victory over Gorak was significant, but he wasn't one to linger on past successes. Every fight was a lesson, and the next opponent was already on his mind.

The atmosphere of the academy seemed to weigh heavier on him now. The oppressive air of competition hung thick in the halls, the promise of more battles looming. The specter of his burgeoning powers, particularly the Death Law, loomed even larger with each fight. While it granted him an advantage, Aeron knew it was a double-edged sword—such power could come at a cost.

As he approached his room, he felt the prickling sensation of someone's gaze on him. He turned his head sharply, finding himself face-to-face with a figure cloaked in shadows. The person stood at the end of the hallway, barely visible beneath the dim light of the torches.

Aeron narrowed his eyes, instinctively stepping into a defensive posture, but the figure did not move.

"Quite the display in the arena," the figure said, their voice smooth and even, with an almost unnerving calm. "Impressive, even for someone of your… lineage."

Aeron's pulse quickened, but he said nothing, his gaze flicking over the stranger's silhouette. He had the sense that this was no ordinary observer.

"Who are you?" Aeron asked, his tone sharp yet guarded. He didn't trust uninvited strangers, especially in a place like this.

The figure chuckled softly, stepping closer, allowing the light to catch their features. It was a woman, her face masked with an elaborate veil, though her eyes glowed faintly with an unnatural light. The aura around her was cold, almost foreboding.

"Someone with interests in your future," she replied cryptically. "Your potential is undeniable, Aeron. But power comes at a price. Be wary of the path you walk."

Aeron straightened, his gaze unwavering. "And what path would you suggest I take?"

Her lips curled into a faint smile. "The one where you don't lose yourself in the darkness you're courting. If you survive the trials, that is."

Aeron's eyes darkened at the suggestion, but he kept his composure. "And if I don't? What then?"

The woman tilted her head, almost as if contemplating the question herself. "Then you are like the rest of them—nothing more than a stepping stone for the real power players in this game. But you're different, aren't you?" She studied him intently, as if searching for something hidden beneath his surface.

Aeron didn't answer. He couldn't afford to show weakness, especially to someone like this.

With a final glance, the woman turned and began to walk away, her steps light and measured, as though she hadn't just dropped a warning on him.

"Remember, Aeron," she called over her shoulder, her voice carrying an almost prophetic weight. "In the end, it's not strength that will carry you forward—it's control. Don't lose it."

Aeron stood still for a long moment, her words hanging in the air like an unsettling omen. He didn't believe in prophecies or warnings from strangers, but something about her presence gnawed at him.

Shaking off the lingering unease, he entered his room, sealing the door behind him. The dark thoughts from the fight with Gorak returned to the forefront of his mind. Despite the orc's defeat, Aeron couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking a dangerous tightrope. Each step closer to mastering his Death Law felt like a step into something darker, a force he might not be able to control.

He sat on the edge of his bed, allowing his mind to focus. There was more to this academy than mere strength—it was a game of manipulation, power, and survival. Aeron had already learned that much.

But he needed more. Power alone wasn't enough. He needed leverage, influence, and perhaps, allies. The trials would get more brutal, the opponents more dangerous. And in this world, only the truly unyielding could carve out their place.

---

The next day, Aeron stood in the academy's central courtyard, the towering structure of the arena looming in the distance. His next match was approaching, but this time, he wasn't focused solely on the opponent.

He had learned something vital during his fight with Gorak—the arena was a place to showcase power, yes, but also a place where alliances could be forged or broken. The orc's strength had been a challenge, but the true challenge lay in navigating the web of relationships that existed within these walls.

Aeron spotted a few familiar faces among the students who had fought before, some of whom were already making quiet alliances with others, whispering plans and strategies. A few eyes flickered in his direction, curiosity evident. But there was something in their expressions—an unease, perhaps fear, or even respect.

As he walked to the arena for his next match, Aeron couldn't help but wonder just how much the world around him was shifting. Power was everything in this place, but how much of it was truly within his control?