Immortal descent

Aeron stepped into the arena, the air thick with tension. His opponent, Elara Voss, was already waiting. Her aura exuded strength, and her calm, calculating eyes met his with a quiet confidence. She wielded a sleek, double-edged spear, its blade reflecting the faint light.

"Begin!" the overseer's voice rang out, and the arena fell silent.

Elara moved with precision, her spear a blur as she attacked. Aeron barely managed to dodge, her strikes coming fast and relentless. She was stronger, faster, and more experienced. The Death Law whispered faintly in his mind, urging him to adapt, but Elara's control over the wind disrupted his footing, keeping him on the defensive.

Aeron's heart pounded, each breath ragged as he parried and evaded. The book's warning echoed in his mind: "If things turn dire, surrender." But surrendering wasn't an option. Not yet.

As the fight dragged on, Aeron felt the weight of the battle pressing down on him. Every strike from Elara forced him to retreat, each movement sapping his strength. Her spear danced around him, a blur of deadly precision. His breaths grew ragged, each one a struggle as sweat dripped down his brow.

The book's earlier warning echoed in his mind, a cold reminder of his limitations: "If things turn dire, surrender." But surrendering wasn't an option. Not here, not now. The thought gnawed at him, fueling a growing desperation.

The Death Law's whispers, once faint and distant, began to grow louder, more insistent. They curled around his thoughts, seductive and relentless. His grip on the scythe tightened as he drew on its power, the cold, dark energy coursing through his veins like a drug.

The world around him seemed to slow. His vision sharpened, colors dulling as the arena's edges blurred. Time stretched as his focus narrowed to a single point-Elara. His opponent. His prey.

Each clash of their weapons sent shockwaves through his body, but the pain only served to sharpen his resolve. The Death Law whispered promises of power, of dominance, urging him to let go of restraint. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, a primal rhythm that matched the growing storm within.

As the fight continued, Aeron began to lose himself. The lines between reality and the whispers of the Death Law blurred. His mind was a battlefield, torn between the desire to win and the insidious pull of the deathly power. His thoughts grew darker, twisted by the intoxicating allure of control and destruction.

The first crack appeared when he landed a solid blow, his scythe slicing through Elara's defenses. Blood spattered across the ground, and the scent of it filled the air-a metallic tang that sent a shiver down his spine. His pulse quickened, the sight of her blood awakening something deep and primal within him.

Memories from his past life surfaced, vivid and haunting. He saw himself in a dimly lit lab, the sterile scent of antiseptic mingling with the coppery stench of blood. His hands, steady and practiced, traced the contours of a lifeless body, searching for the almiran, the delicate nexus of nerves and vessels. The knowledge, once clinical and detached, now felt like a weapon-a means to an end.

The scythe in his hands felt like an extension of his will, each swing guided by an instinct honed in that past life. He moved with precision, targeting weak points, exploiting every opening. The arena around them seemed to darken, shadows creeping closer as the Death Law asserted its dominance.

Aeron's surroundings shifted, the air growing colder, heavier. The whispers in his mind grew louder, drowning out all else. His focus sharpened to a razor's edge, and with it, a chilling realization took hold-he was no longer fighting to win. He was fighting to dominate, to destroy.

The domain of death materialized around them, a twisted reflection of his inner turmoil. Shadows writhed and coiled, the ground beneath their feet turning to dark, lifeless soil. The air was thick with the scent of decay, the oppressive weight of death pressing down on all who dared to enter.

Elara's expression faltered, her confidence giving way to fear. She fought harder, but the realization was clear-she was trapped in his world now, a world where he was the god of death, and she was at his mercy.

But there was no mercy left in Aeron. His mind was consumed by the Death Law, his thoughts a chaotic maelstrom of rage, power, and a sickening hunger for destruction. His every move was calculated, driven by the desire to see her fall.

The fight reached its peak, the intensity of his emotions spilling over into his surroundings. The domain pulsed with his fury, the very air vibrating with his will. Elara's strikes grew weaker, her movements slower as the oppressive weight of the domain crushed her spirit.

Finally, she gasped, her voice trembling as she cried out, "I surrender!"

But Aeron didn't stop. The madness had taken hold, and he was beyond reason. The Death Law had claimed him, dragging him deeper into its abyss. He lunged at her, a predator ready to devour its prey.

The arena watched in stunned silence, the weight of his descent into madness palpable. The scent of death clung to him, thick and suffocating. Elara's eyes, wide with terror, pleaded for mercy, but none would come.

Just as he was about to strike, a figure stepped between them, a man whose presence exuded an overwhelming authority. Aeron froze, the Death Law recoiling as the man's aura washed over him. For the first time, he felt powerless, as if any attempt to defy this man would be met with certain doom.

"She surrendered," the man's voice was calm, yet it carried an undeniable weight.

Aeron stood there, breathing heavily, the domain of death slowly receding. The man turned to Elara, helping her to her feet before leading her away, leaving Aeron to grapple with the aftermath of his own ruthlessness.

The arena was silent, the spectators too stunned to react. Slowly, he turned and walked back to his quarters. The crowd parted like water, avoiding him as if he were a wild beast ready to pounce.

His body trembled, the rush of the Death Law still coursing through him. His mind was clouded, his thoughts consumed by the intoxicating allure of death and blood. He barely made it to his room, collapsing onto his bed as the reality of his actions sank in.

For the next month, the scores would be tallied, and the participants would have the choice to stay or leave. Aeron knew he couldn't face anyone-not after what had transpired. The stench of death still clung to him, and the fear in Elara's eyes still lingers in his mind.

As the door to his room closed, Aeron's mind drifted to the man who had stopped him. There was something unsettling about him, something that made Aeron feel small and powerless. He knew he had to uncover the truth, but for now, all he could do was wait, trapped in the aftermath of his own ruthlessness.