The Devourer's Dominion

The air in the arena was thick with tension. Aetheron stood in the center of the battlefield, his muscles tight, his breath steady. Around him, the bodies of defeated warriors lay motionless, groaning in pain or unconscious from the brutal clash. The scent of scorched stone and blood filled the space, mingling with the roar of the spectators above.

But the fight wasn't over.

Beyond the broken remains of his last opponent, a group of figures stood at the edge of the battlefield. Cloaked in black, their faces obscured by intricate masks, they radiated an eerie presence. The Sovereign's Hunters.

One of them stepped forward—a towering man clad in segmented dark armor, each plate lined with faintly glowing runes. His eyes, visible through the slits of his mask, gleamed with an unnatural light. His voice was deep, resonant, carrying through the arena like a judge passing sentence.

"Aetheron," the man said, his tone unreadable. "You've devoured something that was never meant to be taken."

Aetheron remained still. His heart pounded, but his expression stayed neutral. He had felt it ever since he absorbed the Sovereign's mark—something was watching him. Something had changed.

The armored figure drew a curved blade from his waist, its edge pulsating with black energy. "You wield power beyond your right," he continued. "And now, you will be tested."

Aetheron exhaled slowly. He didn't have time for speeches. "You're welcome to try," he said.

The crowd erupted in cheers as the battle resumed.

The masked warrior moved first—faster than anyone that size had a right to be. Aetheron barely had time to shift as the blade cut through the space he had just occupied. A shockwave followed, splitting the stone beneath them.

Aetheron pivoted, lashing out with a burst of void energy. The warrior parried, his blade absorbing the attack like a bottomless abyss. The energy simply vanished.

His weapon can negate abilities.

Aetheron narrowed his eyes. That meant direct attacks wouldn't work. He adjusted his stance, waiting for an opening.

The warrior didn't hesitate. He surged forward, slashing diagonally. Aetheron ducked, feeling the blade pass inches from his head. He countered with a palm strike, aiming for the warrior's ribs—only for his attack to meet empty air.

The man flickered out of sight.

Aetheron's instincts screamed. He twisted, barely dodging an upward slash aimed for his throat. The moment he moved, a knee crashed into his stomach.

The impact was brutal. His vision blurred as he skidded back, his boots dragging across the ruined stone.

He barely caught himself before falling.

The warrior was already on him.

Aetheron gritted his teeth. He flicked his fingers, activating a feint—sending an illusion of himself charging forward while his real body spun behind the masked warrior. A precise strike to the spine—

But the moment he made contact, he felt it.

Nothing.

No resistance.

His attack phased right through the warrior's back.

Damn it.

Aetheron twisted, but it was too late. A gauntleted fist crashed into his jaw, sending him staggering sideways. The warrior didn't let up. He spun the blade in a reverse grip, slashing upward.

Aetheron barely managed to raise his arm in defense. The blade carved through his sleeve, cutting deep into his forearm. Pain flared, sharp and immediate.

Blood dripped onto the arena floor.

The crowd's cheers turned into gasps. The golden boy of the tournament was struggling.

Aetheron stepped back, gripping his wounded arm. The warrior watched him, unmoving, waiting.

The pain was manageable. The real problem was his opponent.

That ability—phasing in and out of existence—wasn't teleportation. It was something deeper. Something unnatural.

Aetheron's mind worked through the possibilities. The Sovereign's Hunters weren't just elite warriors. They were different.

And this one… he was testing him.

Aetheron exhaled through his nose. "Fine," he muttered.

He lifted his uninjured hand and called upon the power he had taken.

The void surged. Shadows coiled around his fingers, writhing like living things. His veins pulsed, his breath turning cold. He could feel it. The Sovereign's mark responding.

The warrior tilted his head. "So you do understand," he mused.

Aetheron didn't answer.

Instead, he moved.

The ground cracked beneath his feet as he surged forward. His hand lashed out, not to strike—but to take.

The warrior reacted instantly, twisting to phase away—

But Aetheron was faster.

His fingers brushed the warrior's chestplate. A flicker of power. A shift in the air.

For a split second, the phasing ability faltered.

Aetheron struck.

A blast of void energy detonated at point-blank range.

The warrior staggered.

The moment was small. Barely a breath of hesitation. But in a battle like this, it was everything.

Aetheron capitalized. He spun low, sweeping the warrior's legs from beneath him. The man crashed onto his back, and Aetheron was on him before he could recover.

He grabbed the wrist holding the blade—

And Devoured.

The runes on the blade dimmed. The weapon stopped humming.

The warrior stiffened.

Aetheron felt it. A ripple of something foreign entering his body.

The ability—no, the concept—of phasing.

Aetheron's fingers curled.

The crowd was silent. Even the announcer hesitated.

The warrior slowly pushed himself to his feet. His mask had cracked, revealing part of a scarred jawline.

He looked at Aetheron, studying him. Then, without a word, he bowed.

The crowd erupted in confusion.

Aetheron wiped the blood from his mouth.

"What?" he muttered.

The warrior straightened. "You pass," he said simply.

Then, as if he had never been there, he disappeared.

Aetheron exhaled, shoulders tense. His pulse was still racing.

He had won.

But that wasn't what unsettled him.

It was the way the warrior had looked at him before vanishing.

Like he wasn't an enemy.

Like he was something else.

Something more.

Aetheron clenched his fist. The stolen ability pulsed beneath his skin, waiting.

The Sovereign's Hunters had come for him.