UNMEI: Pantheon's Game

Chapter 108 - Anticipation

The night over Rendely was thick with fog. Lanterns flickered weakly, struggling against the suffocating dusk.

Azrael Rodeny walked in silence, boots tapping with calm precision as he made his way through the quiet district of the upper rings.

His crimson jacket fluttered behind him, damp from the cold night wind. Beside him, his brother, Raves Rodeny strode with his usual stiffness.

"What are you gonna do now?" Raves asked, adjusting the bandage on his hand.

Azrael shrugged. "Not really your business."

Raves gave him a look but said nothing more. The brothers reached a crossroad where the path split, one toward the Rodeny estate, the other toward the upper districts near the royal watchtower.

"I'm heading to the villa," Raves said. "Don't stay out too long. You've got people watching you now."

Azrael gave a lazy wave as his brother disappeared into the shadows. The fog seemed to thicken behind him.

Then the clapping started.

Slow. Precise. Each strike echoing like a falling hammer.

Azrael didn't flinch. He stood there in the middle of the road, eyes half-lidded, listening as the footsteps approached.

From the darkness, a man emerged. tall, cloaked in a coat darker than night itself.

"Well done, Azrael. First place. One hundred gates. Remarkable." Damion's voice was smooth as a knife sliding across skin.

Azrael sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. "Just tell me what you need me to do."

Damion smiled. "Straight to the point. Good." He folded his arms behind his back and took a step closer. "You need to talk to Ned. Get information about the trials, specifically if Sarodenly had any winners."

Azrael raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity breaking through the calm. "Why? What's this about?"

Damion's gaze sharpened. "Because I believe Magma is faking his anger."

"What?"

"He's not truly furious at King Aramir for housing three Zetens. That's just the cover. I suspect Magma has a blessed of his own, someone who survived the Ceremony."

Damion's tone dropped, heavy with implication. "He wants the others gone. Dune. Atlas. Ned. They're threats. He's using the tension as camouflage to eliminate his competition."

Azrael clicked his tongue. "So you want me to squeeze Ned for that information."

"Precisely."

"I guess I'll have to break a few bones, then."

But Damion shook his head slowly, disapproving. "No. Not you, let Raves handle it first."

Azrael blinked. "Raves? My brother?"

"Have him utterly crush Ned in the final test. Shatter his will. Humiliate him until he sees himself as worthless, even better if he fails and can't join academy. That's when you move in, offer him safety, shelter, purpose. Bring him into the Rodeny house in exchange for the information."

Azrael's smile returned, a slow curl of amusement. "Heh. You really mapped this all out, didn't you?"

"I did," Damion said simply. "Pain won't break Dune. He's different. Emotional trauma won't reach him. And Atlas is probably under Cassius now, untouchable, for the moment.

But Ned?" He tilted his head. "Ned can still be reshaped."

Azrael's eyes narrowed. "And what's your endgame in all this? You just want to beat Magma?"

Damion's voice dropped lower, almost whispering.

"I don't want to beat him. I want to use him."

Azrael went still.

"One of the gods is guiding him," Damion continued. "I suspect he's been tasked with eliminating the other blessed survivors. I believe he's following divine orders."

"Cel will protect the trio. But by the time the game between them escalates, I'll have everything I need to bring Magma down. Then..." He smiled faintly.

"You'll begin your first Neba Trial."

Azrael exhaled, a long plume of breath rising in the cold. "Then I'll count on you, Damion."

Damion began to turn, his footsteps already retreating into the mist. "As you should."

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a sharp grin.

"Don't disappoint me, Red Devil of Rendely."

Then he was gone, swallowed by fog, like a phantom never meant to be seen.

Azrael stood in the silence a moment longer, the wind brushing through his hair.

He looked up at the sky.

"Red Devil, huh?" he muttered, cracking his neck.

.

.

.

.

The arena was a storm of noise and fire, a continent's worth of excitement compressed into stone and sky.

Tens of thousands had come, not just from the local cities, but from every region of Sanatria. Sky creatures hovered above the coliseum like silent birds. Caravan trails stretched across the land outside. Nobles arrived in golden chariots, commoners clung to the arena walls just to get a glimpse of the battlefield.

This was no ordinary event. This was history in motion.

Voices roared across the crowd, rippling like wind through flame.

"Did you hear the news?!"

"Someone crossed 100 Soul Gates!"

"No, TWO people did! Atlas and Azrael!"

"What the hell is this year? I came all the way from silver mountains just to see this!"

"But don't forget about the strength test! Dune destroyed the all-time record, over three thousand! That's not human!"

"Cedric Valefort and Azrael Rodeny also managed to break James Murderthrone's Record!"

"I'm rooting for Leonard Amelia, he's from the Amelia family, born to win!"

"I don't care what anyone says, Azrael is gonna win. They call him the Red Devil for a reason."

"I heard Atlas refused ten noble houses. Until Cassius Ceresey himself offered him a place."

"What about Neville family ? I heard they were almost as good as the others..."

Hype and tension coiled through the crowd like a living serpent. Every name carried weight. Every rumor sparked more fire.

And in the very center of it all, the massive arena stood waiting, its etched stone floor glowing faintly with runes, ancient and bloodthirsty. The land itself seemed to crave the clash of titans.

High above, in the royal glass chamber, the rulers of the continent stood in solemn anticipation.

King Aramir, stern and silent, sat on his throne like a war god. Beside him stood Ramires, tall and grim, eyes sharp as steel.

Damion's shifted slightly as he leaned against a pillar, dressed in shadows.

James Murderthroned toyed with a dagger in his gloved hand, uncaring of the tension.

Richard Amelia finally managed to come and see the rising stars.

Cassius Ceresey stood composed, his cloak still, purple eyes scanning the arena below.

Cel was almost asleep.

And Magma smoldered with fury, the very air around him flickering from his heat.

They were here to witness something extraordinary.

Below, deep in the underbelly of the arena, Dune stood in a wide chamber with the other competitors. The stone walls trembled faintly beneath the roaring crowd above.

He stretched his neck slowly, breath calm, gaze locked on the floor. The fire was still there. It had never left.

Beside him, Atlas stood quiet but electric, focused, breathing slow, his mind somewhere beyond the present moment. And Ned, jaw clenched, hands steady, radiated a quiet storm of intensity.

Dune cracked a grin. "Good luck, guys," he said, voice low but full of heat. "Let's crush them."

Atlas turned with a light smirk. "Together."

Ned gave a single nod. "I'm ready."

Suddenly, the massive silver doors groaned open with a sound like ancient thunder.

"Move to the Ascension Platform!" the guard barked.

Dune walked forward first, each step echoing across the chamber. They entered the corridor lit by glowing crystals, the pressure rising with every heartbeat.

At the end was the Ascension Room, a grand space with a glass wall stretching from floor to ceiling, showing the battlefield in its entirety.

And beyond that wall... The sea of people.

The arena etched with old power.

The world waiting for legends to rise.

Dune approached the glass, resting his hand against it. "Damn," he muttered. "Too many people."

Atlas stared silently, his reflection mixing with the crowd beyond. Ned stood behind them, fists clenched, ready to shatter limits.

The final test was moments away.

And the storm had just begun.