Hours passed. The candle wax dripped as Uriel lay on the beat-up bed.
Uriel grabbed at his head in frustration. He wanted—needed—to understand what his own powers could do, but it was no use. No matter what he tried, nothing worked.
As Uriel sat in this growing frustration, his fake name was finally called.
"Asra, come out of your room and make your way to the stadium."
Uriel stepped out. The same man from the registration table stood there, looking up at him—still as lazy-looking as ever.
"Please follow me to the stadium."
Uriel gave a small shake of his head and followed the lazy man down the corridor. The closer they got, the louder the noise became—cheering, shouting, the roar of hundreds. It only grew until the bright sun slammed into Uriel's face and the full arena revealed itself before him. Hundreds of people filled the gladiator-style stadium, yelling and laughing as if it were a holiday.
And then, a voice louder than all the rest rang out.
A man stood high above them, dressed in gold from head to toe, with blonde hair and hazel eyes. He raised one hand and shouted:
"Quiet down, everyone! Our new fighter shall now be facing our undefeated competitor—Durus! And the name of our new fighter is…"
The man looked down at a sheet of paper in his hand.
"…Asra! Oh, and look at this—he's wearing a mask! Oh, how mysterious~~~!"
Uriel kept walking. His eyes locked on his opponent. The man looked to be in his twenties and was just as pale as Uriel—like he hadn't stepped into the sun unless absolutely necessary. His clothes were all black, long-sleeved, clean and tight-fitting. Golden buttons ran down the middle of his coat. He had red hair, black-colored eyes, and an expression full of disdain.
Then the "vampire" spoke. "Get on the stage so I can win and get out of this sun."
The arrogance in his voice struck a nerve.
It was a hot day—but it didn't matter. Uriel couldn't feel heat.
He stepped up to the stage, spear in hand, ready to fight. But then… he noticed something strange.
His opponent had no weapon.
Uriel got his answer seconds later.
"System storage," the man said—and a rapier materialized out of thin air into his hand.
Uriel smacked his head, as if beating himself up for forgetting that the Structure had told him he had access to a storage.
He grabbed his head again but decided not to dwell on his mistake. He ascended the final steps into the arena, standing face to face with the vampire-like man.
The announcer called out once more.
"Oh how fierce! Now let's get this fight started!"
Durus struck first. He jabbed his rapier forward. Uriel dodged to the side and launched his spear in return—but Durus front-flipped and landed on the shaft, smirking down at him like a taunt.
Uriel narrowed his eyes.
He pulled the spear back, catching Durus off-balance, but the man landed with perfect posture an instant later.
Uriel didn't give him time to breathe.
He stepped forward, slashing his spear upward. Durus dodged back, but Uriel followed through—bringing the spear down like a guillotine. Durus couldn't dodge.
Instead of blocking with his rapier… he used his bare arms.
The spear slashed through flesh—but not as expected.
It felt strange, like slicing through jelly.
Then Uriel saw it.
Blood floated around Durus in the air, detached from his body. Uriel stared.
A split-second later, that same blood shot toward Uriel and pierced his cheek.
Then came more—arrows of blood flying at him. Uriel rolled, dodging most of them. A small white flame ignited over the cut on his cheek and sealed the wound.
"Oh, so you can heal," Durus said.
Uriel didn't respond. He charged again, barely dodging the incoming blood attacks and jabbing his spear into Durus's hip. More blood came out—then floated—again, launched back at Uriel and then return to Durus's body.
The pattern became clear.
More blood arrows rained toward him. Uriel spun his spear in a tight circle, deflecting them.
Again, the blood returned to Durus.
Uriel's eyes narrowed.
A plan formed in his mind.
Durus began launching more blood arrows. This time, Uriel didn't dodge all of them. He blocked only his head and heart, letting the rest hit his arms, legs, sides.
Durus chuckled as the blood returned to his body.
"I guess you gave up, knowing there's no way to beat m—"
He stopped.
Suddenly, he began to vomit—first bile, then blood. He collapsed onto the arena floor, convulsing, gasping, clawing at his own body. The crowd went silent.
"What's wrong? You don't like the gift I gave you?"
Flames began to wrap around Uriel's wounds, burning away the blood and sealing the skin. He looked down on the paralyzed man.
Durus tried to speak, tried to lift a hand, but no words came.
Uriel knelt beside him, lowering his voice.
"When you kept attacking me with your blood… I noticed it always had to return to its owner. So, I let you hit me. I let it enter my body. And I just so happened… to have poison for blood."
He stood up.
Durus reached toward him in a plea—but Uriel turned and walked away, leaving him there, roasting in the sunlight.
The announcer's voice echoed across the stadium.
"WOAH—what a fight, ladies and gentlemen! Who would've thought Durus would lose to our masked friend?! Please, give a round of applause to Asra!"
As the crowd roared, a group of knights rushed forward and lifted Durus's body, trying to save him—but it was too late. He was already a dead man.
Uriel, silent and calm, returned to his room to wait for his next match.