CHAPTER TEN:THE DEVIL'S STAGE:DAY ONE OF THE ARENA.
[You are what you want to become.]
The rain had stopped, but the scent of it still lingered in the air—wet pavement, cold steel, and that ever-present trace of blood beneath the city's breath. Zareina stood beneath the flickering neon sign of a rundown station, her hoodie drawn low, eyes hidden beneath the dark reflection of her lenses.
She could feel it in the wind—today was different.
The invitation was burned into her mind. Not on paper. Not sent in messages. But in the seal Aspen had stolen… now passed into her hand.
Cipher's voice had echoed through the comm earlier:
"Be careful today. The Arena isn't a place. It's a statement. Icarus isn't just watching anymore. He's calling you in."
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Underground. Unknown Coordinates.
The Arena wasn't announced. It was revealed—like a secret blooming in shadows. A warehouse in the city's belly, transformed with holographic barriers, soundproofed walls, and unseen surveillance.
Rows of masked spectators lined the edges—informants, rogue agents, dealers, mercenaries. All here to watch. The Arena wasn't just bloodsport. It was recruitment. It was power exchange.
And Zareina?
She was the one everyone had heard rumors about. The masked siren. The girl with the voice no one could escape.
She stepped inside.
And everything went silent.
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The metallic gates groaned open, their slow, dramatic creak swallowed by the deafening roar of the crowd. A thousand eyes turned, breaths held, as Zareina stepped into the Arena. Her long coat swept behind her like a storm wind, hood casting a deep shadow over her face. She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
The hush was palpable. Something unspoken rippled through the masses—a collective understanding that this wasn't a normal challenger. It was as if a myth had taken form and now walked among them.
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High above, in the observation tier where the elite and powerful gathered, Icarus stood alone.
From his elevated penthouse, Icarus stood like a statue before the floor-to-ceiling glass. Below him, the Arena had been unveiled—an underground colosseum masked in elegance and laced with death. It was a place only the chosen few ever walked into. Fewer walked out. But this day wasn't about the Arena.
It was about her.
Zareina Ravyn.
Or,
Nyx Reign.
He whispered her name like a prayer, a threat, an obsession.
"She will come," he murmured, eyes unblinking. "And she will be...mine."
He wanted them unveiled. He wanted her undone.
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Icarus stood before the thrones built into the arena's observation deck. He wore black gloves and a suit like liquid ink. The seal Aspen had once stolen now burned freshly on his ring finger. In his pocket was something far more dangerous than a weapon—Zareina's voice recorded from a night she didn't know he was listening.
And then—the gate opened.
She walked in.
And he saw that.
A glass of untouched red wine in his hand.Behind him stood Cipher, now dressed in matte-black tactical wear, arms crossed, her eyes unreadable.
"She's earlier than expected," Cipher muttered.
Icarus didn't answer immediately. His gaze was locked on Zareina.
"She walks like a shadow pretending to be real. But that voice…"
He smirked.
"That voice could lead revolutions—or ruin kingdoms."
His eyes locked on Zareina as if nothing else existed.
His voice, a low murmur to himself, "She came."
He watched her every movement with a hunter's focus and an artist's adoration. In his private quarters, walls were filled with surveillance stills, blurry screenshots of her from security footage, sketches drawn from memory. Zareina had haunted him, invaded him like a fever dream. He had memorized her silhouette. Her stillness. Her power. And now, she was here.
Walls of his sanctuary bore holograms, projections of her movements over the last year. Every shift of her eyes, every second she chose to speak, every night she lingered in alleys before disappearing like mist—all recorded, all studied. He memorized her gait like a song. The sound of her breathing in shadow. The rare glint of the heterochromia she so artfully masked. One eye the cold of a glacier, the other, a wildfire beneath skin.
"Finally," he breathed, glass cracking slightly in his tightening grip.
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Below, Zareina paused in the center of the Arena. The gate behind her sealed with a loud clang. The announcer's voice boomed—but she didn't listen. Her mismatched eyes began to glow, faintly at first. One iris burned gold, the other an intense silver-blue.
The color shifted with her pulse.
With her emotion.
With her focus.
She was done hiding.
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Up in the shadows, hidden behind layered glass and tech screens, the boss watched it unfold. His assistant, calm as always, stepped closer.
"She's starting to reveal it," the assistant noted. "Her eyes. Her voice."
The boss leaned back, a weary sigh escaping him. "She and Icarus both lost their memories. Different times. Different methods. But some connections… aren't forgotten so easily."
The assistant tilted his head. "You mean they…?"
"Feel each other, even now," the boss said, his eyes locked on the girl in the Arena. "They were always meant to cross paths again. This... this was inevitable."
---
Inside the Arena,
the challenger was announced—a brawler enhanced with mechanical augmentations, nearly seven feet tall, reeking of arrogance and iron.
He grinned.
"You're the famous girl from nowhere. I was told not to kill you. Just bruise you a little."
He cracked his knuckles and charged.
She didn't answer.
Didn't flinch.
Just raised one hand—fingers spread, then slowly lowered them.
The speakers crackled.
Then—
Her voice. Unfiltered. Soft. Absolute.
"Sit down."
And the man… dropped.
Not unconscious. But frozen. Paralyzed by her tone, like a puppet cut from strings.
Zareina moved like silence incarnate. No wasted energy. No hesitation.
The crowd didn't blink.
Her voice rang out, not loud, but piercing, hypnotic:
"You were warned. By him. Right?"
The brawler stumbled mid-charge. His eyes lost focus. One hand clutched his head as if her words carved through his mind. Then—
Crack.
She was gone from his sight. Reappeared behind him. A swift kick to the back of his knee sent him crashing down. One motion. One strike.
The crowd erupted. But Zareina didn't celebrate.
She simply turned her head toward the viewing tier.
Her eyes glowed crimson and blue now—an emotional storm.
Icarus stepped forward, pressing his palm to the glass.
"Come to me," he whispered.
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On another high balcony,
Aspen leaned against the rail, a piece of crystal candy tucked between her lips. The chaos below was beautiful.
"So... the queen arrives, hmm?" she mused to Cipher, her voice sugary with menace.
Cipher stood beside her, arms crossed, eyes sharp beneath her glasses. "He's obsessed with her. And she's finally stopped hiding. This isn't just an arena anymore. It's a chessboard."
"Wrong," Aspen smirked, eyes glinting violet. "It's a love letter soaked in gasoline."
Cipher's lips twitched. "And every move she makes is another line written in flame."
Aspen blew a sugar-glass bubble and let it pop. "Hope he survives her signature."
---
As the crowd continued to roar, Zareina turned, coat flaring behind her. Her mismatched eyes caught the light again—this time gold and violet, calm and warning.
And in the glass tier, Icarus smiled.
Mad.
Enchanted.
Devoted.
"She's mine. She just doesn't know it yet."
Day One had begun.
And the Arena would remember her name.
(To be continued)