The sound of impact echoed through the pit like thunder.

Tarvek's head snapped up from his work, his pickaxe frozen mid-swing. Around him, other slaves did the same, their eyes wide as they tried to locate the source of the noise.

It had come from nearby. Close enough to feel the vibration through the ice beneath their feet.

"What was that?" Mekris whispered, his voice barely audible over the ambient sounds of the pit.

"I don't know," Tarvek replied, his hands tightening on his pickaxe. "But it sounded like something fell."

"Or someone," Velika added quietly.

The three of them exchanged glances, then slowly, carefully, began moving toward where the sound had originated.

Other slaves followed, drawn by curiosity and the universal instinct to witness whatever catastrophe had befallen someone else.

The guards shouted at them to return to work, but even their commands lacked the usual authority.

They'd heard the sound too. They'd felt the impact. And some primal part of them recognized that whatever had just happened was significant.

Tarvek rounded a massive ice formation and stopped dead.

A crater was formed in the mining section ahead. At least ten feet across, the black ice shattered into a spiderweb pattern that spread outward from the center.

And in the middle of that crater, surrounded by fragments of broken ice and pools of freezing blood, lay a body.

A massive body.

Three meters tall, charcoal-gray skin, wearing the distinctive armor that marked him as someone important.

Someone who should have been invincible.

"No," Mekris breathed, his voice strangled. "That's not... that can't be..."

But it was.

Tarvek moved closer, his legs carrying him forward despite every survival instinct screaming at him to stay back, to not get involved, to pretend he hadn't seen anything.

The body had no head.

Where Kragoth's head should have been, there was only a ragged stump, the neck severed so cleanly it looked like it had been cut by a master surgeon rather than a weapon.

Blood pooled beneath the corpse, so much of it that the black ice had turned crimson.

The Pit Master's legendary greatsword was gone. His armor was intact except for the massive hole in his chest where someone had reached in and torn out his hearts.

Kragoth was dead.

The Pit Master. The nightmare who'd ruled this place for decades. The Nightmare-rank demon who'd killed hundreds of slaves for the smallest infractions.

The monster who'd seemed invincible.

"The yellow-eyed demon," Velika whispered, her voice carrying a note of awe that bordered on reverence. "It killed him. It actually killed him."

More slaves were gathering now, forming a crowd around the crater. Guards tried to push them back, but even they seemed stunned by what they were seeing.

Kragoth had been their ultimate authority, second only to Pho himself. And now he lay broken and headless at their feet.

Someone looked up.

Tarvek followed their gaze, his eyes moving past the crater, past the gathering crowd, up toward the elevated platform where Kragoth's command post stood.

A figure stood there.

Silhouetted against the crimson sky, black and crimson armor catching what little light filtered through the perpetual twilight.

And through the T-shaped opening of the helmet, two points of burning yellow light.

The yellow-eyed demon.

Standing where Kragoth had stood. Holding what looked like a massive greatsword in one hand as if it weighed nothing.

Looking down at them all with those eyes that seemed to see everything.

"I SEE HIM!!! HE'S REAL!!!!"

"The yellow-eyed demon!" someone shouted.

The cry was taken up immediately.

"THE YELLOW-EYED DEMON!"

"HE KILLED KRAGOTH!"

"THE PIT MASTER IS DEAD!"

The chant spread through the crowd like wildfire, hundreds of voices joining together in a chorus that echoed off the black ice walls. Slaves who'd been beaten into submission for years suddenly found their voices, shouting with an energy born of witnessing the impossible.

"THE YELLOW-EYED DEMON! THE YELLOW-EYED DEMON!"

Guards tried to silence them, raising whips and weapons, but the chant only grew louder. It was as if some invisible chain that had bound them all to silence and obedience had snapped the moment Kragoth's body hit the ice.

Tarvek stood in the middle of the crowd, his eyes still fixed on the figure above. His mind raced, trying to process what he was seeing, what it meant.

'He killed Kragoth,' Tarvek thought, the realization settling into his bones like ice. 'Single-handedly. That armored demon walked into our pit, and just killed Kragoth.'

He remembered the yellow eyes watching him from the shadows. He remembered the gentle voice asking questions while blood dripped from demonic claws. Remembered thinking he was about to die, only to be spared for reasons he still didn't understand.

'What is he?' Tarvek wondered, his hands shaking. 'What kind of demon can kill a Nightmare-rank warrior like Kragoth? What kind of power does it take to do that?'

The figure on the platform turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows as if he'd never been there at all. But the chanting continued, growing louder with each repetition.

"THE YELLOW-EYED DEMON! THE YELLOW-EYED DEMON!"

Tarvek looked down at Kragoth's headless corpse, then back up at the now-empty platform.

Something had changed.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered a dangerous thought.

'Maybe we don't have to be slaves forever.'

---

It had been a day since Jack killed Kragoth.

A day of chaos in the slave pit as guards tried to restore order without their Pit Master.

And now, standing in his throne room with frost forming in the air around him, Pho listened to his advisor deliver news that should have been impossible.

"Master," the advisor said, his voice trembling as he knelt before the throne. "A... a gift has arrived for you."

Pho's pale eyes fixed on the demon with the lazy attention of a predator watching prey. "A gift."

"Yes, Master. It was left at the eastern gate. The guards found it this morning." The advisor swallowed hard. "It's addressed to you personally."

"Show me."

Two guards entered the throne room carrying a wooden box between them. It was roughly two feet on each side, bound with iron straps, and sealed with wax that bore no recognizable crest.

They set it before Pho's throne and retreated quickly, as if afraid the box itself might be dangerous.

Pho descended from his seat, each step accompanied by the sharp crack of ice forming beneath his feet.

He stood before the box for a long moment, studying it with those pale, lifeless eyes.

Then he reached down and tore the lid off with casual strength.

The smell hit him first. Blood and decay, not yet overwhelming but present enough to be noticeable.

Then he saw what was inside.

Kragoth's head stared up at him from a bed of straw.

The Pit Master's eyes were gone, just empty sockets that seemed to accuse Pho of failing to protect him.

His mouth hung open in a silent scream, frozen in the moment of death.

A piece of parchment was pinned to Kragoth's forehead with a small dagger.

Pho pulled the note free and read it slowly, his expression never changing.

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