The silence shattered like glass.

"JAKAR!!!"

"DID YOU SEE THAT?!"

"HE RIPPED HIS FUCKING SPINE OUT!"

The crowd erupted, hundreds of voices blending into a roar that shook the air.

Demons pressed forward against the arena's boundary, shouting Jack's chosen name with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for gladiators and legends.

"JAKAR! JAKAR! JAKAR!"

The chant built like a wave, starting with a few voices and spreading until it seemed like every demon in the training yard was screaming the name in unison.

Fists pumped in the air.

Weapons clashed against shields in rhythm with the shouting.

They didn't care about Korr's charred corpse.

They didn't mourn Vox's twitching body or his severed spine lying in a pool of blood.

Demons died every day in Pho's fortress. Death was entertainment, a reminder that strength was all that mattered.

And they'd just watched someone demonstrate strength beyond anything most of them could hope to achieve.

Jack stood motionless in the center of the carnage, his red eyes fixed on the three generals through his helmet's visor.

Then, slowly, he began walking toward them.

Each step was purposeful, his boots leaving faint impressions of blood soaked boots in the ice.

The crowd's chanting intensified as he moved, their excitement feeding off his calm approach like sharks sensing blood in water.

The generals remained frozen at the edge, their eyes tracking Jack's advance.

Kaedor's merchant smile had disappeared entirely, replaced by an expression that cycled between fascination and barely concealed fear.

His rings caught the light as his hands trembled at his sides.

Loryn's hollow eyes burned with intensity, his skeletal fingers resuming their rhythmic tapping as his analytical mind worked through the possibilities.

Rynath's serpentine tongue flicked out repeatedly, as if trying to taste something in the air that would explain what she'd witnessed.

Jack stopped ten feet from them, close enough that they could see every detail of his armor, every pulsing vein where the red light had faded back to black and crimson.

The crowd's chanting continued behind him, a wall of sound that made normal conversation nearly impossible.

"JAKAR! JAKAR! JAKAR!"

Jack's voice cut through the noise with that same flat, emotionless tone he'd maintained throughout the fight.

"About my promotion."

The simple statement landed like a hammer striking an anvil.

All three generals stared at him, processing the audacity of demanding advancement while standing over two corpses and holding their attention hostage with sheer presence.

Loryn was the first to respond. His hollow eyes fixed on Jack with predatory interest.

"A soldier of your caliber shouldn't be wasted in the regular ranks," Loryn said, his skeletal fingers pausing their tapping. "You can be promoted. Serve directly under one of us as a personal guard."

He leaned forward slightly, his gaunt frame somehow making the movement seem significant.

"You'll serve under me. My operations require someone with your particular... skill set."

"Absolutely not."

Rynath's voice cracked like a whip. Her serpentine eyes locked on Jack with possessive intensity.

"This was my bet. My pick. I saw his potential first." Her tongue flicked out, punctuating her words. "First dibs, Loryn. You can find your own monster."

"Your bet?" Kaedor finally found his voice, though it lacked his usual smooth charm. "The bet was about who would win, Rynath. Not about ownership rights."

But even as he spoke, his gaze remained fixed on Jack with the calculating look of someone reassessing value.

"We all saw what he can do," Kaedor continued, gesturing at the carnage without actually looking at it.

"A soldier like this? He could replace Kragoth. Any of us would benefit from having him in our command structure."

The three generals stared at Jack, and the unspoken truth hung in the air between them.

This wasn't about winning a bet anymore.

Loryn's hollow eyes narrowed. "He fights with precision. Tactical awareness. He'd be wasted on anything less than under one of us."

"He fights with raw power and intimidation," Rynath countered, her scales rippling. "Exactly what my forces need. Someone who can make examples out of problems."

Jack remained silent, letting them argue over him like merchants haggling over merchandise.

His red eyes moved between them, reading their desperation, ambition, their fear dressed up as opportunity.

Finally, Rynath turned her full attention back to Jack, her serpentine gaze intense enough to make lesser demons flinch.

"What clan are you from, Jakar?" Her voice carried genuine curiosity beneath the possessive edge.

"What bloodline produces this kind of power? The eastern territories don't just randomly spawn demons of your caliber."

Loryn leaned forward, his interest clearly piqued.

"Yes. Your techniques, it suggests a pedigree. Ancient bloodlines tend to breed amongst themselves."

Kaedor nodded, his rings glinting as he gestured. "Knowing your lineage would help us understand your capabilities. Your potential for growth. Your... value."

All three generals waited, their previous argument momentarily forgotten in the face of their shared need to understand this anomaly.

Jack's response was simple, delivered in that same flat tone that had become his signature.

"I wouldn't know. I was abandoned as a baby."

The words hung in the air like thrown stones.

"I've done what was necessary to survive. That's all."

Rynath's scaled skin rippled.

"No clan markings? No family names? Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Loryn's skeletal fingers resumed their tapping, faster now.

"Interesting. Self-taught combat techniques combined with natural talent and survival instinct. That would explain the brutal efficiency. No formal training to impose unnecessary limitations."

"Or," Rynath said slowly, her tongue flicking out, "an ancient bloodline expressing itself despite the lack of knowledge. Instinct can carry genetic memory. My clan has documented cases of abandoned offspring manifesting abilities they shouldn't know how to use."

Kaedor's merchant mind was clearly working through different calculations.

"Regardless of origin, the result is what matters."

The crowd's chanting had softened to a steady murmur, hundreds of demons still watching, still waiting to see what would happen next.

Jack stood motionless, letting the generals theorize, letting them build their own narratives around his mystery.

Every moment they spent trying to categorize him was a moment they weren't questioning the specifics of his abilities or comparing his fighting style to recent rumors about the yellow-eyed demon.

Kaedor stepped forward, his merchant's smile attempting a comeback despite the tremor in his hands.

His rings caught the light as he raised one hand in what was probably meant to be a friendly gesture.

"Well, Jakar, since we're going to be working together, regardless of who claims you first..." His smile widened, trying for warmth and landing somewhere near desperation.

"Why don't you remove your helmet? Let us meet the demon behind the mask. See the face of Pho's newest rising star."

The request seemed reasonable on the surface. Friendly, even. A gesture of trust between potential allies.

Jack's red eyes fixed on Kaedor through the visor, and something in his stillness made the merchant's smile falter.

"No."

The single word carried absolute finality.

Kaedor's hand wavered. "Come now, surely there's no need for such secrecy among…"

"If anyone tries to remove my helmet," Jack said, his voice dropping to something that resonated in the bones of everyone close enough to hear, "I'll separate their head from their body."

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