Chapter 1
The Beast in Chains

The iron gates creaked open, revealing the scarred and bloodstained sands of the arena. Korren stood motionless, his wrists bound in heavy chains that bit into his skin. His towering frame, adorned with rippling muscles and scars that spoke of countless battles, was a testament to the torment he had endured. The crowd erupted into a deafening roar, their chants an intoxicating mix of bloodlust and reverence.

“Release the Beast!” they cried, referring to Korren not as a man, but as the savage creature they believed him to be. His mask, a grim visage of iron and leather, hid the anguish in his eyes. It was a relic of his sins, forged in the fires of his dark past—a past that had led him here, to the pits of despair.

The first opponent emerged—a hulking brute armed with a warhammer. His steps were deliberate, his grin confident. The sun glinted off his armour, highlighting the intricate patterns of a soldier who had tasted many victories. But Korren’s gaze remained fixed, his fingers tightening around the chains that bound him.

The horn sounded.

With a feral cry, the brute charged, his warhammer swinging in a deadly arc. Korren sidestepped with the precision of a predator, his chains whipping out like vipers. The metal links struck the brute’s wrist, forcing him to drop the hammer with a thunderous clang. Korren seized the moment, driving his shoulder into the opponent’s chest, sending him sprawling into the sand.

But the fight was far from over. The brute lunged, grabbing a fistful of sand and hurling it into Korren’s eyes. The world turned to blinding white as the crowd gasped. Staggering back, Korren relied on instinct, his ears attuned to the faintest rustle of movement. The brute closed in, fists raised, but Korren’s chains lashed out again, coiling around the man’s ankle. With a powerful tug, he brought the giant crashing down.

Blind but unyielding, Korren mounted his opponent, delivering brutal punches that echoed across the arena. When the brute stopped moving, the crowd fell silent—only for a moment—before erupting into frenzied applause.

As Korren stood, his vision clearing, he realized this was only the beginning. The gates on the opposite side of the arena groaned open, releasing two more challengers—a lithe swordsman with twin blades and a savage axe-wielding berserker.

Korren clenched his fists, his breath steady despite the blood trickling down his face. The beast within him stirred, ready to be unleashed once more.

The sun blazed mercilessly overhead as Korren squared off against the new challengers. Each of them radiated deadly confidence. The swordsman, agile and deliberate, twirled his twin blades, their steel glinting like serpent fangs in the light. The berserker, towering and barbaric, stomped forward, his axe carving arcs in the air as though tasting the blood yet to spill.

Korren’s breath was steady, his muscles coiled. His chains hung loosely in his hands, but their ends were already streaked with crimson. He had no armour, no weapon save his wits and raw strength, but that was all he needed. He took one slow step forward, the crowd’s roars fading to a dull hum in his ears. In this moment, nothing existed but the fight.

The swordsman struck first, darting in with unnerving speed. His blades slashed in a flurry, aimed at Korren’s exposed flesh. Korren jerked back, narrowly evading the twin edges. The wind from the blades kissed his skin as he countered with a swing of his chains. The links whistled through the air, forcing the swordsman to leap back.

The berserker saw his opening. With a guttural roar, he charged, his axe raised high. Korren spun, letting the brute’s momentum carry him forward. As the berserker stumbled, Korren slammed the chains into his back, the impact sending a crack through the arena. The giant staggered but did not fall.

Instead, he turned with surprising speed, his axe coming down in a deadly arc. Korren barely managed to roll away, the blade digging into the sand where he had stood a heartbeat earlier. Grabbing a handful of sand, Korren hurled it at the berserker’s eyes. The giant roared, blinded, giving Korren a precious second.

The swordsman returned, striking low. This time, Korren was ready. He looped the chain around one of the blades and yanked hard, pulling the weapon from the man’s grasp. Without hesitation, Korren swung the stolen blade, its edge slicing across the swordsman’s shoulder. The man cried out and staggered back, blood staining the sand.

Korren turned to face the berserker, who had wiped the sand from his eyes and now came at him with unrelenting fury. Korren waited, his muscles taut, calculating. The berserker swung his axe in a wide arc, but Korren ducked low, rushing inside the brute’s guard. He drove his shoulder into the man’s chest, sending him reeling. As the berserker stumbled, Korren wrapped the chain around his neck, pulling with all his might. The giant clawed at the links, his face turning red, then purple, before he collapsed.

Panting, Korren released the chain and stepped back. Blood dripped from his hands, but his grip on the chains never faltered. The swordsman was still standing, his remaining blade held defensively. Korren advanced slowly, his eyes locked on his opponent’s. The swordsman feinted left, then struck right, but Korren anticipated the move. He caught the blade with his chain, twisting it from the man’s grasp. Disarmed and desperate, the swordsman lunged with bare hands, but Korren caught him by the throat, lifting him off the ground.

The crowd chanted for blood, their cries rising in a deafening crescendo. Korren hesitated, his hand tightening around the swordsman’s neck. For a moment, he saw not an enemy but a man, frightened and desperate, much like he had been in his youth. He hurled the swordsman to the ground, leaving him gasping but alive.

The arena fell silent. The crowd, bloodthirsty and cruel, booed and jeered, demanding a kill. But Korren stood tall, his chest heaving, his chains hanging at his sides. He turned to face the overseer, who sat in a gilded box above the arena. The overseer’s expression was unreadable, but he raised a hand, signalling the end of the match.

The gates opened, and guards stepped forward to collect Korren. He did not resist as they shackled his wrists and led him back to the dark, damp cell where he would wait for the next battle. The crowd’s roars faded behind him, replaced by the heavy clinking of chains and the dull ache in his muscles.

Alone in the suffocating darkness, Korren leaned against the cold stone wall. His mask lay beside him, its metallic surface stained with blood and sand. He stared at it, his mind a storm of memories. Each fight in the arena was a battle for survival, but the true war raged within him—a war against the guilt and shame of his past.

He had been a warrior once, a conqueror feared across kingdoms. His hands had built empires and torn them apart. But power had come at a cost. Betrayal, bloodshed, and the loss of everything he held dear had reduced him to this—a slave, fighting for the entertainment of those who had once cowered before him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. A shadow appeared at the door of his cell. It was a woman, her face hidden beneath a hood. She knelt and slid a small vial of liquid through the bars.

“Drink,” she whispered, her voice soft yet commanding. “It will ease your pain.”

Korren hesitated but eventually took the vial. The liquid was bitter, but as it coursed through him, the pain in his body began to fade. He looked up, but the woman was already gone, leaving only questions in her wake.

The next morning, Korren was led back to the arena, but this time, something was different. As he stepped onto the sands, he saw a new figure waiting for him—a warrior clad in black armour, his face obscured by a helmet. The crowd was unusually quiet, their anticipation palpable.

The overseer’s voice boomed across the arena. “Today, the Beast faces his greatest challenge. Behold, the Shadow of Edrak, undefeated in a hundred battles!”

Korren’s grip tightened on his chains. The Shadow of Edrak drew a massive sword, its blade etched with runes that glowed faintly in the sunlight. Korren’s heart pounded, not with fear, but with the thrill of facing an opponent who might finally match his strength.

The horn sounded, and the battle began.

The horn’s echo reverberated through the arena, silencing the crowd’s restless murmur. Korren circled his opponent cautiously, his chains dragging through the sand, their metallic clinks merging with the oppressive tension in the air. The Shadow of Edrak stood motionless, his massive sword gleaming ominously under the sun. His armour was jet black, edged with jagged spikes, and his helm revealed nothing of his face—only darkness, as if the man within were not of flesh but of shadow itself.

The Shadow was the first to move. In a blur of motion belying his massive frame, he lunged forward, the colossal sword slicing through the air with a sharp hum. Korren barely sidestepped, feeling the rush of displaced air as the blade passed within inches of his ribs. He retaliated immediately, his chain arcing toward the Shadow’s head, but the armoured warrior raised his gauntlet and caught the blow with unnerving ease.

The crowd erupted into cheers as the two giants clashed again. The Shadow spun with the momentum of his sword, its edge carving a deadly path through the sand. Korren ducked low, rolling to avoid the strike, and lashed out with his chains once more, this time aiming for the warrior’s legs. The links wrapped around the Shadow’s ankle, and with a powerful yank, Korren pulled him off balance.

But the Shadow didn’t fall. Instead, he drove the tip of his sword into the ground, using it as a stabilizer, and launched a brutal kick at Korren’s chest. The impact sent Korren sprawling, his breath leaving him in a sharp gasp as he hit the sand hard. The Shadow freed his leg from the chains with a single, effortless motion and advanced, his sword raised high for a killing blow.

Korren rolled just as the blade came crashing down, the ground shaking from the force of the strike. He scrambled to his feet, his mind racing. The Shadow’s sheer strength was unmatched, but strength alone wasn’t enough to defeat Korren. He had faced behemoths before, and he knew that brute force could be outlasted, exploited.

The next attack came swift and calculated—a horizontal slash aimed to bisect Korren at the waist. Instead of retreating, Korren surged forward, slipping inside the Shadow’s guard. He slammed his shoulder into the warrior’s chest, the force enough to stagger the armoured giant. Before the Shadow could recover, Korren looped his chains around the hilt of the massive sword and yanked downward.

The blade clattered to the ground, but the Shadow responded instantly, driving a spiked gauntlet into Korren’s ribs. Pain exploded through Korren’s body as he staggered back, clutching his side. The crowd roared, sensing blood, but Korren gritted his teeth and stood tall, his chains whipping through the air in a show of defiance.

The Shadow moved to retrieve his sword, but Korren was faster. He swung the chain, the weighted end striking the warrior’s helmet with a resounding clang. The Shadow stumbled, and Korren pressed the advantage, raining blows on the armoured giant. The chain struck again and again, sparks flying as metal met metal. Each strike was calculated, aimed at the joints and weaker points of the armour.

The Shadow retaliated with a sweeping backhand, catching Korren across the jaw and sending him sprawling once more. Blood dripped from Korren’s mouth, but he pushed himself up, his vision swimming. He couldn’t afford to falter—not now, not when victory was within reach.

The Shadow retrieved his sword, but Korren noticed something—the runes on the blade were dimmer, their glow fading with each passing moment. Was the weapon enchanted? If so, perhaps its power was finite, reliant on the Shadow’s strength. Korren decided to test his theory.

As the Shadow charged, Korren didn’t retreat. Instead, he stood his ground, waiting until the last possible moment before sidestepping and hooking his chain around the sword’s hilt. He pulled with all his might, and to his surprise, the blade didn’t just fall—it shattered, fragments scattering across the sand.

The crowd gasped, and for the first time, the Shadow hesitated. Without his weapon, he was vulnerable. Korren seized the opportunity, wrapping the chain around his fists and launching himself at the armoured warrior. He struck with feral intensity, each blow denting the black armour, each strike fuelled by years of rage and pain.

The Shadow fought back, his gauntlets slamming into Korren with bone-crushing force, but Korren didn’t relent. He dodged a wild swing and drove his knee into the Shadow’s midsection. The giant doubled over, and Korren wrapped his chains around the warrior’s neck, pulling tight. The Shadow thrashed, his gauntlets clawing at the links, but Korren held firm, his muscles straining as he poured every ounce of strength into the chokehold.

Finally, with a guttural roar, Korren twisted, and the Shadow collapsed to his knees. The crowd was silent, their breath held as they watched the two titans locked in a deadly embrace. With one final, wrenching motion, Korren brought the Shadow to the ground, his chains still wrapped tightly around the armoured neck.

The Shadow lay still, caught between life and death—half-alive, perhaps on the brink of survival. The arena broke into frenzy. Cheers rang out, mixed with screams, but Korren heard none of it. Standing above his defeated foe, his chest rising and falling with each laboured breath, his chains slick with sweat and blood.

The overseer rose from his gilded seat, his expression a mix of awe and frustration. He raised his hand, signalling the end of the match, but Korren didn’t move. He stared up at the overseer, his eyes blazing with defiance.

“You wanted a beast,” Korren growled, his voice carrying across the arena. “But I am more than that. I am Korren. I am no one’s slave.”

The crowd fell silent, stunned by his audacity. The overseer’s face darkened, but before he could speak, the arena gates creaked open. A cloaked figure stepped forward—a woman veiled in shadow, her features concealed yet her aura unmistakably powerful. Each stride carried intention, and though her eyes remained unseen, Korren sensed her focus fixed solely on him.

The overseer’s lips curled into a smirk. “So, the puppet finds a voice,” he said, his tone mocking. “Let’s see how long it lasts.”

The gates groaned as they began to close, and Korren knew his defiance had set his fate in stone. Yet, a strange sense of peace washed over him. For the first time in countless years, he felt truly alive. This battle had been more than survival—it was a declaration, a spark of something greater stirring within him.

As the hooded woman approached, her steps calm and measured, Korren felt a sudden tension stir within him. There was something unmistakable in her bearing—an unspoken resolve that made even the overseer’s confident grin flicker with doubt.

For a brief moment, she pushed back her hood, revealing her face. Their eyes met—just once—before she turned and walked away. Korren’s heart raced—not out of fear, for fear had never held him—but from something deeper, something he had no name for.

The chains of his past had fallen away, yet new forces were beginning to pull at him—quiet, unseen threads drawing him toward an uncertain path. Only now did he understand: the true journey had just begun.