The Demon kin and the Arena

“It's your first time at the arena, sister?”

I had followed the crowds, just as instructed, and found myself at the door of a buried building. I couldn’t tell how big it was before the dunes had claimed it, but the fact that it was about one of the only buried buildings in this town only added a layer of strangeness to the situation.

“Yes, it is,” I nodded.

“And what brings you here tonight?” The bouncer asked, blocking my path with an extended hand.

Besides him, the other bouncer collected coins and let people through, unconcerned by the queue we were creating. Both men had similar faces and long, wavy, bronze hair. They looked like actual brothers, not the honorific they used for male visitors.

“A friend recommended I visit,” I replied.

Truth be told, I still wasn't fully sure I understood the stakes and what these demons were. I doubted the knight had referred to the giant mutated bugs, as only a madman would suggest them as a companion.

“Actually, I am a traveller from Yapoon. We don't have demons, at least real ones. Could you...” I paused awkwardly, fiddling with my gloves. This was only a half-lie, so I had no reason to feel this bad. “Could you tell me what to expect?”

“So your friend didn’t tell you?”

“Umm umm,” I shook my head.

“Well, you see,” The man rubbed his chin with a pride appropriate for the biggest history nerd of all of Arkkon. His brother rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Just let her in-”

“It all began 70 years ago, when the Demon King and his troupe moved out of their stronghold in the Spass mountains to claim the Cieleese Sea.”

“Tove, I really don’t think anyone -” His brother tried to interrupt.

“They fought on two fronts, reclaiming many mountain passes from the Frijn empire, and burning down every town too weak to defend itself in the West.”

I glanced around, somewhat anxiously, as fewer and fewer people were entering the arena.

“Seeing their overwhelming power, all those wandering tribes of Asta surrendered and prostrated themselves to the Demon King. Only a few independent strongholds remain along the ocean coast.”

“The people of Asta traded their humanity for the Demon King’s mercy. They were quite literally remade in his image, growing horns and all,” the brother intervened, perhaps to cut it short.

“Indeed, they traded their souls,” The bouncer who’d been holding me up nodded. “Based on their sins and the gods they prayed to, they grew horns, extra arms. Their legs morphed into tails, and some lost the ability to breathe air!”

He sounded all too excited while explaining this, gesturing with his hands as he accentuated every other word.

I took a step back, not too sure I wanted to get involved with this anymore.

What do you mean they traded their souls? Are these demons like evil spirits, only capable of harming others?

Tove continued with detailed descriptions, which Medina would have fit under. But she’d been just a girl lost in the desert like me.

This can’t be right.

I glanced back into the streets, only illuminated by the starlight.

“They level up faster than humans, which makes them extremely dangerous. And-”

“That’s enough.”

The brother firmly interrupted. He glanced inside, where chatter had died down.

“You’ll miss the first match. Just don’t cause a commotion, alright, stranger?”

“Of course, thank you.”

I bowed, handed the bouncer the coins, and walked in.

A long corridor led up to the spectator rows of the arena. Although my modded conductor uniform kept out the heat, I could still feel dense hot air against my face. It was almost as if I was wading through it, its thickness only accentuated by a carousel of gentle perfumes and well-masked sweat. The white brick was lit by regularly spaced glowing orbs that didn’t release any heat; the presence of over a hundred people in a circular theatre did that in their stead.

I squeezed onto one of the top row benches, right at the edge.

The roof of the arena had a strange, curved-in shape that went low enough to mask the rows on the opposite side of me, but was carved in a very intentional manner, perhaps to help circulate air.

People in the top rows were chatting among themselves and not paying much attention to the two living trees fighting each other.

I remember those guys!

One of the trees had been struck by lightning, or maybe by a chicken's fireball. Yet, even with half as many branches, it fought better than its unscathed opponent. Instead of blocking, it spun, letting the other’s javelin-branch thrusts whistle past.

The burnt one impaled the other tree with one of its lower, most intact branches.

That tree pushed the burnt one off, before stomping into the sand that made up the base of the arena. Its roots vanished into the ground and reappeared right under the burnt tree. Roots shot underground and burst up beneath the burnt tree, coiling tight around its body. At the same time, its upper branches reshaped into a long javelin.

Pinned, the burnt tree twisted as far as it could, dragging its branches forward. Plates of bark peeled off, slotting together to form a rough shield.

These guys are actually quite cool!

I found myself strangely invested in the fight. Although I wasn’t big into watching sports back home, I enjoyed watching basketball with my family, and it seemed most of the people around me had come here for a similar kind of reason.

The intact tree lunged at the burnt one. Its javelin pierced the shield, but didn’t reach the centre of the tree. The javelin remained wedged in the branches, and the burnt tree used it to jerk and slam the other tree into the ground.

It retracted its roots as it fell, and its branches spasmed weakly.

“Fireman is the winner of this round!” An announcement came from a woman in the bottom row.

It was quickly followed by a round of applause. The people next to me started a conversation about how ‘Just Oak’ should have had the upper hand in this round. ‘Fireman’ helped the other tree up, and they skittered out a door that’d appeared at the side of the arena.

It’s good that it’s only pretend fighting.

The conversations happening around me got a bit too distracting. After looking around, I realised the front rows were filled with people fully focused on the fights.

The hardcore fans.

“Sorry, can I squeeze in?”

Two people moved aside without even giving me a second glance, just as the second match began.

---

“Two matches left to go, and I know some of you have work tomorrow, so I won’t hold you up any longer …” That woman got up from her seat and spoke with an excited and overly dramatic tone. “The one and only, Knox the Dragon!”

The edges of the lowered arena opened up, and a man walked into its centre, preceded by rounds of applause and cheers.

He can’t be who the knight and the bouncer meant, right?

He was almost two meters tall, not counting the white jagged horns that grew straight up from his forehead. Sun-tanned skin contrasted with the pale green of his long hair, braided neatly down his back. His ears were long and drooping down, similar to those of goats, but his most distinctive trait was a tail of scales and fur, exactly like that of the mythological dragons, which extended from his lower back and hovered some distance above the ground.

He was wearing a tunic and trousers that had once been ornate but had seen too many fights to still be quantified as such. In his left hand, he carried a spear, and a dagger was strapped to his belt.

He scanned the audience with a look of disdain.

What am I misunderstanding? That knight couldn’t have possibly asked me to practically buy another person…

“A demon kin from the southern wild lands will come face to face with …” The announcer made a dramatic pause, and the crowd whistled in unison. “Nami the Devourer!” The announcer exclaimed.

The crowd cheered as the other side of the area opened up.

I could only make out two pairs of orange eyes glowing in the corridor before a giant toad, easily the size of two motorbikes, leapt out into the arena. The dragon man spun his spear, splattering around a blob of saliva that the toad had spat at him.

The toad threw its tongue outwards. The dragon smacked it down with his spear and dodged out of the way as the toad leapt at him. From the side, he stabbed the toad in its side. Using the spear as leverage, he jumped up, while still keeping his hands on the spear. With his momentum, he flipped the toad over.

The audience cheered.

The animal projected its tongue out to the ceiling, to which it stuck, and yanked itself up. It lacked the dexterity to hit the dragon as it spun on itself, but the spear still sticking out of its side did add range.

The toad dropped down and swept its tongue around the arena using the lingering momentum. The dragon took a few more hasty steps back, dodging easily whilst getting further and further from his weapon.

I scooched closer to the edge of my seat, my eyes jumping from the dragon man to the toad.

The toad spat another ball of saliva at the dragon, who rolled down on the floor to get away. The ball grazed his shoulder, though, and the fabric fizzled away under it.

Poison? Acid?

I didn’t see much of the dragon’s skin, but from the glimpse I caught, it looked red and burnt. He rushed toward the toad, aiming to grab his spear. The toad jumped away, well aware of its mobility advantage.

It raised its head back, loudly croaking, as if to provoke the dragon. The dragon almost caught up with it by the time it’d finished boasting, but just as he reached for his spear, the toad jumped to the side and smashed the spear against the edge of the arena.

A wave of surprised and excited cheering came from the crowd.

The toad spat another ball of acid, which the dragon failed to dodge. He raised his arms high up over his head, forearms and elbows taking the hit.

“Ish-” I and a few others recoiled from the sight of this burn.

I thought this was pretend fighting? What’s going on?

The toad opened its mouth to launch another tongue attack, but the tip of the tongue never reached the dragon. Ignoring the visibly painful chemical burns on his arms, he unsheathed his dagger and threw it into the toad's mouth. It cut straight through the toad’s head and jammed itself into the wall behind it.

The crowd went silent.

Everyone waited for the toad to get up, or for the announcer to mark the end of the match.

The dragon walked around his opponent and grabbed his weapon. At the same time, the announcer squeezed past the front row spectators to reach him. She knelt down and whispered something that only he could hear. I couldn’t make out his reply or expression, but the announcer frowned. She whispered something else, and suddenly the dragon collapsed to the ground, clenching his chest in pain.

I jerked up from my seat, trying to see what was going on.

The spectator next to me tugged on my shorts to get me to sit back down. Apparently, only I had found this strange.

“Knox won’t be in the next fight,” he whispered to me, as he started packing up.

“Huh?”

“The winner of this contest is once again Knox the dragon,” The announcer spoke, completely ignoring the toad and man in the arena. “For those who are leaving us now, we hope to see you again in two days' time, and for everyone else, the next fight, our last fight of the evening, will feature another fan favourite, the Dominator and his sworn enemy Flower Girl!”

A few people got up to leave, and those who remained started clapping.

I was expecting someone to drag the dead frog out and help the dragon up, but instead, the sand under them swallowed the frog. The dragon eventually got up and walked to a door that’d just appeared. He held onto the wall for stability, and his tail created a long drag mark in the sand.

That injury isn’t from the frog. What did the presenter do to him?

Two concealed doors on the side of the arena opened up, and another tree, this one with yellow flowers on some of its branches, and a creature entirely made of rocks walked in.

The crowd continued cheering, but I turned my focus to the presenter, who returned to her seat. She was a bit far, but her face seemed pale and tired.