A GHOST FROM THE PAST

"I can't believe I actually won," Shu murmurs to himself as he limps back to the contestant block, his body covered in blood and his kantar reserves utterly spent. Using the staff as a walking stick, he made his way back.

Hanz spotted him from afar and ran toward him, placing his arm under Shu's as he said, "Take it easy, kid. I'll help you back to your seat." He smirked at Shu. "You did well, Shu. Just hope you didn't accidentally kill the poor guy."

Shu laughed. "I doubt Radon is that easy to kill. He just needs some medical assistance and he'll be back to fighting in no time."

Hanz smiled, helping Shu to sit. "Yeah, I guess you have a point. He's an alpha werewolf after all."

Shu settled back with a wince, exhaustion beginning to set in

Meanwhile, in the spectator block, Hannah beamed with pride, turning to Jax. "Told you Shu would win." She chuckled, tossing another popcorn seed into her mouth as her thoughts drifted. *That red-eyed thing happened again. He knew my name when he was in that form, but had no memory of it later. I have theories, but I shouldn't dwell on it too much. After all, it's not malicious.*

After ensuring Shu was as comfortable as possible, Hanz called the medics. He prepared himself for the next match, he was up against an opponent called Balthazar. When he saw the name on the card, he went very still. Then his demon began talking in his head, its voice dripping with condescension and certainty.

"Balthazar. That name is familiar. Isn't that the demon who served as Dracula's apprentice? Yes, I remember now—she was the one who gave him his meals and all that."

Hanz looked at the paper again, his eyebrows furrowing. "It can't be her. Yeah, I know they welcome outsider humans like Leon, but Leon has a history with their queen. Who the hell here could Balthazar have history with?"

The demon smirked. "Fool. Werewolves are descended from demons. Who's to say Dracula's assistant wasn't a werewolf? After all, we never saw her fight. This city is so big she could easily slip out and slip back in with Dracula's help. Think about it—Dracula was obsessed with power. A werewolf army would have been fantastic for him, and for that goal, he would have needed an inside man."

Hanz sighed as memories of his time with Dracula flooded through his mind. "I hate it when you're right."

Hanz's thoughts were interrupted when the lights cut off. Everyone knew what that meant. The audience leaned forward with anticipation as a spotlight fell on the commentator. He grinned, swinging his hand dramatically.

"Alright, folks. The delay is over. The stage is patched up, and it's time for the next match." He glanced at the tournament board. "Ladies and gentlemen, to our left we have a fierce woman you all know well—she's the ex-general of our military forces and one of the strongest omegas you'll ever meet. Give it up for... Balthazar!"

The crowd erupted as the spotlight caught her walking into the arena. Hanz looked down from the contestant block and confirmed it immediately—the face and figure matched. It was Dracula's former assistant.

Recognition hardened his expression. Without hesitation, he jumped from the window. The commentator spotted him mid-air, and another spotlight swung to him as he fell into the arena.

"Wow, ladies and gentlemen, give it up to Hanz—one of our guests—for his dramatic entrance!"

Hanz landed gracefully on his feet. The crowd roared. For a moment, he just stood there, and then he looked a bit exasperated, muttering to himself, "Anything seems to get this crowd going."

He turned to face Balthazar. She looked older than he remembered—more curves, longer hair that flowed down her back now. Her jet-black eyes burned with nothing but hatred toward him. She looked no older than nineteen, but Hanz knew better. She was in her late twenties when he first met her. By now, she should be in her mid-thirties, one of the perks of being a werewolf or anything demon-related: slow aging, or sometimes no aging at all.

She wore a red tank top and black trousers, her arms wrapped in bandages like a pro boxer.

Hanz took in the sight of her—the fury, the readiness. A ghost from his past, made flesh. He smirked. "Balthazar, huh? A very strange coincidence, running into you here. If it's a coincidence at all."

Balthazar scoffed, circling him. "Of course it's not a coincidence, Hanz. You ought to know me well enough by now that I won't just let the scum who betrayed us and aided in the killing of my master walk free."

Hanz smiled, walking around her. "Well, I doubt you can call it betrayal, seeing as I was never really on your side to begin with."

Having had enough, Balthazar's patience snapped. She dropped into a fighting stance, her bandaged fists clenching. "Enough. Draw your sword. We are settling this right here, right now."

Hanz smirked and stretched out his hand. Dark kantar swelled from the ground, forming a hole. His katana emerged from it, floating up to his waiting hand. He grabbed the hilt and pointed the blade toward Balthazar, entering his battle stance.

"I'd like to see what tricks you have up your sleeve. You know you can't beat me, right?"

Balthazar smirked. "Believe me, I don't plan to."