"Your attention please!" announces the Rudis, his voice booming through the grand coliseum. "The next battle will now commence. Please welcome Delphius, the Challenger!"

Emerging into the vast arena, Delphius is met with scarce applause. He gazes up at Maelaezel, their eyes locking in an exchange of intensity and anticipation.

"And now," continues the Rudis, "please welcome our Champion: Feylania of House Sastrugi!"

The crowd erupts into an uproar of cheers and jubilation as a tall, thin, leather-clad huntress emerges gracefully from the shadows of the Coliseum cells.

Her visage is partly obscured by long brown hair, but her piercing blue eyes remain fixed on Delphius as she stands firm on the edges of the arena, sizing up her opponent. Delphius takes note of the sigil sewn into her cuirass, depicting a Menecervine, the emblem of House Sastrugi.

Time himself seems to cease his endless flow, allowing Delphius and Feylania to assess their opposition in the charged silence of the arena. Satisfied, Delphius takes a measured step forward, and the collective breath of the crowd resumes.

Responding, Feylania quickly nocks and fires two arrows. 

Swift and nimble, Delphius expertly dodges both projectiles.

She whistles, and the second bolt swiftly returns, jabbing him behind the knee. 

Unperturbed, he retrieves the arrow and snaps it in half before continuing his deliberate approach. 

Feylania nocks three more arrows, releasing them straight at his head.

He artfully evades the first two, narrowly escaping the third arrow that whizzes past his face. 

Feylania's whistle commands the third arrow to reverse its course, finding its mark in his shoulder this time. Undeterred, Delphius presses on, leaving the arrow in place as he continues his slow advance towards the huntress.

Feylania nocks four more arrows, loosing them one by one. Each shot meets Delphius's swift evasions until the last one again whizzes by him. Catching it this time, he holds it, eliciting fear in Feylania's eyes and causing a collective gasp from the mesmerized crowd. Delphius stands still, briefly studying the arrow, then turns his unwavering gaze back to Feylania, flicking the arrow back at her with such force that a sonic boom echoes through the arena, disintegrating the projectile before it can reach its mark.

Blood drips from Feylania's ears; trembling hands struggle to nock another arrow. A whisper of incantation escapes her lips before she fires the shot straight up into the sky. Moments later, a rain of arrows descends, intended to pin Delphius down. Confidence paints a nervous smile on Feylania's face as she believes she has the upper hand. Yet, unperturbed, Delphius looks up at the hail of projectiles, standing unflinching in their midst.

Gethrum's voice cuts through the tension, "Looks like your boy is finished. That’s Feylania’s signature move. Not a single soul has been spared from that deadly rain."

"Silence, you old fool. Just watch. My favorite part is coming up." Maelaezel commands.

As the arrows seem destined to deliver Delphius's defeat, he springs into action with astounding speed, leaving afterimages in his wake as he deftly evades each individual arrow with mere inches to spare. When the rain of arrows finally subsides, he finds himself face-to-face with the terror-stricken Feylania. Trembling, she drops her bow and raises her hands in a gesture of surrender.

Delphius commends her with a mix of admiration and intrigue, his voice resonating with a low timbre, "Good eye, kid."

Whispering in fear, Feylania asks, "What are you?"

Delphius pulls the arrow from his shoulder, taking a moment to inspect it before shifting his gaze back to Maelaezel, who nods curtly and offers a sly smile.

With an astonishing grip, Delphius crushes the arrow in his hand, then returns his attention to Feylania. To the left and the right, his neck bends, releasing a ripple of pops from within his spine. 

"Let’s hope you never find out."

He takes hold of her head, plunging his fingers deep into her eyes. The coliseum echoes with a bloodcurdling scream that rips through the air, sending waves of guilt through the skin of every spectator. The white flame of Sethir burns deep within Feylania's skull, forming a mosaic of cracks across her face and neck. Finally, with a forceful closure of his hands, Delphius shatters the young huntress's head like a delicate crystal, scattering shards of a once vibrant life onto the dusty floor of the arena.

The arena's revulsion hangs heavy in the air, a tangible presence that makes many spectators avert their eyes from the gruesome sight before them. Those who cannot turn away find their stomachs churning with unease.

Gethrum stands up from his seat, gripping the railing as his mouth hangs open in bewildered disbelief.

"No way..." he mutters, unable to comprehend the horrifying scene unfolding before him.

Maelaezel rises gracefully from her chair, her elegant gown cascading around her as she swiftly smooths its fabric with her hands.

"I hope my words ring a little more clear for you now, Gethrum," she states with authority. Now excuse me, I must take stock of my ward.

Without wasting a moment, Maelaezel walks past the Aelthuns, her demeanor exuding a personal brand of highborn arrogance. Gethrum's eyes, filled with dread, track her departure from the stands until she disappears from view, descending into the contenders' chambers.

In the dimly lit cell, Delphius sits on the cold stone floor, bracing his back against a makeshift bench formed by a stone slab. His head snaps towards the stairs as the faint sound of clicking heels reverberates through the holding area. Recognizing the distinct rhythm of his mistress's gait, he quickly lifts himself from the floor and assumes an attentive posture on the slab.

"My Lady, what brings you down here?"

Maelaezel takes one final step into the chamber, wasting no time scrutinizing her apprentice's appearance. The pungent odor of rust wafting from his armor twists Maelaezel's features into a harsh grimace.

"Have you no pity for that poor girl you brought home, Delphius?" she chastises.

"What do you mean?" 

Maelaezel's gaze remains fixed on the stains adorning his armor. "Your obliviousness astounds me, you absolute buffoon of a man. That unfortunate girl will have to spend the entire night trying to rid your armor of these unsightly stains."

Delphius sits in repentant silence, unable to craft a response. 

"Oh? Silent now, are we? Good," Maelaezel remarks. "For the sake of that poor girl and the reputation we uphold, I implore you to be less barbaric in your victories. We are here to set an example, Delphius."

"I thought we were here for-"

"Yes, yes, I am well aware of our purpose," Maelaezel interjects.

"Forgive me, my Lady," he replies, solemnly hanging his head in reflection. 

Maelaezel releases a deep sigh, her frustration momentarily subsiding. With a slow clap of her hands, she conjures a spear, its shaft materializing within the space between her palms. With a flourish of her wrist, she completes the weapon and presents it to Delphius, who stands in response.

"I am grateful, my Lady, but I have little need for a weapon. These foes are of little consequence," Delphius remarks.

Maelaezel's eyes narrow at his unsatisfactory response. "Are you determined to remain so dense in the face of my impending absence, Delphius?" she questions. "This weapon is not merely for the battles at hand. It is to ensure your appearance remains impeccable, as any warrior of my body will remain, even on the bloodied field of combat."

Delphius strides towards Maelaezel, his grip firm on the spear's base, as he looks directly into her achromatic irises. "Understood," he says, resolved.

Maelaezel nods, acknowledging his acceptance. She relinquishes the spear, and Delphius takes it into both hands. He inspects the weapon, familiarizing himself with its weight and balance, before securely fastening it to his back. Satisfied with his readiness, Maelaezel turns to leave. Without casting a glance in his direction, she inquires of Delphius once more as she approaches the stairs to exit.

"That last one, the huntress, she would make a good scout, don't you think? She seemed quite powerful," she muses, her words betraying a hint of curiosity.

Delphius ponders her question.  "I believe so, my Lady," he replies, oblivious to the flicker of emotion in his mistress's words.

Maelaezel pauses her ascent for a moment, lost in deep contemplation. Finally, she asks,

"Are you alright, Delphius?"

Delphius stands in stunned silence, uncertain of how to acknowledge Maelaezel's unexpected interest in his well-being.

Deciding it best not to notice her sudden concern he answers in his typical composed manner "Yes, my Lady."

Maelaezel gazes into the light pouring down into the expanse, a myriad of emotions playing across her features. A response lingers on her lips, but she hesitates, her satin-gloved hands clenched into fists. Eventually, she relents, turning away from him and retracing her steps to rejoin the audience without uttering another word.