Selveria and Aiden sat side by side, facing the massive glass wall that overlooked the center of the Colosseum. From here, they had the best view in the house—close enough to see every movement below yet far enough to take in the grandeur of the entire arena.
Selveria scooped another spoonful of soup and held it up to Aiden’s face. “Come on, open your mouth,” she coaxed, hovering the spoon near his lips.
This had been going on for several minutes now—a slow, deliberate rhythm of her feeding him, and Aiden wasn’t about to stop it. His face was warm with embarrassment, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed it. After all, who wouldn’t want to be spoon-fed by a beautiful girl?
The soup had a strange, tangy taste, but it wasn’t bad. Definitely better than the cheap cup noodles he used to eat back on Earth. And with first-class seats in the Colosseum, this moment felt almost surreal—like Heaven despite in the middle of Hell. For once, Aiden felt like a king for the first time in his entire life.
He finally spoke, curiosity getting the better of him. “How did you manage to set all this up? I mean, a feast just for the two of us? And these seats… this is the best spot in the entire Colosseum.”
Selveria shot him a sharp look. “Aiden, are you stupid? We talked about this already. Remember my influence in this city?”
Aiden let out an awkward chuckle. “No what I meant was how were you able to inform them that you would be coming?”
Selveria clasped both of her hands and said "~Magic" with her hands slowly opening and forming a literal rainbow.
Aiden looked at this scene like a kid who just watched a magic show for the first time. He shook his head to remove that expression and said "Thank you Selveria."
She shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” Then, tilting her head slightly, she asked, “How’s the soup?”
“Not bad. It’s… tasty, even though I have no idea what’s in it.”
“Not bad? Let me try it.”
Before Aiden could react, Selveria used the same spoon—the one she had just fed him with—to take a sip of the soup herself. Aiden stared at her, his mind screaming, Did she just…?
Selveria, completely unfazed, smacked her lips and gave a casual nod. “Not bad. Not great. I’ve had better.”
Aiden was dumbfounded. That spoon had been in his mouth. It had touched his tongue, his saliva. And yet, she just used it without hesitation, as if it was nothing.
Shouldn’t nobles have some etiquette about this? Or is she just completely oblivious?
Before he could dwell on it, Selveria scooped from a different bowl and held up another spoonful, this time with a playful smile. “Try this, dear.”
Aiden stared at the spoon, his mind at war with itself. On one hand, he felt like he should say something—tell her that this kind of thing was only for couples. But then again, he wasn’t exactly in a position to protest. He was her slave, after all. Free will wasn’t exactly on the table.
With a deep breath, Aiden opened his mouth and let her feed him again. A burst of spice hit his tongue, making his face flush even redder. Whether it was from the spiciness of the soup or the sheer embarrassment, he couldn’t tell.
The drums destroyed the ‘romantic atmosphere’. A slow, steady rhythm, like the pulse of Hell itself. The crowd—thousands of demons, monstrous and mighty—erupted in cheers, screeches, howls, and roars. The flames in the cauldrons flared higher, casting wild shadows across the Colosseum walls.
Aiden turned to see a figure rising in the center of the arena—a man, floating above the battlefield. His mask, carved with intricate designs, gave him an eerie, almost godlike presence. He lifted his arms, and when he spoke, his voice thundered across the Colosseum, clear and powerful.
"Welcome, my fellow demonkind! What a wonderful day!"
The response was deafening. Voices of all shapes and tones clashed together—roars, screeches, even hissing. The announcer let the noise settle before continuing, his voice rich with energy.
"What better way to drive away boredom than to witness a grand spectacle within these walls? Where legends are made! Where history is brought to life! Where you—yes, YOU—become a part of something greater!"
He turned and extended his arm toward a section of the stands, where demons clad in extravagant garments, glittering with gold and gemstones, sat in high seats of honor. "A special thanks to our noble patrons—the great guilds—who have made this event possible! Without their wealth, their vision, their unmatched generosity, none of this would be before you today!" They raised their hands in a balcony and wave at the crowds of demons.
A cheer of approval followed, but the announcer was already moving on, voice swelling with excitement.
"And tonight—tonight, my dear demons—I have the greatest honor of all! I shall be your narrator, guiding you through a tale of epic proportions!"
The audience fell silent, the anticipation thick in the air.
He spread his arms wide, his voice reaching its peak.
"The tale of a ruler known by many names—a sovereign whose legend echoes across the ages! The one and only, the undisputed, the mighty… King Zerathun Kazrith Morvael Malzephar Vaelmorath!"
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The Colosseum roared, the very stone trembling beneath the cries of countless demons.
"Open your eyes! Sharpen your ears! Burn this moment into your soul! For tonight, we shall bear witness to the rise of the King of SHIT!"
Aiden asked curiously to Selveria “Do you have any idea what they are going to do? and what is this mythological-like story is? Are they going to have a performance here?”
Selveria nodded "This is a live performance that glorifies the king of SHIT, showing how he beat his siblings to the throne. It's one of many ways he boosts his image. From what I know, this event at the Grand-Colliseum is free for lower-caste demons. It's a chance for them to learn who rules them. These demons are trapped in one city, never knowing much about the world or their rulers. For many, this is the first time they've even heard of their king."
Aiden asked “What does the current king hope to achieve here? Is it about improving his reputation gaining support from the public?”
Selveria said, "There's no value in getting recognition from the lower class, Aiden. We at the top don't care how they view us. Even if they resent us, they can't threaten us. What can they do? Rebel? Thousands of cockroaches are still just cockroaches. One powerful individual could easily wipe out thousands of them in this world, Aiden."
Aiden gulped, feeling the weight of her words as he watched Selveria's disgusted gaze sweep over the crowd of demons in the colosseum.
She continued, "The King probably wants to play God, making every demon worship his name across the lands." Selveria turned to Aiden and saw his concern. Selveria smiled. "But don't worry, my dear Aiden, you're different from them. You're my pet, after all." She patted his head.
Aiden just nodded not asking for any clarifications. He just looked at the Grand-Colliseum again. Aiden couldn’t help but be disappointed about the show that he will be witnessing. He was expecting chariots racing or gladiatorial fights but only a live performance? He isn’t looking forward it.
Aiden was expecting that the demons on the seats should try to scream in discontent instead all he saw is various cheers.
Aren’t they demons? And here I was expecting a grand showdown that would at least rush my adrenaline when watching. Perhaps just because they are demons doesn’t mean that they are always that bloodthirsty.
Aiden thought he was a racist ‘I shouldn’t be blinded by prejudice and just try to enjoy this view.’
Suddenly, silence fell over the arena. The once-lively crowd hushed as horns, drums, and a choir began to play, their sounds merging to build tension for what was to come. The show was beginning.
On the stage, a figure emerged, clad in dark, imposing armor. His cape, made of boar fur, fluttered in the air. His head was lowered, his face hidden in shadow, as if waiting for the perfect moment to reveal himself.
The narrator's voice echoed through the colosseum. "Born a prince within the royal demon family a thousand years ago, King Zerathun was destined for greatness."
Slowly, the figure stepped forward to the center of the stage. As he lifted his head, his face was finally revealed—long, dark hair flowing majestically, crimson eyes scanning the crowd. His divine presence sent a shudder through every demon in the audience, their hearts pounding with awe.
"King Zerathun had visions—divine visions granting him sacred tasks to propel Hell into a new age," the narrator continued.
Suddenly, a massive burst of colorful dust exploded around him—not enough to obscure him completely, but just enough to heighten the spectacle. The dust scattered and ignited into flames, engulfing the stage. From within the inferno, a colossal fiery figure took shape—a head, arms, and torso forming from the flames.
The blazing entity turned its head toward the audience, its fiery gaze exuding raw, terrifying power. The spectators squirmed uncontrollably—some even lost control of their bladders.
Then, a voice like rolling thunder shook the arena. "I am the Demon King who once ruled the lands of Hell."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Demons instinctively wanted to prostrate themselves before the entity.
"I proclaim that you are my brother, forged as I was by the crucible of Hell. As I once did, you are destined for greatness." The figure raised a burning hand, summoning a swirling mass of crimson flames.
"I bestow upon you the power to lead a holy crusade. Your destiny is to purge the world of barbarians. Zerathun Kazrith Morvael Malzephar Vaelmorath, I command you—wage war against your own kin and claim the throne."
Zerathun bowed deeply, accepting the decree without hesitation. "Your wish is my command."
The flames condensed into a single point, then surged toward Zerathun. He closed his eyes and raised his arms as the fire engulfed him. The heat was unbearable, radiating outward so intensely that even those near the stage could feel it.
Then, without warning, a massive pillar of fire erupted from the ground, piercing the sky and bathing the colosseum in blinding light.
Aiden stood frozen in shock. He now understood the terrifying power these demons possessed. No wonder Selveria dismissed the idea of a lesser demon rebellion—perhaps she, too, was capable of such feats.
As the flames finally died down, Zerathun remained. But he was changed. His presence was even more overwhelming, his aura radiating pure, instinctive danger. It was as if he now carried the very essence of death itself.
The narrator’s voice rang out once more. "Driven by divine decree, he steps forward to fulfill his destiny."
Zerathun now wore a new set of armor, far grander than before. The transformation was complete. The audience could only stare in awe.
New figures emerged in the arena—hundreds of them—surrounding Zerathun. Clad in metallic armor, they carried an assortment of weapons, from spears to swords, each one armed to the teeth.
Yet, despite being vastly outnumbered, Zerathun remained calm. He drew his weapon—a sleek, rapier-like sword—without a hint of hesitation.
The announcer broke the tense silence. "Many stood against Zerathun on his path to destiny. Yet not once did he falter."
Aiden was completely drawn in, watching closely to see what would happen next.
Suddenly, one of the armored warriors charged at Zerathun, halberd raised, aiming straight for his torso.
The moment the weapon was about to land, Zerathun ducked in a flash and swung his sword, and the way how he swung that sword in an armor was much smoother than how you slice a butter. The attacker's body barely had time to react before his torso split open—organs spilling onto the sand, staining the stage red.
Aiden barely had time to process what had just happened. Aiden could see the various gore being spilled on the sand. He felt sick to his stomach, he wants to puke out the food he had eaten. He refused to do it.
He had just seen someone die before his very eyes. His body tensed, his breath caught in his throat.
A voice beside him snapped him out of it. He turned his head to see Selveria.
"I'm bored, Aiden. Let's just keep eating," Selveria said, completely unfazed.
“Say Ahh” Said Selveria as she hovers the spoon near his head. Aiden looked at the corner of his eyes and saw another batch of intestines were spilled, this time coming from a different person. He just looked away for a moment and another life was claimed.
Selveria gently cupped Aiden’s face, turning it toward her. Without a word, she pried his mouth open and spooned in the same soup they had eaten earlier. Aiden swallowed, but this time, it felt different—his stomach twisted, rejecting the food. He chewed slower, his body resisting.
A sharp pain shot through his gut. His stomach churned, the urge to vomit clawing at him. But he forced himself to stay still, refusing to let it happen. Puking now would shatter the 'romantic atmosphere' and, worse, ruin Selveria’s perception of him. He clenched his jaw and endured.
He tried to keep his eyes off the stage, convincing himself not to look. But his curiosity overpowered his reason.
He peeked.
And what he saw horrified him.
Hundreds of soldiers charged at Zerathun, swarming him like ants defending their nest. But the intruder didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch.
Then, with a single, effortless swing of his sword, Zerathun cut through them.
Limbs, lungs, heads, bones—pieces of bodies soared through the air, painting the stage in red. The soldiers screamed, not in battle cries, but in sheer denial of the nightmare before them.
Their formation crumbled. Morale shattered as panic set in. Some tried to fight, but most turned and ran, desperate to escape.
The battle was over. Now, it was just survival.
Zerathun stood amidst the carnage, his body bathed in blood, a twisted smile creeping onto his face. His crimson eyes scanned the writhing survivors, the ones too weak or too slow to escape.
In a blink, he appeared before one, slashing its torso with a dagger pulled from his back. The wound was deep—but not fatal. The demon collapsed, groaning in agony.
Zerathun vanished again, reappearing beside another fleeing soldier. Another slash, another body crumpling to the ground. He did it again. And again.
This wasn’t a massacre. It was torture.
Aiden barely noticed the spoon hovering near his lips until Selveria’s voice broke through his trance.
"Say ahh~."
His shaky smile didn’t fool her.
The soup in the spoon was the same deep red as the blood soaking the Colosseum sands. The chunks of meat floating inside reminded him of something else—something worse.
His first encounter with Selveria. A room filled with rotting carcasses and oozing, bubbling blood.
The once-fragrant meal turned metallic on his tongue, like the blood he had tasted back then. His body screamed at him to refuse, just as it had before. To spit it out, to run, to reject whatever twisted kindness Selveria offered.
She tilted her head, watching him closely. Then, with a sweet, innocent smile, she asked,
"What’s wrong, Aiden? Are you feeling ill?"
That was enough.
His resistance crumbled. He forced himself to take the bite.
Selveria beamed as he accepted the spoonful, her face glowing with satisfaction.
The tangy taste he had once enjoyed was gone. Now, it was only metallic. He tried to tell himself it was just his imagination, just his senses playing tricks on him.
The food sat in his mouth, unmoving. He didn’t chew. He didn’t swallow.
He stayed perfectly still, afraid that the slightest movement would make him vomit.
He puked.