Chapter 11

  Lord of Whatever-the-Fuck finally stepped out—or at least, that’s what Tyler figured when the crowd lost its damn mind. From his spot, wedged too far back in the sea of green-skins and long-ears, and other things, he couldn’t see shit yet—just a wall of heads and shoulders blocking the balcony. Loud claps erupted, sharp and scattered at first, then rolling into a wave that bounced off the obsidian walls. Up top, the suave bastards in capes went wild—streaks of green, blue, and purple flared from their hands, some kind of light show weaving patterns in the air. A few stomped their feet, the rhythm thudding through the floor, and one by one, they stood, capes fluttering like they were at a goddamn coronation.

  Guess he’s out, Tyler thought, craning his neck. The air buzzed, thick with hype, and even Red shifted beside him, her pointy ears twitching like she was picking up a signal. Then the crowd parted just enough—a gap opened—and Tyler caught his first glimpse. Towering over a podium he hadn’t even noticed ‘til now, stood Severen, and holy shit, the guy was a sight. The most beautiful person Tyler had ever seen, hands down—like a vampire on steroids, but with a face so flawless Tyler wondered if it was makeup or some Void Realm magic.

  Was it something else messing with his head, or was he actually turning a little gay? Severen’s eyes glowed purple, practically leaking out of their sockets, sharp and hypnotic. His skin was pale, but it shimmered—like light was trapped under it, glinting soft in the dim. Is this dude even from the Void? Tyler thought, squinting. The guy wore a tunic, black but not flat black—more like it drank the light and spat it back in flecks. Sleeves cut off high, showing arms that looked carved, and a scarf wrapped around his neck that was clearly meant for style more then function. Earrings that dangled low with large red gems, feminine and flashy, catching the purple flames. From where Tyler stood, Severen had to be eight feet tall—tallest thing he’d ever seen, looming like a damn statue come to life.

  He tilted his head then, and Tyler saw it—the crown. It sat nestled in purple-silver hair, a shade that screamed madness, wild and brilliant. The crown itself looked like a black hole, but somehow beautiful—a shiny, swirling void that sucked in the light around it. Tyler had seen crowns in movies—gaudy dress pieces, shit people wore to feel better about themselves. He’d always thought they were pretentious as hell, some king flexing for the peasants. But this? Even from back here, half-lost in the crowd, he could tell this crown wasn’t just for show. It held the power of Kingdoms.

  The claps kept rolling, the colored lights danced, and Tyler couldn’t peel his eyes off it. That crown didn’t just sit there—it commanded the room, like it was alive, whispering something dark and old. What the fuck am I even looking at? he thought, neck still craned, mouth dry. Severen hadn’t said a word yet, but between that face, those eyes, and that crown, Tyler got the vibe this guy didn’t need to. He just was—and that was plenty.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Then Severen smiled, slow and deliberate, soaking it all in like a rockstar basking in the encore. The praise washed over him, and it felt almost pageantry-like—hero worship dialed up to eleven. Tyler glanced around—the beings on the balcony looked ready to cry, eyes glistening like they’d seen a god. Who the fuck is this guy? he thought, neck still craned. The clapping dragged on, relentless, like it’d been a fucking hour. Alright, we get it—this guy’s a big deal, Tyler grumbled internally, shifting his weight.

  Finally, Severen raised his hands—long, pale fingers splayed wide—and the noise ebbed, fading slow into a hush. “Welcome,” he intoned, voice rolling out like velvet thunder, rich and commanding, eyes sweeping the room to touch every soul below and above. “Welcome, ye gathered throng of valor and shadow.” He paused, letting the words hang, then turned his gaze upward. “I extend my deepest gratitude to all who grace this year’s league with their presence—contestants who dare the challenge, and you, noble patrons, whose generous sponsorship elevates our sacred spectacle.” The balcony crowd swelled with murmurs, heads bowing like they’d been knighted.

  His purple eyes slid down then, locking on Tyler for a split second—just long enough for Tyler’s gut to lurch. Severen faltered, a flicker crossing that flawless face, like he’d seen something off. “Our final contestant,” he continued, voice smooth again, “suffered a most unfortunate summoning, a thread of fate frayed by mischance. Yet we rejoice that he stands among us now, whole and resolute.” Tyler swallowed, feeling every stare in the room swivel his way. Great, spotlight’s on the idiot, he thought, forcing his grin to hold.

  Severen turned to the crowd below, arms sweeping wide like a conductor. “This league shall be a tapestry of grand challenges, woven with trials to test the mettle of the bold and break the frail. But fear not—for the prizes of this hallowed contest shall be unparalleled, treasures to crown the worthy.” His voice dipped, rich with promise. This year’s crucible shall be the Wither Heart of Hal-Marrek, a sanctum of withered divinity and furious splendor.

  The overlords up top lost it—applause crashed like a tidal wave, feet stomping a frantic beat, colors flaring wild in the air. Tyler blinked, caught off guard. Wither Heart? Sounds like a fucked-up theme park, he thought, half-smirking despite himself. Whatever it was, it had the crowd rabid—and Severen just stood there, crown glinting, soaking it all in.