(Sorry guys, late gain cuz of exams! This time the chapter is the pov of another person and gives a bit away about what the Ashura's are exactly.

I hope you like it and ejoy this chappy! :D )

Beneath a titanical, black moon stood a grim castle. Build on dead soil and surrounded by a crimson wall of flesh, moving chaos and oozing whails of the damned. The dark grey stones of the castle, rough to the touch and cold as ice, pulsated with a rythmic fashion. Each throb would rob the air its life, it stagnated and turned into a lifeless fog. The fortress was constructed on a sharp mountain, each edge could take lives. The sky around the castle was filled with winged beasts, aparations so disgusting that a look made one's soul writhe, so big that each one could topple kingdoms and so powerful that only the divines' could erradicate them.

Whispers from hell beamed from the castle, clouds and the sky itself moved away from the bullwark, not daring to obstruct its impeccable view on the full moon.

BOOM!

A deafening sound echoed from the fortress, the walls themselves wriggled in agony and the grey stone shuddered under the immense pressure.

Inside the castle, in a wide room, surrounded by purple walls and illuminated by black torches, stood a single man, leaning over a massive table. His arms rested on the stone, tensed and vibrating by force. The stone groaned under the pressure but regardless it remained steady.

Scrolls made of fine papyrus dotted the obsidian table. The man was scrambling with his rough, dark blue skinned hands through the mass of paper, another hand was frantically pulling at his hairs. His eyes hushed from one paper to the next, analysing its contents and with a dissatisfied glance he dismissed them.

"It makes no sense! What am I overlooking?!", the man whispered to himself, his voice oddly light and able to entice its audience. The man was tall, wore a black suit and his muscles were clearly visible under the fine clothing. His face was cleanly shaven and as faultless as his white hair was, briliant white with not a single speck of dust or impurity. His eyes were a deep, dark blue; a demonic and terrifyingly deep blue.

The scrolls were covered in intricate drawings of human-like beings. They had a dangerous air around them and only a quick glimpse would send shivers down one's spine. The humanoids, more aptly called, monsters, had multiple apendages growing out of their body. They were growing out of random spots and had hideous weapons such as thick black blades attached to them. Their gross appearance urged the body to vomit in disgust.

One of the 'designs' was more simple. It was a human figure with two thick horns protruding from its temples. The horns were a deep black -darker than the void could ever be and swallowed all hope and light in this world-.

Parts of the demonic figure were highlighted or commented on. 'Subject experiences major breakdown', 'Corrupting of the specimen's soul', 'Spontaneous death', 'Arbitrary fits of raving madness' and many other phrases decorated the 'blueprint'.

The towering man shuffled the papers aside and brandished a scroll with nearly the same design on it. But this time the horns were lackluster; they seemed ordinary.

"Haaaa...", the man sighed, grunted in a bloodcurling tone. He sat down on a massive chair, massaged his temples and mumbled silently for himself. "I guess this should be alright.... Who am I kidding? His Highness will kill me!", with a distraught moan he laid his head down on the table and let painful nightmares sweeten his sleep.

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"Miiiiril! Come on, sit down!"

"B-b-b-but mistress, I-I could never sit besides you!"

"Hummm...? So you are defying the order of your master? Is that it?"

"N-N-no, I am sorry. I will have a seat, mistress."

"Tch. Why are you still calling me that? I thought we were friends?"

"B-But I could never call mistress by her name, my status doesn't allow it."

"Its alright. Since I am your master I order you to call me by my name!"

"But...but..."

"No excuses!"

"Ciera..."

"Heheheheh. That's good. Now, let's enjoy the battles."

Ciera, a vigorous and vivid girl, and I, her personal maid, were standing at the booths of a magnificient arena.

How and why? The reason is simple.

As a young girl I was nothing more than an orphan. The memories of my parents were hazy or completely non existent. It pained me at first, whenever I saw a smiling family treading through the alleyways, stopping at the foodstalls and enjoying a dinner -together-, but I soon turned into an emotionless bundle wandering down the streets, picking up whatever would benefit me. As a demonkin it was difficult to make a living but unsuspecting bypassers were always easy targets.

As I returned to the orphanage I commonly wandered around my eyesight fell on a pair of a tall, tanned and blonde man and a slender dark brown haired woman. As I walked past them I noticed the small girl, trembling and hugging her mother's leg. Thinking it was none of my business I entered the orphanage, with me walking past them I could already feel the disgusted looks of the family. But instead I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.

I was picked up from the run down orphanage, by a human family nonetheless. Most of the humans I came in contact with glared at me and displayed open hostility. But this peculiar family convinced my trembling heart with their kind actions. They acted warm towards me, gave me food and shelter.

After a few years living in peace with my new family I started to feel guilty. They gave me everything but I never gave them anything in return.

So I proposed to become the personal maid of the young mistress, Ciera. She was afraid of me at first, my long pointy ears and my finned hands looked unusual for her, but as we both were children and my new parents instilled tolerance into the young Ciera it was quite easy to become friends. Only a few months older than me but more brutal than I could ever become. Maybe it was her sheltered life that made her crave for the bloody battles but when she, or rather we, sneaked out of the mansion to watch the gladiator games her brutal nature came fully into display. Her eyes shone whenever she saw the hordes of monsters ravaging over a single man, who in turn tries to fight for a living only to end up with a disfigured corpse. It was an absurd contrast to her trembling self.

It was also on one of those days when I first met him, Hyrion.

The wind was cold and the sun could barely squeeze its rays through the veil of thick clouds. As on every other day when the gladiator games started I was dragged by my arms towards the large amphitheater. Ciera's dark brown hair and her copper eyes blazed in the darkness like a fire, it might have been the open bloodlust that made her radiate like a second sun but whatever.

We hushed through narrow alleys, between busy merchants and the bustling populace. The large dark grey coliseum was visible in the midst of the city, food stalls were openned up in each corner. Their salty meat and alcoholic beverages satisfied the blood crazed customers.

Ciera made her way towards one of the shops, fresh skewers were on display, oozing with hot fat and sizzling from the heat of the masive oven. The thick smell of blood and meat wafted through the air, it was nauseating at first but once you get accustomed it makes your stay much more enjoyable.

We asked for four skewers, each the length of my arm. The man serving gave us a confused look but a hearty smile nonetheless. As his eyes fell on me I instinctively shrunk back. The man sighed and pressed three skewers into my arms. His crocked grin was warming somehow.

I gave the man my gratitude and we both turned towards the arena. The meat felt warm on this chilling day.

We ate two of the skewers on our way inside, bought tickets for front row seats and made our way into the inner most sanctum of the coliseum. We passed multiple iron gates before the sound of cheers and jeers entered our ears. The ground began rumbling by the stomping feet of the greedy spectators. My eyes swooped over the crowd, their bodies leaned forward, the sweat trickeld down from their skin, as they watched the mutilated warrior being torn apart by hungry dorwans. The dorwans' massive bodies and huge claws swiped once and the warrior was turned into confetti.

As the man disappeared under the huge claw of one of the dorwans' the crow exploded in shouts.

We ignored those same shouts and took a seat in the front most part.

Ciera's fingers held tightly onto the railing as she loomed her body over and into the battlefield. The dorwans, these eight legged monstrosities, were led out of the arena by a group of slaves, their four eyes starred in all directions. Drugged and disease ridden they glared into empty air.

The crowd turned silent as a sudden shout pierced our ears.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN! WELCOME TO THE DRAGON'S DEN! TODAY WE GOT A SPECIAL FIGHT FOR YOU!", a fat man with a glowing staff heldagainst his lips appeared in the midst of the arena. Howsoever I looked at him, he was appalling in every sense. His body was a huge clump of fat and dirty grease.

The man continued though. I really wish he didn't, simply seeing him already infuriated me.

"AN ASHURA, HATED BY HUMANS AND DEMONS ALIKE! ONE OF HIS LAST KIND! AN ASHURA, KNOWN AS... 'THE TYRANTS' ", the fat man shouted.

The crowd was silent for a long while. And then it errupted into drumming cheers and blasting noises of stomping and shouting.

"No way!"

"A real Ashura? Impossible!"

The crowd turned into a heated mass, their suspense kneaded by the very word of the obese man.

"HERE HE IS, ONE OF THE LAST TRUE DEMON CLANS! PLEASE WELCOME HIM!", the man raised his voice once again.

At the same time a large iron fence openned up opposite from us. The iron fangs anchored into the ground ruptured the earth as the metallic gate lifted higher and higher. The crowd held its breath, I was no exception. Even Ciera, still leaning over the handrail, kept her mouth tightly shut.

Squeaking, the gate was barely putting any effort in revealing the enigmatic figure behind, it tensed the nerves of everyone present to the point that everyone's stress level was gradually raising into unbearable levels.

I on the other hand felt my thoughts slowly drift away. 'A fellow demon...', I thought. He would be one of the first demons I would encounter and somehow I felt tense, for a different reason. It was the same feeling a woman got when meeting with her heartthrob, I did not want to give this Ashura the wrong impression of me, although him noticing me was more than unlikely. When I thought about my own feelings, this mushy feeling in my stomach, it was unnatural. I had no reason at all to be nervous, why should I even be concerned with this person in the first place?!

My thoughts were cut short as the gates lifted completely with a last desperate struggle against gravity. For a second nothing seemed to happen, only deathly silence and a cold gale animated the grounded mood. And then... a wave of death flowed out. I heard the faint gasps of the audience as the burst of bloodlust swamped through the coliseum. I was sure even people outside felt it. It was so thick and concentrated it made Ciera's bloodlust seem like a wisp of smoke that was weakly carried away by the wind.

Thousands of eyes focused on the empty hallway, and the darkness that was stretching within. Beyond the gate was a yawning void, a darkness that swallowed the very light, an abyss that consumed lives. And out of this void a pair of green eyes stared back. It was a deep emerald green, regal and majestic, defying the darkness surrounding it. As I gazed into this pair of phantasmic eyes I felt my reason crumble to pieces. My knees felt weak and the urge to kneel intensified in the back of my mind. I WANTED to kneel, I wanted to kneel before the king.

Silence fell over the arena, heavy like a mountain it weighed on all of us and yet it felt so fragile as if it were only a sheet of paper or a fine glass. Even the tiniest squeal would shatter this silence and for that very reason the onlookers averted their gazes, stopped blinking and breathing and lost themselves into a trance of angst. We all thought, 'What would happen if we break the silence?', those green eyes, shining so brightly in this hellish darkness, answered: Calamity.

I breathed heavily, or tried to -the air seemed so hard to breathe right now-. I was fighting with my own self from not fainting as I looked on the ground. I noticed my legs were trembling and the sweat was running down my nose. I felt hot and cold at the same time as the eyes from the void hushed over the crowd. Like ignis fatuus the eyes shone with trapping sheen, they lured you into a false eden and trapped you in a chimaera of faux dreams. Even the draconic eyes of the dorwans' were less frightening.

The pair of green eyes scanned the crowd and the people started flinching. Their sixth sense was warning them from an unsurmountable predator, stalking in the shadows, liking his fangs only to make them smoother slide into your flesh. And in some way they were right. Those eyes that held nothing but disdain for the people present, monochrome and dismal, were more than demon or human; we were watched like the insects we are.

And then I felt it. The gaze focused on me, on my small body, on my head full of gold. Unknowingly I started to blush furiously. The fear and terror of the gaze was still there but at the same time I felt a deep yearning spread in my chest. It was inexplicable.

TAP TAP SHRIK SHRIK

My vortex of emotions, the pusillanimity, the trepidation, all of them were blown away by this sound. I could hear light footsteps from the gate, followed by the rustling of chains. I looked up again, curiosity got the better of me, as it did for many others in the arena. And what was thought as our demise, the forbidden glance on the demon, turned into surprise.

At first I couldn't believe my eyes, that this was all but a prank, or that my mind broke down from the intense glare, but I positively could see him; and I saw the small body the smaragd eyes belonged to. It was the body of a child, not a year older than me, probably even younger, but the intense gaze from before remained. It was a stark contrast to the crippled body and I felt shocked about it.

The chains, thick and heavy, were bound to his surprisingly muscular legs and like metal snakes they wriggled over the ground. Each link was made of massive iron, together weighing the same as a grown man, but the boy simply moved his legs as if there was no hindrance at all.

It was my turn to gaze over the boy's body. It was a horrible sight. Cut, burnt, ripped and slashed open wounds covered his body like grass the plains. His left arm was cleanly sliced off and the black mark on his chest pulsed rabidly under the raising chest.

When I saw the horrible scars, broken bones and bloody flesh I felt hatred, immense hatred inside of me. 'WHO DARES?! WHO DARES TO HURT HIM, MY KING?!'. I felt myself turning embarassed as the thoughts left my mind. I was embarrased indeed but the savage thoughts continued to flash before my inner eye; knitted together with the urge to kill whoever dared to hurt this young boy. The wrath damming inside my mind made me unable to listen to the loud shouts of the visitors, some booing and disgracing this as a joke while others cheered, but this one voice was still perceived in my red colored mind.

"AND HERE IS HIS CONTENDER!.... JEROME!", the fat man waved frantically with his arms, he himself was in a daze for a long time and completely forgot about the duel.

The slaves in the battlegrounds activated a second gate. It was oiled ways better compared to the first gate, noticeable at the quick moment it took for the gate to open.

This time the gate seemed less dark, or rather, ordinary dark. A tall man with rust brown tanned skin entered the arena. He had a turban on his head, it covered the lower half of his face and made his black eyes squint through the small gap, and only loose sandbrown shorts covered his legs. In his hands were curved sabres, coppery like the suburnt ground.

"He is a warrior hailing from the great desert plains in the south! A man that lived through countless battles and hundreds of deaths. And today he will fight with an enigma, and one of the demons. He is none other than: JEROME, THE DESERT SCORPION!"

As the man announced the warriors name the spectators fell into heated disscusion. The shock from the Ashura boy was blown away like a leaf in the autumn wind, it was just about forgottten.

"Jerome... Jerome, Jerome, Jerome.... Where have I heard that name? Wait a moment.... Jerome... Desert scorpion, oh yeah right! It is Jerome, Jerome of the Desert's claw. One of the few elite adventurer groups from the Rhonhill principality. How come they can afford to expend one of their most valuable pawns?", a man next to us began wondering.

Those around him chimed in. "I heard the nomad tribes helped them in conquering the surrounding duchies. The southern lands are in dire straits and the Rhonhill principality tries to unify them again, is what I heard."

"Yes, I also heard that the southern lands plunged into civil wars because of the barely buoying resources. Water and food turned sparse since the Empire of the west, Silvanis, robbed them of their nothern territories. But I do wonder, what is that Jerome doing here then? Shouldn't he help with expanding their territories once again and securring a foothold in the south?", another one wondered.

Listening to those stories was all fair and good but my attention was uncontrollably forced on the battleground.

The young boy's dishiveled and blonde hair, his black horn, bronze skin and murderous scowl, all of those gave him a feral mien. I felt my heart flutter as I locked onto his rather handsome face, rugged and wounded but good looking nonetheless. Heat rose up to my cheeks and Ciera gave me a quizical look as I hid my face behind my hands.

"Miril, what's wrong?"

I just remained silent, of course I couldn't tell her that I was attracted towards the crippled and by death pervaded boy. It was foolish and the longer I though about it the more I was assured of myself that those feelings stem from nothing more than my own nervousness. Nervous about seeing one of my own kind, fighting and probably dying right before my eyes.

Ciera bit her lower lip. "I really don't like this.", her face was cramped into a depressed expression.

"That boy is younger than we are and yet he is fighting for his life, I really don't like this.", her voice was sombre but held certain mischief and hidden determination.

Her ever changing personallity over these years, the experience gathered from all this time I played and talked together with Ciera, gave me a foreboding feeling.

"Maybe... If I ask father...", she began to mumble.

As this sentence fell, like a boulder into a ravine, I couldn't believe my ears.

"What are you talking about mistress?! You can't be serious!", my tone was unbeffiting for a maid, it was a scolding tone.

"What?! Shouldn't it be alright? And who are you calling 'mistress'?", Ciera answered with an unrelenting voice, her small chest puffed up.

"Ha! And who are you even trying to kid. You think I didn't notice how you looked at the boy? You are at that age after all...", her voice trailed off and her 11 year old body seemed to age for dozens of years.

My cheeks reddened and my voice pitched up high. "Wh-w-w-WHAT? N-n-no way! There was n-nothing like that!", my composure crumbled with each stutter and I felt myself disbelieving my words. That warmth I felt in my chest, the rapid throbbing and bouncing of my heart, I never felt like that before. Was that what is known as love? But that couldn't possibly be, couldn't it? I never felt once attracted towards a boy my age, how could I? As a demon most of the humans ignored me and drew a large arc around me or they gave me shots of hatred. The only sincere love I felt was for Ciera and her family, so how could this be love? At most it was a premature yearning for the company of a fellow demon, nothing more... right?

I massaged my head as the thoughts started to conflict with each other, I didn't know what was right and what was wrong right now.

Between my hands I peeked at the pit. The boy was moving with his shackled legs towards a small weapon rack at the sides. It leaned against the stone encirclement and was filled to the brim with all sorts of primitiv weapons, no refinement and dull.

The boy picked a massive bastard sword. It was two-handed and must have weighed at least 2 lr (~30 pounds)

[1lt=150 pounds; 1lr=15 pounds]

He held it only in his right hand, the sturdy fingers wrapped around the leather covered hilt. The blade was chipped and dented. The boy razed the sword over the ground and rasped the earth with its broad shiv.

"LET'S BEGIN!", the pudgy man shouted.

My heart skipped a beat and my body quivered. I was sure the boy would lose this fight, be executed on the spot without any form of resistance. A sword as massive as that was a foolish decision even a novice like me knew about, and yet there was the tiniest part in the corner of my mind and heart that said: "It will be alright". With mixed feelings I waited for them to clash and hoped for the boy to win and survive.