The Gladiator Pit

Survival in the Obsidian Spire was not granted; it was taken.

For the first month, Xeron did not treat her as a wife. He treated her as a pet wolf that needed to be blooded.

He threw her into the Gladiator Pit.

The pit was a circle of sand surrounded by jagged iron spikes. The spectators were the disciples of the Demon Sect, baying for blood.

"My bride needs exercise!" Xeron announced from his throne, looking down at her with a lazy smirk. "Survive for five minutes, and you get dinner."

They released a Nether-Beast—a wolf the size of a carriage, with bone spikes protruding from its spine.

Yara had no cultivation base. She had no sword. She only had the silk robes she was wearing and the viciousness she had learned in the dark.

The beast lunged. Yara didn't run. She dropped to the sand. As the beast flew over her, she grabbed a handful of the gritty, volcanic ash.

When the beast turned, snapping its jaws, she threw the ash into its eyes.

The beast howled, blinded. The disciples booed. "Dishonorable!"

Yara didn't care about honor. Honor was for people who didn't live in cellars.

She scrambled onto the beast’s back while it thrashed. She used her hairpin—returned to her by Xeron—and jammed it into the soft spot behind the beast's ear. She twisted.

The beast collapsed.

Yara stood over the carcass, panting, covered in black blood. She looked up at the throne.

Xeron was clapping. He was the only one.

"Dirty," Xeron called out, his voice amplifying over the arena. "Vicious. Pragmatic. She wins."

Later that night, in his chambers, Xeron tended to the scratches on her arms himself.

"They hate you," Xeron noted, wiping blood from her elbow with a warm cloth. "The disciples think you fight without dignity."

"Dignity gets you killed," Yara hissed. The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins. "The Righteous Sect has dignity. That's why they needed a substitute."

Xeron stopped. He looked at her, his red eyes glowing.

"You understand," he said softly. "The world is divided into wolves and sheep, Yara. The sheep pretend they are moral because they have no teeth. But you... you grew teeth in the dark."

He touched her chin, tilting her face up. His thumb brushed her lip.

"I think I am going to keep you," he murmured. "Not as a hostage. But as a partner."

Yara felt a strange heat in her chest that had nothing to do with the volcano. For the first time, someone saw her ugliness and didn't look away.

"I'm not your partner," she said, pulling back. "I'm still going to kill you."

"I'm counting on it," Xeron grinned.