I took interest in Szylla's statement: favored constituents. What did she mean by that? However Crueltal's terrible chuckle, the sound rich with derision, shook the chamber.

  "Oh, but you misunderstand the game, dear Szylla. Denji is but a spark in the fire that fuels my tournament. I care not for the future, only for the thrill of the present. If he is their beacon of hope, then let them fight for him while I reap the delights of chaos."

  She then released an exaggerated sigh, "But I do tire of petty squabbles over definitions. Pawn, hostage, plaything—what's in a name? The essence remains unchanged!"

  "What's changed," Szylla interrupted, "is the position you hold. You flaunt your power, Crueltal, as though the tides of this tournament do not shift with every decision made within these walls. You have placed the child in a precarious position, one you might regret should the winds turn."

  An air of tension thickened between them, a palpable current that drew all eyes in the room. I could feel my crew's collective concern for Denji and anger at the Shuten Doji's whims reflecting as my own.

  Crueltal sneered at Szylla. "You speak as if the child belongs to you. But he is as much mine to claim as he is yours, Szylla." Her playful demeanor began to fade, her eyes lidding into slits. "You are not here to spoil my fun, are you?"

  "No, but I am here to ensure that the chaos you thrive on doesn't swallow innocence whole."

  "How quaint," Crueltal's lips curled in a derisive smile. "And what do you propose? An agreement? A treaty? Hah! I can feel the weight of your morality suffocating my enjoyment. I'd sooner wager the entire tournament on a single match than barter with you—"

  Suddenly she had been hit. Astonishment appeared on her face when Denji had smacked his delicate hand against her chest. But she wasn't the only one startled; I was too when Denji did it not once, but several times.

  Smack. Smack. Smack.

  Despite his youth, the child seemed to be striking her like she was an opponent. "Ma… ma. Mama! Want… mama!" He was crying—no, declaring—with an infant's equivalent of a war cry for his mother, Diantha.

  Instead of rage flickering in Crueltal's eye, there was a spark of delight. "Oh, dear! What's this?"

  Crueltal cooed, lifting him upward. "You're truly your father's son! You share the same superb potential to grow into a fine warrior! Perhaps I shall adopt you, Child of Chaos…"

  Denji kicked a foot toward her face, but Crueltal grinned even wider, allowing the harmless kicks to land without concern. "That's it! Show me that spirit. You will not hide behind weakness like your mother, yes?"

  "Enough!" My voice sliced through the room. "This is ridiculous. He is just a baby—as innocent as any child should be."

  Crueltal tilted her head, eyes sparkling with amusement, as if enjoying a private joke. "Innocence is nothing but a fleeting illusion, my dear KiAera. You ready your blade for battle, yet you seem to forget the game being played here. This child will either rise to power or become fodder for the true beasts that walk this world. It is his destiny to become something far beyond what you can comprehend."

  I shot back, my voice straining against the emotion bubbling within me. I was losing precious time, and it set my nerves alight. "His destiny is to grow up in peace, not as a pawn in your twisted games!"

  Behind me, I felt my crew shifting, tension palpable as their frustration mirrored my own. Mina's fists clenched at her sides, Skadi was practically vibrating with a mix of anger and readiness to pounce, and even Zest's electricity crackled in the air, eager for release.

  "And what is peace, if not an illusion we all chase?" Crueltal mused, lowering Denji to her lap, as though he were a doll rather than a child. Far too calmly, she added, "You wish to save him? Then entertain me. Show me you're worthy of this boy. Show me that you can play my game."

  Meanwhile, Szylla stepped forward, her figure almost casting a shadow over Crueltal's throne. Her finger slipped through the air, casting a spell that could be perceived as instantaneous.

  Denji vanished from Crueltal's lap and reappeared cradled in Szylla's arms. The sorceress glared at Crueltal while bobbing Denji with gentle bounces. "You're unsuitable to be a caretaker."

  "Give him back!"

  Crueltal stood on her seat, her face twisted into a snarl. "He's mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!"

  The echoes of Crueltal's voice ricocheted off the walls, her primal fury filling the hall. I braced myself against it, my heart pounding in rhythm with the devastating energy crackling around us. She was tearing the very fabric of reality with her mere words.

  Yet Szylla held Denji with a measured calm, her demeanor unyielding, as if she bore the weight of more than just a child in her arms. With a swish of her dress, she conjured a shimmering barrier around herself and Denji, a protective cocoon that pulsed with ancient magic.

  "I will not allow you to harm him."

  "Then DIE!"

  Crueltal howled, slamming her fist against the barrier. The shockwave that followed was so intense that it reverberated through the hall, rattling the very stones. I could sense the tremor in the air like the prelude to a storm, a brewing tempest of power threatening to unleash chaos at any moment.

  "You dare to defy me?" Crueltal screeched, her voice brimming with venomous rage. "Do you not understand the game of thrones we play? I am not just a puppet in your farce, Szylla! I am the puppet master here!"

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The Oni lords and sentinels around the chamber shifted uneasily, their expressions were of awe and concern. They were witnessing a power play far beyond the typical bounds of their world; the stakes were now dangerously high.

  I felt my breath hitch in my throat. What if this spiraled out of control? What if Denji was harmed in the crossfire? I had to act—I couldn't wait for Szylla to resolve this.

  "Stop!" I shouted, hovering forward, my heart racing. My ribbons quivered around me, fiery tendrils ready to strike. "This isn't what he needs! This isn't a game! This is a child's life!"

  Both Sovereigns turned toward me, their expressions shifting, if only momentarily, to one of curiosity mingled with irritation. Crueltal's eyes gleamed with mockery. "What would you know of power, little flame? You think your bravado can change the rules of the game?"

  "I know enough to recognize that the lives of innocents are not pieces! You think of this as entertainment, but I see it as a hellish nightmare! Denji deserves to grow, to learn, and—"

  "To thrive under the weight of expectation!" Crueltal interrupted. "That is the essence of survival in our world. If this child is to inherit anything, it will be the flames of his lineage, not the comfort of insipid peace!"

  Her words struck a chord in the hearts of all present. I saw a flicker of uncertainty in the lords' and sentinels' eyes—a rare admission that their master's predilections may come at a cost greater than mere entertainment.

  I spoke up while they kept their heads low.

  "Denji is not your plaything, Crueltal! You don't understand what it means to nurture. You only know how to destroy. But a true sovereign should guide their legacy, not through fear, but through hope." I recalled that GamaGen had once said something similar to me. I had taken it to heart.

  Surprisingly Szylla's expression flickered in agreement, but Crueltal's laughter resounded through the hall, drowning out my pleas.

  "Hope? What a quaint little notion! You believe that hope can shield this child from the nightmares lurking at every corner of our world? Hope is the thin veil that shatters under the weight of reality!" She pointed a manicured finger at me, her eyes flashing like molten metal.

  "You would coddle him, wrapping him in a cocoon while the storm of life howls outside? Denji must learn to wield the chaos, or he will perish like so many before him!"

  "But at what cost?" I stared her down. "You would take a child who knows nothing of this world and turn him into a weapon! I refuse to let you strip away everything that defines him—everything that makes him worthy of love!"

  The gleam of scorn in Crueltal's eyes hardened, and the laughter faded into a thin line of frustration.

  "You dare speak of love to ME?" she spat. "Love is a currency for the weak! Yes, let him cling to that ideal—let him be a child in the darkness."

  Denji whimpered slightly in Szylla's arms, probably unfamiliar with the clamor surrounding him. Szylla tightened her hold protectively, her gaze fixing on Crueltal with disapproval.

  "You are right, Crueltal. Denji will not learn the chaos of this world through violence alone. As a fellow Sovereign, all I ask is that you be gentler."

  To my despair, Szylla handed Denji back to Crueltal. Crueltal herself looked astounded for just a moment but quickly composed herself. Denji was smiling up at her, cooing softly as he reached for her face, giggling. He was clearly enjoying this.

  Crueltal's face softened ever so slightly, her rage momentarily replaced by a flicker of greater surprise. "Ah, the little one finds joy in chaos, doesn't he?" she hummed, as if the child had just demonstrated some hidden potential.

  "Why hand him over, Szylla?" I dared to float toward the sorceress's side. My gaze remained fixed on Denji while Crueltal let him tug at her hair. There was a wild perplexity in her eyes.

  Szylla remained silent for a heartbeat, her gaze unreadable. Then she spoke.

  "…Sometimes we cannot shield our young from the storms that come. Instead, the harshest truths come not from sheltered existence, but from navigating the storm oneself. Denji will learn, just as we all have learned. But he will not be alone."

  "You'd give her leverage over him? To become a vulnerability she can exploit?"

  The Sovereign's eyes locked onto mine, an unyielding resolve shining within that almost frightened me.

  "And what better way to teach Denji about the world than to subject him to it? The flame of chaos needs guidance, not shackles. While I may not trust Crueltal's intentions, I also recognize the volatile nature of power. Sometimes, the best way to temper it is to engage with it directly."

  My insides twisted with anxiety as I watched Denji reach for Crueltal's horns, his tiny fingers grasping at the ornate curls with a sense of innocent wonder. He continued to giggle at Crueltal's antics.

  A chilling sense of helplessness struck in my chest.

  Crueltal's gaze flickered to me, a smile gracing her lips. "Don't worry. You and Diantha will have a chance to get him back after you... probably... win my tournament."

  "Where is she?"

  The question slipped from my lips like a desperate whisper. The moment I spoke, the atmosphere shifted, laden with tension once more. Crueltal's grin sharpened, her pleasure at my agitation unmistakable.

  "Ah, yes, the mother. Such a fierce flame, one that might even rival your own. She's currently… preoccupied, shall we say?" Crueltal leaned back on her throne, extending Denji out slightly, almost as if testing the waters of my composure.

  "Rest assured," she stretched the words, "she's alive. But her fate is woven into this tournament. I have to keep Jalkra coerced—motivated, after all. The more you fight, the closer you get to reuniting with her."

  My heart raced. "Elaborate on 'keep him coerced'?" I demanded, my voice rising. "You're using Jalkra's wife and child to force him to fight."

  That earned me a smirk. "Force Jalkra?"

  Crueltal leaned forward, stifling a fit of laughter while adjusting Denji in her arms. "No, no, you misunderstand me. It is indeed both: coercion and motivation—a necessity to keep him on track…"

  She gestured to her subjects, then continued, "You know Jalkra: father of Denji, husband of Diantha, and lord of DreaGoth. He is my Chaos Scion. His ambition is riveting; he desires to rise on his own terms—and he'll do anything for his family's well-being. It'll make him fight harder—this is how I have taught him." Her gaze trailed to Szylla.

  "He'll crush your 'champion' before the finals."

  Crueltal then pointed at me. "You're Szylla's favored. I have high expectations for you. But even if you best Jalkra and reach the finals… my champion will ensnare her fangs into your heart. The Chimera will be devoured."

  The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken dread. I could feel it gnawing at the edges of my resolve as I struggled to process the implications of what she had just revealed.

  But I refused to let her taunts sway me. "Then let us turn this into a challenge, shall we? If Denji is indeed mine to protect, then I will fight. I will fight with everything I have—not just for myself but for him and his mother."

  "Ah!" Crueltal's smile widened. "Now that is the spirit! Show me that fire! I do appreciate a bit of passion in my games!"

  Szylla stepped forward again, her presence commanding the space. "We will not let you dictate the terms of this fight, Crueltal. Should KiAera succeed, you will ensure that the child and Diantha are freed. Your machinations will not stand unchallenged."

  My heart leapt at her fierce declaration. I turned to Szylla, feeling a swell of gratitude and kinship.

  "Together then," I gestured toward her, pleasantly surprised when she nodded in return. "We will not back down; we will fight for Denji, for Diantha, and we will bring your chaotic reign to its knees."

  Szylla raised an eyebrow at the last part. "I'm… not sure about—"

  Crueltal regarded us with a twisted amusement, her delight palpable. "Oh, how delicious! A true battle of wills! Yes, yes! And you would have me fight you, Szylla? How delicious!"

  Szylla shot me a glare from behind the glint of her monocle. It likely conveyed: What have you dragged me into?