RISE OF THE VOID SYSTEM

Chapter Eight – Summons to the Throne

Kael barely had time to wash the worst of the Beastman’s blood from his skin before the guards came for him.

Two of them, both cybernetically enhanced, both carrying shock pikes that hummed with enough voltage to stop a rhino.

“On your feet, Kael,” the taller one barked.

Brakk frowned from across the room. “He just fought”

“Orders from the Warden,” the guard interrupted, gaze locked on Kael like he was an animal that might bite. “No delays.”

Kael could feel the Void inside him still thrumming from the fight, like a predator pacing in a cage. He pulled on a shirt thin, ragged, and still stiff with old blood stains then let them lead him through the winding service corridors beneath the arena.

The deeper they went, the quieter it became. The roar of the crowd faded, replaced by the faint hum of generators and the occasional hiss of steam through pipes. The air smelled of rust, grease, and something faintly sweet chemical.

[Environmental Scan: Airborne Sedatives Detected in Trace Amounts]

The Void’s alert made Kael’s jaw tighten.

Sedatives.

That meant control.

And control meant someone feared what might happen if that control broke.

The guards stopped before a reinforced door twice Kael’s height. One pressed a palm to a scanner; locks clunked heavily, and the door swung inward on silent hinges.

The Warden’s chamber was lit in long strips of cold white light, casting harsh shadows across walls lined with trophies. Some were weapons. Others were bones. And some Kael’s stomach tightened were clearly skulls, polished and mounted like art.

At the center of the room, the Warden sat on a broad, throne like chair made of black metal and scavenged machine parts. His armor was part ceremonial, part functional polished plates etched with sigils Kael didn’t recognize, but the faint hum of power beneath them was unmistakable.

The Warden’s face was pale, almost corpse like under the lights. Only his eyes burned with color a cold, metallic blue that tracked Kael like a predator measuring distance to prey.

“You put on quite the show,” the Warden said at last, his voice smooth and low. “The Beastman was… a favorite.”

Kael stood silent. The Void whispered for him to speak to taunt, to push but Kael kept it chained, for now.

“You didn’t just win, Kael,” the Warden continued. “You fed. In front of the audience.”

Kael met the Warden’s gaze. “You keep me in a pit and make me fight for survival. What did you expect?”

A smile touched the Warden’s lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I expected you to play your role. Violence is entertainment. But there’s a line between the predator and the spectacle. When you crossed it, you turned the game into something else.”

He rose from his throne. The movement was slow, deliberate like someone who didn’t need to rush to be dangerous.

“Tell me,” the Warden said, circling Kael. “When you tore his heart from his chest… did it taste like victory? Or did it taste like need?”

Kael’s throat tightened. He wanted to say “victory.” The Void, however, hissed the truth in his ear:

[Need]

The Warden’s gaze sharpened. “You hesitate. That tells me everything.”

Without warning, the Warden stopped behind Kael. Something heavy and cold pressed against the back of Kael’s neck a metal device with a faint, pulsing hum.

Kael didn’t flinch, but every nerve in his body went tight.

“I can make you a star, Kael,” the Warden murmured. “I can give you the blood and the violence you crave, and an arena that will worship you like a god.”

Kael didn’t trust the tone. “And the price?”

“The price,” the Warden said, “is that you fight my fights. Not the matches for the crowd those are for show. I mean the matches no one sees. The ones that happen deep below, where my enemies disappear and my rivals lose their champions.”

Kael turned slightly, enough to meet the Warden’s gaze. “Assassinations.”

“Call them… eliminations,” the Warden said. “There’s no crowd. No rules. And the only prize is survival.”

The Void surged in Kael’s mind, wrapping its hunger around the word eliminations like a tongue around a sweet.

[Accept. Hunt. Feed.]

Kael’s instincts warred with reason. Accepting meant blood and freedom of movement at least some movement but it also meant playing deeper into the Warden’s hand. Refusing meant… well, he suspected refusing meant ending up on the trophy wall.

“I’ll think about it,” Kael said finally.

The Warden chuckled. “You’ll have one day. Then I’ll send you your first target.”

The device at Kael’s neck withdrew, and the Warden returned to his throne. “You may go.”

The guards escorted him back, but the walk felt different this time. The corridors seemed narrower. The shadows deeper. And the air… thicker.

Brakk was waiting for him, pacing the length of the barracks. “Well?”

Kael dropped onto his bunk. “He wants me to kill off the record. Private matches. No rules.”

Brakk swore under his breath. “That’s suicide. Those matches aren’t fights they’re executions.”

Kael looked up, eyes hard. “Then I’ll just have to make sure I’m the executioner.”

The Void purred.

Later that night, Kael lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling. Every scrape of boots, every hiss of steam from the vents made him tense.

The Void whispered constant promises about the blood he could spill, the throats he could tear open, the sweet, hot rush that came with the kill.

Kael clenched his fists until the old scars whitened. “You’re not in control,” he whispered.

[We are the same. You just refuse to admit it.]

His bunk creaked as he sat up. The barracks smelled of sweat and rust and the faint metallic tang of dried blood.

That’s when he heard it soft footsteps, moving too lightly for guards.

A shadow peeled itself from the corner. Two other fighters stood there one tall and broad with tattoos down his neck, the other wiry with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Heard you made the Warden’s list,” the tall one said.

Kael didn’t move. “You here to congratulate me?”

The wiry one’s grin widened. “Nah. We’re here to test you. See if you’re really as dangerous as the stories say.”

They didn’t wait for a response. The tall one lunged, swinging a makeshift blade. Kael ducked under it, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs hard enough to hear a crack. The wiry one came at him with a jagged shiv, but Kael caught his wrist, twisted until bone ground against bone, and slammed his face into the metal bunk post.

Blood sprayed hot, thick, and satisfying. The Void roared approval.

[Feed. Feed now.]

Kael shoved the urge down, hard, and dropped the wiry fighter to the floor. The tall one was on his knees, gasping for breath.

“Tell the others,” Kael said, voice low. “If you want to test me, make sure your will’s signed first.”

They limped away, leaving small splatters of blood on the floor.

The next morning, the guards returned different ones this time, wearing heavier armor and carrying rifles. They didn’t speak as they marched Kael down into the sub levels.

The air grew colder. The lights flickered. Here, the walls weren’t clean metal they were stained, dented, scarred from weapons.

They stopped at a gate. Beyond it was a smaller arena, circular, the floor slick with old blood that had seeped into cracks and dried in black patches. No stands. No seats. Just walls high enough to keep anything inside from getting out.

A single spotlight shone on the center, where a figure waited tall, cloaked, with something long and sharp in each hand.

“This is your first test,” one of the guards said. “Survive, and the Warden gives you a name. Fail, and…” He shrugged. “You’ll decorate the wall.”

The gate opened with a heavy groan.

Kael stepped inside, the metallic tang of old blood hitting him like a drug.

The figure in the center lifted their head, and Kael caught a glint of eyes black, glossy, inhuman. The cloak shifted, and what spilled out wasn’t human skin but plates of bone, moving like armor.

The Void hissed with delight.

[Finally.]

And as the gate slammed shut behind him, Kael realized this wasn’t an opponent. This was prey.