Reborn in hell with a skill creation system

Chapter 13: The Price Of Winning

Mael stood over Drak’s corpse, dark blood dripping from his chin, and listened to it.

He had just killed a peak Low Demon. He was a Stage 1 hatchling who had been alive for less than two days. The math didn’t work. The math never worked when you were the one doing the impossible, and yet here he was, breathing hard, his claws still buried in the thick meat of Drak’s neck, and the corpse wasn’t getting back up.

He pulled his teeth free with a wet sound and spat blood onto the cracked arena stone.

The system screen was still glowing in the corner of his vision, patient and red.

SOUL ARCHITECT SYSTEM

Souls: 1,385.6

He’d spent 220 on Combat Intuition. The rest was still there, waiting.

Mael looked up from the body, slowly, and found the crowd.

Thousands of demon eyes stared back at him. Some with hunger, some with calculation, most with the flat confusion of predators who had just watched prey turn the tables in a way that suggested the food chain might be more flexible than they’d assumed.

He found Zara in the masters’ viewing area.

She wasn’t looking at him with surprise. She was looking at him the way a gambler looked at a die that had rolled seven three times in a row—not luck, not yet, but something worth watching very closely.

The grey-skinned master was no longer laughing.

Mael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and waited for whatever came next.

The demon in dark armor, the same one who had announced the matches, stepped into the arena without looking at Drak’s body. It stopped two meters from Mael and looked down at him with eyes that held no more expression than the system’s interface.

"Winner: Mael, champion of Master Zara."

The words echoed. No cheers followed.

"The selection continues," the armored demon continued. "Zone four, second match. Mael will face..."

"Wait."

The voice came from the viewing area. Zara’s voice, sharp and cutting.

Every head turned. Mael turned with them, tilting his head up to where she stood at the railing, her small frame somehow occupying more space than demons three times her size.

"He just fought," she said. "He rests, or he forfeits his next match. Those are the rules."

The armored demon paused. "The rules allow consecutive matches for champions who..."

"Who what? Who win quickly?" Zara’s gold eyes flicked to Drak’s corpse, then back. "He won quickly because he was efficient. Not because he was unharmed."

Mael became aware of his body again. His shoulder throbbed where Drak had backhanded him into the stone. His ribs ached with every breath. His side was a mess of claw marks that Accelerated Recovery was working on, but "marginally increased" healing was still marginal.

She was buying him time. More than that she was making it look like she was protecting an investment, not showing concern. The distinction mattered in front of the other masters.

The grey-skinned master stood up. "Let the pebble rest, then. It won’t change what happens next."

Zara didn’t look at him. "Mael. Come."

The collar around his neck gave a faint pulse not choking, just a tug. The direction was clear.

Mael stepped over Drak’s body and walked toward the preparation area exit, passing the other champions who were watching him with different eyes now. Not amusement. Assessment.

The wiry champion with too many joints nodded slightly as he passed. Not friendly. Respectful, maybe. Or just acknowledging that the betting odds had changed.

Zara was waiting in a narrow corridor behind the arena, away from the crowd. She didn’t speak until he was close enough to smell the faint sulfur-and-copper scent that seemed to cling to all demons, herself included.

"How many souls?" she asked. No greeting. No acknowledgment of what he’d just done.

Mael considered lying. The collar didn’t let her read his thoughts he hoped but she was perceptive in ways that had nothing to do with magic.

"Enough," he said.

"Enough for what?"

"Enough to make the next fight less interesting for spectators."

Her lips pressed together. Not quite a smile. "The next fight is in six hours. Your opponent is Vex. Third-ranked champion. Peak Low Demon, same as Drak, but faster. Smarter. He watched your fight."

"Good," Mael said. "That saves me the trouble of surprising him."

Zara studied him for a long moment, her gold eyes tracking over his injuries, his stance, the blood still drying on his claws. Whatever she saw, she didn’t share it.

"You’re not what I expected," she said finally.

"You expected a hatchling."

"I expected a hatchling." She turned and started walking down the corridor. "Come. You need to eat, and I need to see what I’m working with before you die in the second round."

The collar tugged him after her. He followed, but his attention was on the system screen, still hovering at the edge of his vision.

Skill Creation: AVAILABLE

Souls: 1,385.6

One thousand three hundred and eighty-five point six souls. In the Pit, that was a fortune. In the Hollow, against things that had grown undisturbed for a hundred years, he had a suspicion it would be barely enough.

But for now, he had six hours and a second fight to prepare for.

Mael followed Zara into the dim light of the corridor, already thinking about what kind of seed he could plant with what he had