Across the vast expanse of the world, whispers of the new one-hundred year crisis spread like wildfire, igniting desperate panic and fear in their wake and slowly turning into screams. From the humblest villages in the deepest corners of old, forgotten forests to the grandest cities of any continent, the news that both the long dead hero, Pravyen, and the Demon-Queen have been resurrected sends shockwaves through every corner of society. Murmurs and accusations about the infamous colosseum-core, the dungeon that has the power to truly resurrect the dead, are thrown back and forth between parties who had warned about something like this being possible and their counterparts, who wave off any accusations of being too casual about the power of such a dungeon.

 

Cries come to quickly extinguish it, to send expert teams of dungeon-destroying adventurers to the core, but are quickly dismissed by those in power. How could any adventuring team hope to best something that has the power to resurrect and control a true demon and a hero, of all things? It would be a pointless exercise and only serve to anger the powerful dungeon that many wish would have been destroyed in its crib rather than having been allowed to grow.

 

But now it is too late — far too late.

 

The commoners of the world, having always been the greatest victims of any crisis of any generation, huddle in their homes, exchanging tales and speculations about these dire events, their eyes filled with dread as they grasp for answers about what is going to happen if the hero loses his duel? In taverns and marketplaces, heated debates erupt between those who cling to their faith in the man, saying that he had saved them once before and will do so again now, and others who question if such legends could be more than mere superstition.

 

After all, the last time a true hero was around was hundreds of years ago. Not every hundred-year crisis is solved by the summoning of a hero; only some of them.

 

Within the hallowed halls of the Holy-Church’s cathedrals and their monasteries, priests and scholars pour over ancient texts, seeking divine guidance or hidden knowledge regarding this new crisis. Demon-Kings have come and gone, and even the single solitary Demon-Queen too, has become a footnote in history. Heroes come and go, arriving with purpose but then being quickly forgotten once it is achieved. However, the return to the world of two such forces after their original battle had come to an end has never, ever occurred before. The deepest archives of the oldest temples are picked clean by the flooding of priestesses into the depths of the Church’s reserves in their newly assigned mission to find a way out for the world if the hero fails his task.

 

They had relied on him once before, with success. But that does not mean they are willing to put all of their faith in him delivering a second time. Magic and technology have both advanced since the reign of the Demon-Queen, all those years ago in the historical past. Even without him, perhaps there is a way to contain her somewhere. They must try.

 

Noble houses across the world, meanwhile, convene in their ornate council chambers. Amidst whispered alliances or rivalries nurtured by generations-old blood feuds, these nobles argue, much the same as anyone else with power, over what course of action must be taken — if any at all — to confront this great trouble. While they have been preparing for a new hundred-year crisis to rear its head, as the prophesized time was ready to come soon, they had not predicted it to come so suddenly and abruptly. The arena-core had been a deeply interesting footnote at best for many plans, and a core component for others hoping to use its power.

 

The ability to resurrect an infinite number of soldiers, not into mindless undead, but back into their original states. The ability to control an army that never dies. If a person were to control the arena-core, they would control the world.

 

Many have had this idea and sent their agents into the dungeon. There are likely hundreds of spies inside of it from every noble house across the world, from the ancient pure-blood lineages of the elves to the old families of humanity, all of them looking for a way in, for a mechanism of control over the entity.

 

The rising number of conflicts and interests is as varied as the count of the population itself.

 

This is so much more than a simple dungeon or just a crisis.

 

This thing, this entity — Munera — is the key to total control and total power. It is a kingmaker, the likes of which the world has never seen before.

 

---

 

Intensity.

 

Munera’s vision is as wide as the gaze of the stars above, buzzing as it floats around the arena in a circle, hovering over the spectators, hovering over the wildfires, and the explosions of power as the two combatants move, following in the footsteps of the centuries’ old dance. Look at them. It’s like they never stopped all those years ago.

 

— A pillar of light cuts through the air, the powerful slash of an old sword being diverted by a corrupted claw, the blast flying off into the sky, severing and cutting through the night as if it were the singular beacon of a collapsing lighthouse, shining one last time as it falls. The beam can be seen from everywhere that lies within the sway of the horizon, the glow of it shining across the world and bringing daylight to the night for a brief second.

 

And this doesn’t stop them for a single second, the two combatants. It’s only one movement of a hundred, each with the same level of power.

 

Before the diverted arc of the sword has even reached its end, claws swipe and are caught by a guarding arm. Metal flashes together with chitin as a flurry of movements comes one after the other, impossible even for Munera to follow and count fully as the two of them circle one another, making one pass after the next before getting locked again into a close melee that shakes the world.

 

The intensity of it.

 

— Shockwaves rumble through the arena, sending spectators flying out of their seats and into the rows of people behind them.

 

Munera gives an order. Undead casters mixed into the crowd lift their glowing hands, holding them up above their heads together in unison. Energy flows through their undead bodies, channeled from the power of the dungeon-core, and radiates out of their fingers. A barrier begins to form, a glassy wall between the spectator area and the arena below. Somewhere, a skeleton continues to blow on its trumpet. Munera gives the order to have it killed. The barrier grows in an instant, shielding the public from flying debris and blasts of energy — the flexible shield barely holding back the power released by the fight between just two souls.

 

The Demon-Queen catches his leg with both of her hands as the hero tries for another kick. A second later, she’s bitten down into it, her long teeth going through the metal. He jumps, twisting his own leg and kicking her in the head with his other one. She is sent flying, breaking through one stone wall of the temple after the other, and he collapses down to the ground, panting as his body fights the venom now coursing through it.

 

What a scuffle!

 

Giddy, Munera watches the two of them brace for another round. They’re positively rabid. They’re like two animals that have cornered each other, both of them fighting tooth and limb for the territory that is theirs.

 

Green eyes glow from the rubble as the hero rises back up to his feet, steadying himself and his blade, which shines under the light of the stars above.

 

More! It wants them to fight more! Munera’s vision goes as wide as it can as it tensely waits for the next strike to come. It wants them to fight, and kick, and claw, and scream! It moves its vision closer. It wants them to punch, and flail, and push, and pull, and struggle against the weight of each other for every single step they take!

 

Munera wants them to fight more! Human bodies and monster bodies, they can only sustain so much, even with healing. They need breaks, pauses, food, water, and sleep. But these two… they can push the limit, they can reach a place; they can compete at a level that none have ever been able to reach. The ultimate pawns on the ultimate game-board.

 

The rubble shifts. The hero adjusts his footing. Here they go!

 

Fight! Fight! FIGH-

 

The hero and the Demon-Queen move at the same time.

 

Two blasts of power shoot up toward the air, toward the presence of the dungeon-core, which watches in confusion for a second as it processes what it is seeing.

 

…Huh?

 

— SHIT!

 

Two attacks fly straight toward the dungeon-core.

 

Munera shifts its presence immediately, pulling back. A shockwave presses through the air as two strikes, one of a divine blade and one of a demon’s claws, cut through the space where it itself had existed in only a moment prior.

 

They tried to hit… it?

 

The fight comes to a stop as two people hang in the air, grabbed by an unseen force.

 

Munera stares in quiet disbelief. Unbelievable!

 

Wordlessly, the hero and the Demon-Queen had put their differences aside in order to cooperate on a strike against the dungeon-core who had resurrected them. How? Are the two of them just that in tune that they can communicate through fighting? Through moving and silent, subtle gestures? Through an intrinsically shared foundation of thinking? What kind of history do these two share?

 

Munera doesn’t really care.

 

What it does care about is that they ruined the fight.

 

Ugh. Is this going to be a thing now?

 

The hero and the Demon-Queen struggle to fight against the unseen force holding them in place in the air. Effortlessly, Munera holds the two titanic powers like a bored child holding two dolls.

 

It squishes them against one another, trying to make them fight again. It’s more awkward than helpful.

 

— Someone in the crowd whistles. People laugh. A skeleton plays a trumpet. The people and the skeleton are executed.

 

Ugh.

 

It’s over.

 

Munera, deeply annoyed, gracelessly drops the hero and the Demon-Queen back down into the sand, both of whom apparently need some intrinsic motivation.

 

That’s fine.

 

It remembers that the original gladiators all needed a little friendly push in the right direction too! If nothing else, it itself is here to be a helpful, guiding spirit in the lives of these people.

 

— And it will guide them to fight.

 

It’s quite simple, really.

 

A skeleton that has been executed three times walks out into the field, holding a proclamation from the core up to the two combatants, who are lowered down to read the order.

 

 

A simple threat, but effective given the looks the two exchange. Sure, they might be willing to cooperate for a moment if it means securing their freedom. But at the end of the day, it’s each other who they want to beat the most out of anyone in the world, not Munera. By threatening to let the other ‘win’ their little battle of the centuries — well, that’s all it takes.

 

The fire is lit. The two of them know now that even they cannot escape the clutches of the dungeon-core. Even they, as powerful as they are, must compete. The rules of the competition are absolute. Only the best may win.

 

Munera drops the two of them, looking around the arena that is beginning to settle down now, the crowd coming to a halt as the show is over for tonight. It lifts its gaze, looking up toward the missing ceiling, where thousands of tons of dirt, rock, and sediment are missing. The broken walls are glassed over from the intense heat of the magic that had radiated past them. The underground dungeon is naked, revealed to the sky.

 

It does not like this. As a dungeon, it is vulnerable in such a state to outside forces. Adventurers have stopped 'delving' into the dungeon as they would have under normal circumstances, now that the colosseum has formed. But there is no need to tempt fate.

 

— Munera drops a shovel onto the skeleton, the handle striking its skull.

 

“Fix this,” orders the dungeon-core, floating away as it develops tomorrow’s game, which will include the hero and the Demon-Queen.

 

The crowd disperses. The skeleton stands there amidst the crumbling rubble, softly screaming as always as it stares up toward the open sky above its head, wondering if there is more to life than this. The clouds return, covering the stars and hiding them from the world.

 

It starts to rain, the water gently running down the skull like tears, as a forming mud-slide collapses in half of the arena.