Godstealer-Chapter 30: The Blood Round Begins

A knock at the dressing room door.

Not the kind you expect before a fight. Not the tap of a nervous assistant or the bark of a guard.

It was hesitant.

Dante's body snapped to attention. Aura shimmered instinctively along his arm, manifesting into a blade of crackling silver-blue. He turned, eyes glowing.

The door creaked open. A figure stepped in, trembling.

"Wait—please," the man whispered. "Dante. I need your help."

The blade hovered at his throat.

"Talk," Dante growled. "And give me a reason not to turn you into mist."

"My name is Willow," the stranger said, his voice thin, strained. His silver hair clung to his face in sweat-stuck strands. "I know this isn't the right time—but they're about to sell hybrids. An underground auction. In ten minutes."

The blade vanished in a heartbeat.

Dante took one breath—and felt his blood boil.

"Selling hybrids?"

Willow nodded. "The women... they're drugged. Trained. Sold as pleasure machines. The men—they're broken. Shipped to private pits as gladiators, workers, trophies. Bidding starts soon."

The room felt like it had dropped ten degrees.

Dante's jaw clenched.

"...How far?"

"South compound. Just outside the arena's illusion field."

The Trickster materialized in his mind with a burst of static and exasperation.

"Okay, okay, let's breathe—before we do something heroic and irreversibly stupid."

"I can make it back in time," Dante muttered aloud.

"You think you can. But what if you don't?" the Trickster argued. "You miss the fight, you lose your chance. The high table, the law—gone."

Dante turned to Willow. "Let's move."

The Trickster screamed in frustration. "He's not listening to me! He's never listening to me! I'm gonna cry into my chaos whiskey."

---

They arrived at the edge of the compound in under two minutes, riding through shadows and leaping over rooftops like smoke with purpose.

The auction site was hidden behind shimmering illusion magic—a fortress of cages, chains, and low laughter.

Dante scanned the scene. Hundreds of hybrids, locked in tight iron crates. Girls drugged with dull stares. Boys too broken to look up.

Rage flickered like wildfire behind his eyes.

"How long do we have?" he asked.

Willow checked a pocket-watch. "Four minutes. Then the bidders arrive."

Dante stepped forward, his aura flaring to life. Sparks hissed off his fingertips.

"Good."

He vanished—reappearing inside the first cage like a ghost.

"Get up," he whispered to the girl inside. "You're free."

He sliced the lock. It fell.

Then chaos erupted.

Alarms screamed. Guards poured in—hundreds, dressed in obsidian armor with iron shock batons crackling at their sides.

Dante smiled.

"Guess I'm early for the party."

The first guard lunged.

Dante pivoted, caught the baton mid-air, and shattered it with a pulse of aura. He spun, driving an elbow into the man's ribs—then flipped over him and kicked another square in the temple.

Guards swarmed.

Dante's blade flashed like lightning—arcs of silver slashing through armor, bones cracking, screams echoing.

"Run!" he shouted to the hybrids. "Get out! Head west—NOW!"

They obeyed. Chains clattered, cages burst open, and the field turned into a frenzy of movement and fear.

Dante moved like wind and steel, guiding the weak with one hand and annihilating enemies with the other.

A huge guard stepped forward, swinging a two-handed axe.

"Put her down, freak."

Dante turned. "Sure."

He hurled the broken chain he was carrying straight into the man's face. Then punched him so hard the guy flipped and landed in a cage of his own.

But then—he saw her.

One girl.

Tied to a post. Bleeding down her thighs. Face bruised. Her breath so faint it looked like steam on glass.

Dante's expression changed.

He moved.

Three guards tried to block him.

He didn't stop.

He barrelled through them like a comet, tearing open the bindings and catching her as she slumped forward, unconscious.

"I've got you," he whispered.

Then more guards appeared.

A lot more.

"Seriously?" Dante growled, cradling the girl with one arm and igniting his aura with the other. "Fine."

He dropped into a low stance, kicked a guard in the shin, spun around, and hurled an aura spike into another's chest.

The Trickster reappeared in his mind, eyes gleaming.

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"He's learning... so fast..." he sniffed, wiping a single tear. "They grow up and start murdering fascists so quickly..."

But then—

Dante stopped.

He coughed.

Once. Then again.

Blood hit the dirt.

He dropped to a knee.

The Trickster's eyes widened in horror.

"No. Nonononono—Dante, listen to me. You overused your aura. That wasn't just blood. That was curse leakage. The Curse of Twenty-Four. You're hitting your limit."

Dante's breathing got slower. But his hand tightened around the girl.

"No time."

The Trickster growled, slamming both palms against Dante's temple.

"IF YOU FIGHT LIKE THIS, YOU'LL DIE—"

Dante vanished.

--

The dressing room exploded with light as Dante appeared, collapsing to his knees.

The girl in his arms, still alive—but barely.

Willow stared at him, wide-eyed. "You did it... you actually—"

But Dante was coughing again. Violently.

Blood splattered the tiles.

The Trickster floated beside him, frantic.

"Dante, listen to me. The curse is active. You can't fight like this. You'll kill yourself. Forfeit the tournament. Survive. There's still time."

Dante leaned against the wall, chest heaving.

"I've trained seven years for this. Bled. Lost everything."

He looked down at the girl.

"This isn't about me anymore."

The Trickster's voice dropped. "You're not going to survive your next match."

"Then I'll go out loud," Dante said, standing.

The girl stirred, waking up slowly. She blinked.

And screamed.

Dante froze.

"I—hey—hey! It's okay!"

She stared in terror. "Y-you were talking to yourself... who are you talking to?! There's no one there!"

Dante turned. Realized. The Trickster was invisible to humans.

"Uh... long story. He's—he's in my head."

"You're insane!"

"Not the worst thing I've been called today."

Before he could explain more—

A voice echoed across the arena:

"DANTE. TO THE ARENA. NOW."

Dante looked at her once more.

"Wait here. You're safe now."

And walked away.