The crowd roared in anticipation as the final match of the Sangravia Martial Tournament reached its climax. Thousands of spectators filled the arena, their cheers reverberating through the grand hall. Among them sat the city’s elite, their eyes fixed on the combatants in the ring.

Arin Veer stood in the center, blood dripping from his split lip onto the sand below. His arms trembled as he struggled to stay upright. The once-promising fighter of the Veer Clan looked nothing like the prodigy people once celebrated. Across from him stood Dharan Kaul, his former mentor, and now, his executioner.

“You were never worthy of the Veer name,” Dharan sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. His blade glinted under the overhead lights, a cruel reminder of the fight's uneven nature. "Weakness has no place in our clan."

Arin tightened his fists, his knuckles cracking from the pressure. He wanted to lash out, to scream at the injustice of it all. But his body refused to move, weighed down not just by his injuries but by the crushing betrayal he had endured.

It hadn’t always been like this. A year ago, Arin was the pride of his clan, a rising star in Sangravia’s martial world. But jealousy and politics brewed within the ranks of the Veer Clan. Dharan, threatened by Arin’s potential, orchestrated a conspiracy that framed Arin for a crime he didn’t commit. Stripped of his title, disowned by his clan, and left to fend for himself, Arin had no choice but to claw his way back into the tournament, hoping to reclaim his honor.

Now, as Dharan’s blade descended toward him, all that hope shattered.

The strike was sudden and merciless. The edge of the blade grazed Arin’s side, slicing through his tattered shirt and leaving a deep wound. He staggered back, his vision blurring as pain shot through his body. The crowd’s cheers turned to gasps, but no one intervened. This wasn’t just a fight—it was an execution.

“I told you,” Dharan said, stepping closer. “You’re nothing without the clan.”

Arin collapsed to his knees, blood pooling beneath him. His strength ebbed away, and his thoughts grew hazy. Was this how it ended? Was he destined to die, alone and disgraced, at the hands of someone he once trusted?

As the world dimmed around him, Arin’s gaze fell on the shadow cast by Dharan’s figure. It stretched unnaturally, shifting and writhing like a living thing. For a brief moment, Arin thought he heard a voice—a whisper, cold and ancient.

“Do you wish to live?” the voice asked.

Arin blinked, his head swimming with confusion. The whisper grew louder, echoing in his mind.

“Do you seek power? Revenge? Accept my pact, and you shall rise again.”

Desperation coursed through him. Arin didn’t understand what the voice was or where it came from, but he knew one thing: he wasn’t ready to die. Not yet. Not like this.

“I accept,” he rasped, his voice barely audible over the roaring crowd.

The shadows around him surged, engulfing his body like a tide. The pain in his side vanished, replaced by an icy chill that seeped into his bones. Arin’s heart thundered in his chest as the shadows whispered secrets to him—secrets of power, vengeance, and darkness.

Dharan paused, his blade poised for the killing blow. Something was wrong. The air around Arin had shifted, growing heavy and oppressive. The shadows beneath the fallen fighter writhed, twisting into unnatural shapes. Dharan’s confident smirk faltered.

“What trickery is this?” he demanded, stepping back.

Arin rose slowly to his feet, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly hue. The trembling of his body ceased, replaced by an aura of unyielding power. The crowd fell silent, a mixture of awe and fear rippling through the arena.

“You took everything from me,” Arin said, his voice colder than the grave. “Now, it’s my turn.”

With a flick of his wrist, the shadows surged forward, lashing out like living serpents. Dharan barely had time to react as the dark tendrils wrapped around his sword arm, wrenching the weapon from his grasp. The crowd erupted into chaos, some fleeing, others frozen in shock.

Dharan stumbled back, his eyes wide with terror. “What… what are you?”

Arin stepped forward, the shadows coiling around him like a cloak. “I am the one you should never have crossed.”

As the shadows descended upon Dharan, Arin felt a strange satisfaction. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t powerless. He wasn’t a victim. And he wasn’t alone.

He was the Eternal Shadow.