"The entire kingdom came to the arena expecting blood.

The air inside the lower furnace halls was a suffocating hell of roaring flames, molten iron streams, and blinding white heat.

Leo slammed onto a heavy iron grating fifty feet below, rolling quickly to dissipate the impact. His furs caught fire immediately, and he threw off his heavy coat, standing in his light tunics and glowing plate armor.

A few yards away, Malakor stood up from the debris, his iron mask cracked, revealing a pair of burning yellow eyes underneath.

"You think bringing us down here gives you an advantage?" Malakor laughed, his dark blade Nightfall absorbing the heat of the surrounding lava, its crimson glow growing wider and more violent. "This furnace is my heartland!"

"Then let's see if your heart can withstand the heat," Leo replied, standing his ground.

They clashed again across the narrow iron bridges suspended above rivers of liquid rock. The heat was unbearable, blistering Leo's skin, but his resolve never wavered. He recalled his years in the arena pit—the dust, the blood, the absolute need to survive when every hand was turned against him.

Malakor fought with relentless, dark magic, throwing bursts of black fire that melted the iron railings around them. But Leo moved with fluid precision, using the close quarters of the subterranean pipes to trap the Grandmaster's longer weapon.

"You fight like a gutter rat!" Malakor snarled as Leo ducked beneath a swinging strike and drove a low kick into the Grandmaster's knee.

"I am a gutter rat," Leo shouted, bringing Sunfall down in a crushing two-handed blow. "And you are just another tyrant who forgot that the ground belongs to the people!"

The blow shattered Malakor’s shoulder guard, forcing the cult leader down onto one knee over the main pressure release valve of the volcanic forge.

Leo didn't hesitate. He did not aim for Malakor’s heart—he plunged Sunfall directly into the central iron wheel of the magma pressure gate beneath their feet.