MCYT Oneshots And Other Random Stuff

Hels

Remember that one line from Diabolical?

Now let me introduce me, I'm the knight of Hels, a place where all the people live in fiery cells. Everyone there's unyielding, and everyone rebels— and I'm their greatest champion, so ring your warning bells!
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The fires still burn.

I stare at the blazing braziers lining the arena as I get into stance, wondering if they're constantly re-fueled, or if they simply never go out. The flames never seem to flicker or flare or falter— they just burn at a steady rate, producing no smoke.

I don't know how they achieve the no-smoke thing, but I know why:

Smoke would obscure the views of the audience.

I eye the two swords tossed into the center of the arena. I may be in a cage, but as soon as the bars go down and the fight begins, I'll be free to run for it.

Of course, my opponent, locked behind steel bars on the other side of the arena, will be free to do the same.

I can't see who it is from here, and I don't look, instead readying myself to sprint. I have to get those weapons— both of them.

I have to win.

I always have to win.

One, two, three...

The bell rings.

The cage lifts.

I run.

My boots skid in the thick sand, but I keep running, fueled by desperation and my competitive spirit. Both very good things to have in Hels.

I reach the center of the arena and snatch a sword, but I'm too late to grab the other. I dance backwards, holding my sword in a defensive position as I take in my opponent.

It's a girl with long blond hair and eyes a red so pale they're nearly pink. True.

I curse internally, but quickly regain focus. This will not be an easy battle, but I will still win.

I always win.

I lunge for True, going on the offensive. I fight offense best, and it shows. True's strength is defense, though, so we are stuck in this eternal push and pull. A slash, a block. A feint, a duck.

In the books Ex used to read to me, battle scenes were often described as a lethal dance. This is something I will never understand. There is nothing graceful nor coordinated about the way we are forced to fight. Our spars are scrappy and ugly, a bloodbath instead of a show. And they are not lethal.

Villains don't kill villains.

Only heroes are allowed to do that— the people of Wels. The Angels, the Aetherians, the Originals. The Overworlders bow to them like gods. They live in temples, preparing for the day when they get to slaughter one of us, or die trying.

Each one of us has one of them as a counterpart— or maybe we are their counterparts. But either way, the only times we're allowed to kill in an arena is when we face them.

And of course, they always have the advantage. We will never experience ease.

We being the Demons, the Helsians, the Netherians, the Alters. Four names for the same people, all living such a simple yet terrible existence.

We are prisoners. Fighting dogs. We live in fiery cells and scuffle in sandy arenas for the sick enjoyment of the Overs, fighting both monsters— which actually do sometimes kill us— and even worse but more common: each other. But then, we are evil. We are corrupt. We deserve this. This is our price to pay for simply existing.

That's what the Overs have told us all from a very, very young age.

Clang!

My sword slashes in a direction True didn't expect. She gasps as blood gushes from her arm, but she doesn't so much as shriek. The audience would enjoy that, and not one Alter will ever give an Over what they want if they can help it.

True is injured now, so I strike again in the same place, but with my left fist. This time her gasp is more of a pained grunt as my knuckles connect with split skin. She drops her blade.

It takes me the following three seconds to have her knocked out.

The bells ring again, and I am marked the winner.

I take a deep breath as the audience cheers. I see money passing between one pair of greedy fingers to the next. I should be disgusted, but all I feel is a lack of surprise.

I always win. I'm the best warrior Hels has to offer. I run my hand through my pale blond hair, checking for any sand that might have sprayed into it. I'm unhurt, so this is my priority.

Another victory under my belt, I am marched out of the arena. But I know I'll be back before long.

The Over guards put my hands behind my back and handcuff them, per usual. I don't even mind, this time.

Because I am now one fight closer to the battle that will either end my life or win my freedom: my Lethal Dance.

I smile, a discreet, wicked thing. Because that battle will be like all others. I will win. I have to win. I'm me.

Oh, haven't I told you who I am?

Then let me introduce me.

I'm Knight, of Hels.

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Hels au :D
Meet Nightshade "Knight" of Hels, a knight diabolical