A/N: I also uploaded this story on AO3 under EileeRu. I frequent AO3, so more chapters will be available on there than if not here. Happy Reading! Tootles!

Chapter 2

"Your Highness, you are in need of observance." cried out one of the stewards that appointed the arena his royal highness sported. The steward was cladded in a uniform robe of blue and white. The official froze in place as he took in the council meeting taking place before the King. "Ah, my apologies!"

The room the young man had burst into had grown rather quiet at the immediate disruption. Six members of the Council body glared at the lad before turning their disapproved gapes at the direction of the King's golden eyes. Donning a black and grey fitted shirt with diamonds embedding the outskirts and a red cape hanging off one shoulder, King Charioce spoke with strong authority in his tone. "If it's not the Rag Demon out there, then proceed without observance."

"But your highness!" The stripling called out, taken aback by his highness' calmed features. His lips parted in desperation but his voice retreated at the ominous aura wafting in the courtroom. "Uh, as you wish, sire."

After the minor had bowed out of the room, the council erupt into spiteful chatter, each giving their notorious objections towards such behavior.

"Can you believe the nerve that lad had?"

"So disrespectful. You should undergo a disciplinary action on them, your highness."

"Your decision is wise, your majesty, for opting out on his plea. We have way important matters to discuss."

"Enough." With just a single command, the complaints dispersed into an uncomfortable silence, ceasing any further action to speak. As the King sat back into his throne, the councilmen gradually continued the matter at hand.

"Speaking of which, before we were rudely interrupted… and I do apologize for bringing it up, your majesty. But, it goes without say, that we cannot ignore the prophecy that fate has laid out for us." Announced an older man with curly brown hair. He regarded the King before continuing. "We all highly regard the news and devised a plan in order to dissipate this sequential ordeal."

The King didn't look amused at their frantics, but listen to them nonetheless. "Go on."

"In suggestion to his royal highness, a strategy to lure the maiden out of hiding would guarantee your Lordship's safety."

"Cut to the chase, Jenkins." The King ordered, impatience waning in his tone.

"Yes, your highness. A play of cat and mouse would not suffice, hence our continual ploy to capture Rag Demon is still undertow. So, instead, we'll lure her into the systematic of a new jurisdiction. That is, if you are keen to accept the idea?" Jenkins spieled, caressing his curly beard.

Everyone's eyes drifted to the King who sat nonchalantly, a peeved expression pasted on his face. With his hand tucked under his chin, King Charioce narrowed his eyes at the prospects that such a measly plan will unravel as fate sees fit. "And how do you suppose this plot thickens?"

This time the King's loyal scientist, Chabrol, immersed into the topic. "The maiden is a threat, obviously. We would like to take extreme precaution that you're alive by the end of it."

The King turns his hard gaze at Chabrol, his jaw clenched in vexation. "Idle the thought of my death to a mere girl. Answer my question."

"As you wish. If the maiden is amongst us, we suggest a new election to his Highness' title. This will intrigue the girl, out of spite that she is truly desperate in need for power- hence, the prophecy, sire."

"So making her my Queen is your plan to capture this maiden?"

"Not quite your highness. In order to conceal this ruse, we advise you to grant a waiver for all races to be included with the girl, as you intended from your original strategy with the pool system."

The King looked between Jenkins and Chabrol, analysing their serious stance before making any repercussions. If he was to become a decoy to this maiden, he might as well play the part. This could be fun...then again, this shouldn't consume much of his free time to be just Chris, would it? He thought.

"Very well." He muttered, accepting the ensued affair without a moment's notice. This decision was startling towards the six members, but nevertheless, they had the royal approval to proceed.

The atmosphere in the courtroom became lighter as each of the councilmen began brainstorming and complimenting and devising and just negotiating- a leeway that most men tend to do in factions.

Later that evening, Charioce strolled down the corridors of his castle, taking left and right turns; zigzagging through hidden passageways in order to get a shorter route to the second best view of his palace.

The arena.

Loud cheers and boos were heard from the crowds below, all attentive to the live show in the center of the bowl. There were four different colored demons, brutally scabbed and limbs dismantle from previous blows, lunging at each other, careful not to get hit themselves.

The King sat down at his throne unnoticed and continued watching the antics portrayed below. The Red demon with horns protruding off the sides of his head was the first to fall, then fell the green demon who wasn't much of a fighter, seeing through one eye. The King sighed as the referee separated the remaining two demons, a break or rather courtesy of the fallen demons to be treated- if by all means, they were still alive.

Which is usually futile. No gladiator must leave the arena alive if the other opponent isn't dead. He observed two medics running at the aid of the fallen demons, and within moments that one of the medics had declared the death sentence, the perished demons whisked into dust.

Another one bites the dust. The King was not game today, nor was he last week or the week before that. His amusement lasted with the Rag Demon, a chase he became thrilled with as a means to get out of politics. But, soon, each division that was sent to capture the Rag Demon failed and it bore Charioce to no end.

Five hours earlier, Nina had come across a flier that piqued her interest and of which, Bacchus ended up telling her to take cautionary steps.

"It's a betting pool to the death." Hamsa informed the vermillion eyed girl whose eyes sparkled at the sport. She squealed with glee, not batting away the chance to make some cash.

"Best not going, girl. Your life will be on the line," Bacchus said, burping up the downed booze.

"As if! Can you imagine the winnings? I can just picture it!" Nina exclaimed as she clasped her hands together and dreamed of gold showering over her. This dream is too good to be true, so she heard oftentimes; but if she could rake in as much money, she could go home and help her mother out. That was the prior reason why she took the position as a bounty hunter.

"Well, I don't doubt your strength, Miss Drango. But I'm not talking about a sport that leaves you alive in the end." Hamsa rolled his eyes and shook his feathers.

Nina paused her dreamy state and shot the bird a weird look, "What do you mean by that?"

Before Hamsa could say anything further, Bacchus cuts in, "Like I said, your life's on the line. Only one gladiator is allowed to leave the arena alive, and that is the winner. That's the rules. Unless you can kill one of your kind, a Demon or Angel, you are admitted the winner to the bet."

"Well, that's dumb. What kind of sport is that?" Nina shouts, suddenly becoming aware that this so called pastime wasn't a playful joke as she came to realize. "So you're saying, if anyone bets against another, they also war in their own life?"

"Close," Hamsa butted in, taking charge of the conversation. "For instance, if Nina bets Bacchus that she could catch Rag Demon, dead or alive, Bacchus will shelter her free of charge. On the other hand, if Bacchus wins, he will decide the winning factor, no matter if the conditions (if any) are applied."

"Conditions?" Nina thought aloud, her finger thumbing her chin.

"If you initiated the bet, you're pretty much putting yourself out there- your life, your whole being is what Hamsa is implying. That means, you're giving yourself up in exchange for a chance to win something." Bacchus adds in.

"So this flier is basically a life sentence?" Nina looks over the leaflet in confusion. "Then, why would anyone volunteer to this sort of entertainment? What will they get out of it?"

A moment of silence ensues between the trio. Bacchus and Hamsa glanced at each other before sighing and explaining further.

"It's not like anyone has a choice, really." The bird quacked, sitting down at his corner. "The King permitted this sport as a chance for his prisoners to redeem their sins by proving their worth. They can bet all they like but in the end, whether they win or lose, the outcome remains the same."

"Prisoners?" Nina grew baffled, her brows furrowing as her mind tried to piece together what the two gods were telling her. "Is this betting pool just for prisoners? Then why are these fliers distributed around the city? Are we considered the King's prisoners?"

Suddenly as if Nina cracked a joke, Bacchus chortled. "Not on my life! I am a god! There's no King who could imprison me!"

"Must I remind your exile from Heaven?" Hamsa retorted, scoffing at Bacchus' declaration. "If Angel Gabriel were here-"

"Which she's not, thank heavens!" Bacchus pointed out, raising his bottle of rum in the air.

"But if she were, you better believe joking about imprisonment is not a laughing matter!" Hamsa shrieked, looking around as if the Angel herself could be lurking closeby.

As the two gods continued their bickering, meanwhile Nina had made her way outside and towards time square where the pompous citizens were cheering on a match from within the Kingdom's arena.

The air was dry and crisp as Nina entered the venue. The mild buzz that was heard outside the courts was now louder and bursting with flare. A throng of citizens assembled in little pockets, were blocking each of the stadium's exits, chance of hope to find a seat that was already occupied. Taking in a whiff of fresh air, instead Nina had drank in the smell of decay and sweat diffusing the arena. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Nina walked further along the walls, avoiding the mass and steadily made her way to the front.

The stage was clearly visible even from where she stood. Amidst the laughter and jeers, Nina could make out the racial dividend of the sport. It saddened her as she caught a glimpse of the fighters below.

Ducking low, Nina miraculously squeezed between the swarm cluttered together like a can of sardines, and had misstep her footing once she was freed, only to trip down a couple of stairs and bumped into a large object in front of her. Thus, the accidental scene of dominoes pursued creating havoc as the last man standing had been struck over the arena's fence, his conducted microphone flying in the air without warning.

Witnessing her mistake, Nina remained rigid and stale. Oops!