Page 86 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
“You’re not wrong. But here, life has no value. Only the show does. And we’ve just been cast in it.”
“What do you mean?”
“We weren’t brought here by accident. There’s a reason. For you, it’s different—they want you working on their Zebulon production. But me? Their plans are obvious. They’re going to make me fight in the arena.”
“No… They can’t. You’re still recovering! You’re not fit to fight!”
“They can. And they will. Pain doesn’t matter here. Only the arena decides what you’re worth.”
Felone approaches, his boots clanging sharply against the metal floor.
He tilts his head slightly, mockingly polite.
“Madam, Sir, I do hope your journey was most pleasant. We strive to offer only the highest quality service… And we’re confident your stay at the Red Arena will be truly unforgettable,” he says, a wicked smile stretching across his thin lips.
Behind him, two heavily armed guards stand on either side of the lowered ramp.
A few moments later, we step into what looks like a throne room.
The space is vast, open, bathed in harsh lighting that highlights every detail.
At the far end, on a raised platform, sits a figure of the same species as Nov—a Srebat—poised with icy confidence on a chair carved from dark metal.
Nothing less than a throne.
Felone and his men shove us forward without the slightest care until we drop to our knees, just a few feet from this imposing figure.
“Lord Danuk, I have the honor of bringing you two gifts straight from Gekkaria!” Felone announces, bowing with exaggerated mockery.
“This Human will help optimize the production of our beloved Zebulon—she’s its original source. As for the Srebat… he promises to be a spectacular asset for the arena.”
The one called Danuk rises slowly.
His piercing eyes, glowing with an almost luminescent yellow, lock immediately onto Nov.
That’s when I notice a few differences between them:
Nov’s fur is darker, his frame broader and more muscular.
Danuk, in contrast, has grayish tones and a more slender build—but his authority radiates unmistakably.
“Well, well… what a surprise,” Danuk says, a sly smile curling on his lips. “Lord Noviosk himself!”
I freeze.
What did he just say? He knows Nov?
No… he called him “Lord Noviosk.”
That name… I’ve heard it before. Whispered in the dungeons of Vagantu, always with a shiver of terror.
My heart tightens. Everything falls apart.
I search for the eyes of the one I thought was my friend, hoping for an explanation, a denial—anything.
But he avoids me. No—he’s avoiding me. Or rather, he’s completely focused on Danuk, the real threat in this room.
“So what’s the former Lord of Vagantu doing chained at my feet like some common prisoner?” Danuk continues, his voice drifting between amusement and menace.
