The day of the Grand Colosseum's inauguration dawned under a sky of impossible blue, tinged with crimson nuances emanating from Avalon's central tower. The colossal structure, a miracle of marble and classical geometry, teemed with a diverse crowd: humans from Farmenas, Orcs in polished armor, and even curious adventurers who had crossed borders drawn by rumors of an empire of gods. In the stands, the murmur was constant—a mixture of fear and reverence before the amphitheater's grandeur.
Sirzechs occupied the Royal Box, an extension of white marble that seemed to float above the arena. He wore his sovereign attire, the Gremory crest shining on his chest, while Grayfia remained standing by his side, her gelid presence serving as a reminder that even on a day of celebration, order was absolute. With a simple gesture from Sirzechs, silence fell over the thousands of spectators. He did not need to shout; his voice, amplified by Shiva's authority, echoed directly into the souls of those present.
— Let this Colosseum be the testimony that Avalon does not merely rule, but exalts the strength of those who serve it. May the sweat and steel shed upon this sand be the foundation of our glory. Let the games begin!
The first combat was an exhibition of power that left the spies of the Western Nations, hidden among the crowd, pale with terror. These were not just monsters fighting; they were warriors utilizing refined swordsmanship and runic magics that most human mages would take decades to comprehend. The golden sand vibrated with every impact, and Sirzechs' spatial barriers glowed intensely, containing energy explosions that would otherwise obliterate the capital. Grimmjow, from atop one of the columns, watched everything with a wild smile, impatient for his own gala exhibition that would conclude the event.
While the clamor of the arena reached its peak and the world's attention was fixed on the spectacle, deep within the service passages beneath the Colosseum, a meeting of shadows took place. Ulquiorra Cifer walked through the damp, silent corridor, his expression as empty as the abyss. He needed no torches; his spiritual perception, now amplified by evolution, detected every irregular heartbeat in the shadows. Three agents from the Eastern Empire, specialists in infiltration and magicule concealment, were crouched near the runic support pillars, preparing sabotage seals to destabilize the Colosseum's soul infrastructure.
They were fast, but Ulquiorra was the inevitable void. Before the first saboteur could complete the incantation, Ulquiorra manifested between them. The movement was so fluid that the air did not even shift. One of the agents tried to draw a dagger coated in anti-spiritual poison, but his hand was severed by an imperceptible flick of Ulquiorra's hand.
— Your effort is devoid of meaning — Ulquiorra said, his monochromatic voice echoing off the stone walls. — You attempt to sabotage the foundation of a being who creates the soul. It is like trying to extinguish the sun with a puff of dust.
The infiltrators, realizing they faced no ordinary demon, attempted a self-destruction maneuver, but Ulquiorra's gaze paralyzed them. He used his new soul manipulation ability to "lock" the invaders' consciousness within their own bodies, preventing them from dying or acting. He needed them alive; Grayfia would demand a full interrogation regarding the Empire's infiltration routes.
Above, the roar of the crowd celebrated the victory of a young elite captain of Avalon. Sirzechs glanced toward the ground, sensing the slight energy fluctuation that indicated Ulquiorra had finished his work. He exchanged a discreet look with Grayfia, who nodded slightly, already mentally noting that the interrogation of the prisoners would take place immediately following the awards ceremony. The Colosseum was baptized not only with the sweat of warriors but with the silent containment of those who dared to challenge Avalon's marble.
The clamor in the stands reached a deafening volume as the first winners were decorated. However, the air suddenly changed. The atmospheric pressure inside the amphitheater rose to almost unbearable levels, silencing the crowd in seconds. Sirzechs stood up from his throne in the Royal Box. He did not use stairs or common flight magic; he simply walked through the air, each step creating a small crimson ripple in space, until he touched the center of the golden sand.
Grayfia remained at the edge of the box, her silver eyes fixed on him. She knew this was not just an act of vanity, but a political necessity. The world needed to understand that the lord of Avalon was not just an administrator, but the very pinnacle of strength.
— To conclude this festival of glory — Sirzechs' voice resonated, calm yet vibrating like thunder — I will show you the nature of the power that protects these lands.
Sirzechs did not draw a weapon. He merely released an infinitesimal fraction of [Shiva's] aura. Instantly, the blue sky above the Colosseum was devoured by a whirlpool of crimson and black energy. Lightnings of annihilation crackled around his body, and the sand beneath his feet did not just melt—it ceased to exist, erased from reality. The space around Sirzechs began to warp and crack; the spectators felt a primal survival instinct, as if they were standing before a black hole with a consciousness.
He extended his hand toward the sky, and a sphere of compressed energy, the size of a seed, manifested at the tip of his finger. It was pure Destruction, refined by the Visionary. When he closed it in the palm of his hand, the resulting shockwave was contained only by the divine-level barriers he himself had raised. The visual impact was that of a god who could, with a thought, redefine the continent's geography. The spies of human nations fell to their knees, unable to sustain his gaze; Rimuru, had he been there, would have known that this demonstration was a warning to the entire world of Tensura.
Once the aura dissipated, the silence that followed was one of pure shock, broken only by a single rhythmic clap from Grayfia, followed soon after by a roar of adoration from thousands of subjects. Sirzechs merely nodded and, with the same elegance, vanished into a crimson mist, resurfacing in the shadows of the lower passages where Ulquiorra awaited him.
The transition from public glory to the coldness of duty was instantaneous. Sirzechs walked through the damp stone corridors, his expression now as gelid as that of Grayfia, who was already by his side. In the runic containment dungeons, the three Eastern Empire agents were suspended in force fields projected by Szayelaporro. Their minds were "locked," but their bodies still trembled from the residue of the pressure they had felt above.
— Ulquiorra did a clean job — Grayfia commented, approaching one of the prisoners with a runic memory extraction syringe. — But they are professionals. Their souls possess self-destruction seals that would activate in any common interrogation.
Sirzechs approached the leader of the spies. He placed his hand over the man's chest. Through [Shiva], he did not need torture. He simply began to "deconstruct" the enemy's soul seal, piece by piece, as if dismantling a broken watch.
— You came to see the birth of a port — Sirzechs said, while the spy's eyes turned white and images began to be projected onto the dungeon walls. — But what you found was the end of your masters' sovereignty.
The extracted memories revealed not just sabotage plans, but the coordinates of a fleet of invisible airships that the Empire kept at the ready beyond the Jura mountain range. The Eastern Empire was not just observing; they were testing Avalon's response time for a large-scale invasion.
Sirzechs withdrew his hand, and the spy collapsed—alive, but with his mind completely remapped. He looked at Grayfia, his eyes now glowing with implacable determination.
— They think they can test our borders. Grayfia, send a message to Grimmjow. He wanted a gala exhibition? Give him the coordinates of this invisible fleet. I want the Empire to know that in Avalon, not even what they hide is safe from us.
— And as for the prisoners, my Lord? — Grayfia asked, already preparing the radio commands.
— Hand them over to Szayelaporro — Sirzechs replied, turning his back. — He needs test subjects to understand how their technology interacts with soul energy. If they want to study us, we shall study them first.