Everyone Get Out of the Arena (8)
Over the long years of endless repetition in the arena, Chekhov had given up so much while watching it all unfold. Her kin from life, whom she had commanded. The staff she recruited to run the arena. And the arena's residents, whom she had protected in her own twisted way for so long. The memories with them. Every time the arena ended, every time she saw off the promising heroes who cleared five wins, Chekhov plunged into a sense of loss. Because everything reset.
Every time the arena began, Chekhov faced the same scenes. The promising heroes locked in the vast underground prison. When they emerged, prostitutes trying to trade their bodies for exchange vouchers. At the nearest restaurant, Shemiri greeting the newbies naked. After that, situations unfolded in as many ways as there were promising heroes. At least, considering how those who survived Chekhov's arena left far stronger than when they arrived, it wasn't wrong to say the arena perfectly recreated its pre-apocalypse purpose.
The original reason for running the arena was simple: revenge against the Demon King. She wanted to charge at him herself with a blade, but unlike other vampires, Chekhov wasn't much of a fighter. She specialized in familiars—housing the dead within her blood to command them—but even that power had degraded to its limits. The best she could do was ally with the human empire, "recycling" deserters and criminals. To force those who fled the war against the Demon King's army back into the fight, Chekhov gave her all.
Even if they later became heroes, defeated the Demon King, tracked her down, and drove a blade into her with "It was because of you I went through all that hell," she was prepared to accept it gladly. As long as the arena produced heroes capable of toppling the Demon King, no matter the trials they endured.
Was it because she'd held those thoughts in life? After the arena's fall, angels harvested the souls of the dead within. Then they offered Chekhov a deal: reincarnate in the mortal realm as is, or stay in the heavens and train promising heroes via a "tutorial stage." The outcomes were similar—throw them into extreme conditions to steel their will to fight. Chekhov accepted eagerly. But through countless loops, her spirit wore thin. Everyone thought she was alive, but in truth, they were all dead.
At each loop's end, everyone in the arena froze. No matter how many cycles repeated, their memories vanished, resetting to the first day—the day the promising heroes entered. Only one bore all those memories: Chekhov alone. She was exhausted.
Then came the hero Yoo Si-woo, a warrior worth betting her future on. She couldn't fathom how he fought like that or where he'd gained such experience. But her instincts told her to trust him. Maybe that man could make it possible. She was exhausted. With the hero she'd waited lifetimes for finally here, she wanted to abandon the loops and wait quietly. When the next arena stage opened, she'd be just another vampire A, stripped of all loop memories—but Chekhov felt a measure of satisfaction.
But then.
"Let's have sex once."
The hero proposed intercourse with her. Had he died sex-starved or something? Excluding sex, he was selfish but prioritized his survival, helping others minimally when he could spare it. Yet he seemed to align every action around sex. No incubus blood in him, surely. She wondered if he had incubus-like powers, but it didn't matter to Chekhov. She'd forget it eternally anyway.
He'd said, "Since you'll forget anyway, let's fuck before you go," but Chekhov just wanted to end this endless journey. Too much time had passed. Too many repetitions. She felt sorry for the man who saw her as a woman, but exhaustion won—she wanted rest. After forgetting everything, entering eternal sleep... what came next? If memories lingered briefly, even if reincarnation erased them, she hoped to be reborn in her homeland. Severing her lingering regrets, Chekhov quietly prepared for death.
But then.
"I will make you my familiar."
The regrets she'd suppressed, humbly accepted, surged up.
"I'll make you my familiar, Chekhov, and take you back to your homeland. And I'll show you myself—right here, by my side—the Demon King dying by my hand."
Killing the Demon King. Returning to her birthplace. Homecoming. A dream she'd never dared after death, one she'd yearned for but never believed possible, was unfolding now.
"Ah..."
Chekhov's world blurred into haze.
Did vampires even have tears? Chekhov wept so long she couldn't speak properly.
"...Ahem."
Only after sobbing did she compose herself before me.
"I don't know if the angel told you, but making me your familiar won't help you much."
"I already know that. Estiel already nagged me about it once."
"Nagged..."
Estiel shot me a pouty glare, but I just shrugged at her.
"Estiel. Any issues with me making Chekhov my familiar? Like balance problems in the tutorial?"
"It's not like promising heroes compete against each other, so why would gaining strong power break balance in any meaningful way?"
"Cool. No penalties then?"
"No penalties. It's just that you'll have to bear the power sustaining her existence."
"Mana, huh."
"Yes. Right now, divine power manifests her body, but the moment you exit the tutorial stage, you'll handle all her mana needs. And..."
"And?"
"I'll tell you after her familiar contract ends." Estiel hesitated, but seemed resolved to speak anyway.
"Estiel."
"Yes."
"We'll talk details later, but you're my guardian angel."
She looked conflicted but showed willingness to respect and trust my choice.
"Believe in me and proceed."
"Understood. Then... Chekhov." Estiel stepped before her.
"Do you wish to become promising hero Yoo Si-woo's familiar?"
"......"
"A soul contract bound by the heavens can't transfer smoothly without the party's consent. If you, Chekhov, don't wish to bind spiritually to Yoo Si-woo, as his guardian angel, I must earnestly request to void our contract."
"Estiel. That's—"
"What matters to me isn't the soul of a long-dead vampire, but the hero who might earn the Goddess's blessing and fell the Demon King."
"You too..."
Chekhov eyed Estiel up and down briefly.
"Did that man proposition you for sex too, angel?"
"......"
"Just tell me that much. Please."
"I won't deny it. We haven't had sex yet."
We got a handjob, though. No insertion or full-on 'sex.'
"...Understood. I accept. Angel, I, Chekhov, will become Yoo Si-woo's familiar spirit."
Familiar Bond Established
A flash of light wrapped around Chekhov's neck like a collar, the chain's end coiling toward my hand. At that moment of transfer, her body began fading from the bottom up.
"Ngh...?!"
Simultaneously, something vast drained from my body. Mana outflow. Mana to sustain Chekhov poured out in real time. An overwhelming amount. If I endured it passively, mana exhaustion could kill me—
"Yoo Si-woo."
Chekhov opted for temporary unsummoning now.
"You'll grow strong. And one day, when you're strong enough to summon and sustain me..."
She pulled me into a tight embrace against her chest, pressing her lips to my forehead.
"Take my virginity then."
Her body dissolved into mist, her warmth brushing my eyes.
"...Ah."
Crack.
If I'd known, I'd have said 'let's fuck' before the contract.