The stars of these Gladiator Arenas were usually high-level Professionals.
The Misaar people captured Professionals above Level Five, made them fight one another, and placed bets on the matches for entertainment.
If there were no Level Five Professionals, they would spend some Level Four or Level Three ones, even Level One ones. Of course, the Misaar people would not send these low-level Professionals to their deaths. They would give them equipment and make them put it to good use.
They were all human, yet because they came from different planes and stood on different sides, they no longer treated each other as human.
Beneath the ruins, the Level Five Professional stared at the Level Seven who had just rushed out, his face filled with shock. He had died just like that?
Was it worth it for a Level Seven Misaar?
The Level Eight Zombie tore open the corpse of the Level Six Professional and grabbed the Level Seven Misaar, beginning to gnaw on him. At that moment, the Level Seven Misaar had not yet completely died.
Level Sevens possessed formidable vitality.
"Madmen, you're all madmen!"
"If I'd known, I would've killed you first!"
The Misaar's eyes were bloodshot and veined as he looked at the corpse of the Level Six Professional. He wanted nothing more than to drink his blood and eat his flesh, but he could do nothing now. He could only obediently let the Level Eight Zombie eat him.
Being eaten alive by another creature while fully conscious was an exceptionally cruel thing, but it was also the price these Misaar people deserved to pay.
The Level Eight Zombie forcibly devoured the Misaar's brain matter. The Level Seven's Law power slowly dissipated. About half a minute later, the Level Eight Zombie looked at the low-level Professionals around it