The chamber of judgment trembled with anticipation. The arena, a vast circle of stone veined with pale aetherium, pulsed faintly as if aware of the stakes about to be decided. Elders of both sides—human and Lygari—sat in shadowed tiers, their robes heavy with age and burden. Below, in the circle of battle, two boys faced each other, yet neither looked like a child.
Zander's chest rose and fell as he steadied his breath. Sweat already dampened his brow, not from exhaustion but from the sheer weight of the moment. Around him, the chant of his people grew louder—
"Zander! Zander! Zander!"
He could feel their desperation pressing against his skin. Humanity was cornered, pushed to the edge by trial after trial. Now the stakes had been raised beyond reason.
From the opposite side of the circle, a figure approached with slow, deliberate steps. His silver hair caught the light like blades, his crimson eyes sharp as cut glass. His gait was regal, precise—every motion as clean as a blade stroke.
Zorix.
A pureblood of the Lygari royal line.
The moment he stepped forward, the air shifted. Zander didn't just see him. He felt him. The vibrations through the stone floor thrummed differently than any opponent before—perfect, seamless, without the gaps and irregularities Zander had learned to exploit. Where the others had struck like beasts, Zorix resonated like a flawless instrument tuned for killing.
Zander's stomach tightened. This wasn't like fighting a brute or a reckless challenger. This was an adversary who embodied refinement.
The Lygari side roared as Zorix raised his hand in greeting. Their voices became a wall of sound, chanting his name:
"Zorix! Zorix! Zorix!"
One of the human elders leaned forward, his voice cracking under the din. "They… they brought in a pureblood?"
Another clenched his fists. "Five times the ore. They're taunting us. They think the boy's defeat is inevitable."
The Lygari elders sat with smug composure, their wager heavy in the air. Fivefold payment if Zander won. But none of them expected to pay.
Zorix stopped a pace away and tilted his head, his expression calm, almost bored. His voice was silk over steel.
"You will not defeat me. Save yourself the humiliation. Yield now, and perhaps I'll spare you needless pain."
The words slithered through the arena like a verdict.
Zander's jaw tightened. Fury burned in his chest. He clenched his fists, feeling his nails dig into his palms. "Humanity is not easy to bully. If you want to break me, then try. But you will not walk away unscathed."
The human side exploded in cheers, louder than before, desperate, clinging to Zander's defiance. The chants of Zander! Zander! battled the Zorix! Zorix! from across the circle until the air itself vibrated with rivalry.
The elder presiding over the match gave a single nod.
"Begin."
Zorix moved first. He didn't lunge wildly like the others; he simply slid forward, a blur of motion, his palm cutting for Zander's ribs with surgical precision.
Zander twisted, barely. The strike passed him by with a whisper, the air cracking under its force.
He countered immediately, striking low, aiming for Zorix's legs. But the pureblood anticipated, pivoted on his heel, and his knee snapped up toward Zander's chin.
Zander jerked his head aside, the knee grazing past. He stumbled, caught himself, rolled forward, and spun to face Zorix again.
The crowd gasped. The clash had lasted only seconds, yet sparks had already flown.
He's faster. Cleaner. He feels… whole.
Every movement Zorix made was like a perfect note, without hesitation or discord. Zander's unique perception—his ability to hear echoes and feel vibrations—did not reveal flaws. It revealed terrifying harmony. Zorix's body was a rhythm Zander couldn't break.
Still, he refused to falter.
He dashed in, weaving, his feet slapping stone in erratic patterns, forcing odd angles. He struck, twisted, feinted. But every attempt met emptiness—Zorix slid aside, deflecting, turning each counter into an effortless brush.
The Lygari cheered. The humans leaned forward, hearts hammering.
Then Zander saw it—an opening, subtle but real. He feigned a stumble, let his shoulder dip, then lashed upward with a sharp elbow aimed at Zorix's jaw.
The strike nearly landed—nearly.
Zorix tilted his head at the last instant, the elbow grazing his cheek instead of breaking bone. His eyes narrowed. For the first time, his composure cracked into interest.
"I'm surprised," Zorix murmured. "I never thought humans had someone like you. But…" His aura sharpened. "I'm done playing around."
Zorix spread his arms slightly, and the air rippled. From his skin, a dark red glow seeped out, heavy and pulsing like a second heartbeat. It thickened around him, forming a haze that stung the eyes. The very ground beneath him darkened as the aura spread, oppressive and suffocating.
The human elders gasped.
"I've heard of this," one whispered. "Blood Aura… unique to the pureblood lineage. It amplifies every physical attribute—strength, speed, reaction."
Zander's throat tightened as the aura rolled toward him. His skin prickled, his lungs constricted.
Zorix blurred forward. Faster. So much faster.
A strike came—Zander dodged, barely, the palm grazing his cheek hard enough to sting. Another came, and another—his body twisted, rolled, bent backward in impossible ways, every movement desperate. Sparks burst as blows scraped the stone where he had just stood.
But he wasn't unscathed. Scratches opened along his arms, shallow but stinging. A knee caught his ribs, sending pain flaring. A backhand skimmed his jaw, rattling his teeth. He blocked one strike with his forearm—only to feel the bone jolt and his balance thrown.
The humans shouted his name louder, frantic. "Zander! Zander!"
Zander panted, forcing himself to focus. This aura… it's crushing. He's stronger, sharper, relentless. But no power lasts forever. There has to be a limit.
He centered his breath, narrowing his world to Zorix's rhythm. Every strike carved lines in the air, each graze mapping out a tempo. At first chaos, but then—a beat. A rhythm hidden inside the storm.
Still, each evasion cost him. His legs burned, his lungs screamed, his arms shook with blocked blows that rattled his bones. Blood trickled from a cut on his temple, dripping into his eye.
A strike slipped through, smashing into his ribs. He staggered, coughed—spat blood onto the stone.
The human side gasped.
Zander wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His vision swam.
I just have to hold on. Endure it. Survive the storm.
The aura flared brighter, Zorix's strikes coming faster, sharper. But now, Zander felt the edges. He bent, ducked, spun, each movement more instinct than thought. The crowd became distant noise, the elders forgotten. Only Zorix's rhythm mattered.
And slowly—ever so slowly—Zorix began to pant. The Blood Aura's brilliance flickered.
Zander's eyes sharpened. Now.
He forced his battered body forward, letting a strike slam into his shoulder. Pain exploded—his vision blurred—but he didn't stop. He used the impact to spin, twisting his body into momentum.
He gathered everything, every last shred of strength, every ounce of will. His leg snapped upward, wrapped in the spiral force of his Heavenbreaker style—
"Heavenbreaker Tempest Kick!"
The kick ripped through the air like a storm unleashed. Zorix's eyes widened as the strike crashed against his head. The pureblood's aura shattered under the impact.
Zorix was lifted from his feet, flipped in the air, and slammed into the stone floor with a deafening crack.
Silence.
The crowd froze, breaths caught. Dust rose from the impact, curling in the faint glow of aetherium veins.
Zander landed on shaky legs. He staggered, coughed—and blood spattered the ground. His chest heaved, every muscle screaming in agony. His vision darkened at the edges.
I… I did it.
The humans erupted. Cheers thundered through the chamber, echoing like waves crashing. "Zander! Zander! ZANDER!"
Across the circle, Zorix lay unmoving, his Blood Aura gone, body sprawled in defeat.
Zander swayed, nearly collapsing, but forced himself to stand. His body screamed for rest, but he would not fall while the crowd still chanted his name.
The Lygari elders stared in disbelief, their pureblood defeated. The human elders stared in awe, fear, and pride.
And for the first time, the silence between chants spoke louder than all.
The boy had won. But victory had carved blood and pain into his bones.