Crow had spent every moment since he and Amara split off working on a new way to climb the coliseum walls. The old path had been locked down and reinforced, guards posted where before there had been gaps. But persistence paid off. Now he lay prone, pressed flat against stone, his right eye peering down the scope of his bone-sniper. His breath was steady, his grip firm. One squeeze, and one of the organization's problems—Xain—would be gone.
"Everyone! You can enter now!" Quincy's voice rang clear as she raised a finger. One of the arena walls split apart, slabs grinding as the path opened. From behind it, the fighters stepped forward together, their silhouettes breaking into view before they emerged into the light. Each wore the same gear they had carried into battle, weapons still strapped at their sides or held firmly in hand.
The roar of the crowd rose like a wave, cheers and clapping echoing across the coliseum. They weren't cheering a single champion this time—they were cheering all of them, the fighters who had given this year its spectacle.
"Before all this, I never thought I'd hear people cheering for me," Ulrich admitted, smirking as his eyes swept over the audience.
"I think that goes for most of us," Vilak muttered, his staff clenched in both hands. His head stayed low, still unused to the attention, but the tightness of his grip betrayed how hard he was working to steady himself.
"But it feels so good to be cheered on by them~," Mae said with a bright laugh, her shoulders loose as if the praise rolled right into her veins.
"It truly does. It makes you feel like the very center of Aetheria," Annabel added with a smile, calm but touched.
"Or like the protagonist of a story," Xain said. Which was ironic. *Did you know what Winter was like after being declared the Chosen One?* he asked the Demon Lord inside his head.
*Less smug and cocky than you'd expect,* Ercale replied flatly. *He was infuriatingly carefree.* His voice cut off there, silent once more.
"I feel like we ought to bask in this while it lasts," Calvinel said, waving at the crowd with open enthusiasm.
"I agree," Amos replied, sweeping his hat off and lifting it high with a grin. "Doubt we'll ever feel this again."
"Unless we fight again next year," Lexy countered with a smirk, tossing kisses to the crowd as though the cheers were meant for her alone.
"If it's fighting you all again," Gurion began with a small chuckle, "I really would rather not."
"I have experienced this many times before," Hittag rumbled, raising a fist toward the crowd, "though never with so many gathered to see."
"I feel out of place," Callum muttered under his breath, gaze lowered. "Should I even be standing here like this? Human or wolf… I don't know which I should be."
"I wonder if they'd cheer as much if they knew what I am," Edluar said absently, his tone curious and quiet.
"Ponder that later. Right now the event's about to begin," Bryanard reminded him as they closed the distance to the central platform.
Zeva waited for them at the podiums, her posture steady, the champion's calm already settling into her shoulders. She glanced at them as they approached. "What did you think?" she asked, meaning the fight.
"You did great! And we're definitely drinking to this later," Mae said as she strode up beside her, grinning ear to ear.
"You're being oddly friendly," Zeva replied, surprised enough to let a small smile slip.
"I mean—you put up such a brutal fight. It was amazing! I loved every second," Mae explained, unashamed.
Zeva let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head, but the smile didn't fade. "Of course that's the reason."
Calvinel gave her a thumbs-up from behind, half-hidden as he used Callum as an impromptu shield. "We'll celebrate your victory at the inn. Don't you worry."
"It feels a bit empty without Even being here," Xain muttered, his eyes drifting toward the vacant spot where the second-place fighter should have been.
Before anyone could reply, Quincy descended from above, wings slowing her fall before she pointed toward them with her usual flair. "Alright! Are all of you ready?" Her voice carried across the arena, but even as she smiled, there was a faint weight in her tone—she felt Even's absence just as strongly. That was how it usually went: the runner-up too battered to stand for the crowning. Only on rare occasions did both finalists share the stage, when the match ended in surrender rather than unconsciousness.
"We're as ready as we'll ever be," Amos answered with a steady nod.
Quincy returned it, then flared her wings and shot back into the air. "Then let's begin!" she declared, her voice echoing against the stone. "For third place, we honor the fighters who, despite a valiant struggle, could not reach the final match. Please welcome—Xain and Sir Calvinel!"
The coliseum erupted as the tournament staff fired fireballs into the sky, the burning trails spelling their names across the open air. Both fighters rose to their feet. Calvinel strode to his podium confidently, greatsword in hand, lifting the blade overhead to bask in the roar of the crowd. Cheers swelled for him, though Zara's glare was sharp enough to cut through the noise.
Xain stepped forward more hesitantly, shoulders tight, unsure how to carry himself in that moment. He climbed onto his podium stiffly, awkward under so many eyes. Yet Zee, Larkin, and Clara drowned the silence with loud cheers, their voices breaking through the din. Nori scribbled his excitement furiously in his notebook, while Amara only narrowed her eyes at him from a distance. Even so, the rest of the fighters clapped and whistled in recognition of both third-place finishers.
Quincy took a breath before continuing. "For second place, we have the fighter who battled his way to the very end, putting up a brilliant fight but falling just short of the title. Though he is currently recovering, it is Even M—"
"Wait!"
A single word cut her off. Heads whipped toward the far side of the arena, toward the same opening from which the fighters had first entered. There stood Even, chest heaving, sweat slick on his skin. His steps were unsteady, his breaths ragged, but still—he was standing. The crowd hushed in disbelief, his father's glare burning from the stands, his brother staring wide-eyed at the sight.
Even began walking, each step shaky yet deliberate, carrying him toward the center platform. Quincy flew down to meet him halfway, her face tightening with concern. "Are you alright? You should be resting."
"I should be," Even admitted between breaths. "I really should be. But I need to be here. I'm not going to just lie down while everyone else stands tall."
Quincy studied him for a long moment, then turned back to the crowd. "It's Even Mathers! Despite being knocked out, he has walked back into the arena to claim his place as second!"
The coliseum roared. Even smiled faintly at her words before moving past. As he stepped by Zeva, she muttered low enough for only him to hear, "Showoff. Now you're going to steal the attention even though I'm the champion... you earned it."
He gave her a brief glance and a nod, then climbed onto the second-place podium. The crowd's roar swelled again—Lia clapped until her palms stung, Dirk punched the air in triumph, his brother cheered on quietly, and his father continued to glare down at him in silence.
"And now for the champion—the one who stands above all, the one who has conquered the entire Tournament of Greatness!" Quincy's voice rang out, her timing perfect as the staff loosed fireballs skyward. The flames twisted and burst apart, forming letters that blazed her name across the sky.
"Zeva Blossom, The Blade!"
The coliseum erupted. Zeva let her eyes sweep the stands, then over the fighters who had stood beside her. With steady steps, she ascended the highest podium, her expression unreadable beneath the roar of the crowd. Quincy descended, weaving a crown of platinum set with brilliant jewels in her hands. She lowered it with ceremony, setting it upon Zeva's head. The noise surged again—cheers, whistles, chants—the celebration of a new champion crowned.
But in that same moment, Crow had his sights locked. His rifle steadied, finger curled on the trigger, teeth bared in a grin. At the very height of the triumph, he whispered, "Goodnight," ready to send a bullet through Xain's skull.
Then it struck.
Ercale, within Xain's mind, felt the ripple of something all too familiar. Sarandel, seated in the stands, stiffened at the unmistakable taint of a violation she knew by bitter memory. Wolf's sixth sense screamed, a surge of danger prickling through him. Three warnings at once, all snapping toward the same direction—toward the city's center, outside the arena.
The skies darkened without warning. The bright sun vanished, smothered beneath rolling black clouds. A hush of confusion spread through the arena. Crow hesitated, frown cutting through his grin. "What the heck is happening?" X muttered near Sarandel.
"A violation," she answered coldly, eyes narrowing.
Rain began to fall, but not with the patter of water. It was silent, crimson drops spilling from the sky. The red rain slid across stone and skin without staining a thing, eerie in its weightless descent. Murmurs rose, confusion mounting—until the sound hit.
A tearing noise, violent and unnatural, ripped through the air. Every soul felt it in their bones. A wave of dread pulsed outward, silencing the crowd.
At the center of Arcadicia, space itself split apart. A portal yawned wide, its edges writhing with black fire. From it stepped a figure that dwarfed all others. Eight feet tall, his form was an unholy fusion of sinewed muscle and sleek, armor-like plates that shifted like living shadow. His hands ended in claws, long and curved, catching the light with lethal sharpness.
Only his face was human, and that made it worse. Strong, almost regal features, but drained of warmth, his skin ashen. Black hair streaked with grey like scorched ash framed his face and fell to his shoulders. From his brow curved a pair of horns, elegant in shape but menacing, twisting like a natural crown.
Three eyes regarded the world: two burning with serpentine red irises, the third a vertical slit on his forehead glowing with eerie life. His gaze swept across the city square, meeting the frozen stares of ordinary people halted in terror.
Behind him, a barbed tail swayed, lined with vicious rows of tiny spikes that scraped faintly against the stone. He raised his hands slowly, savoring the weight of the moment, his expression steeped in cruel satisfaction.
"Greetings, Aetheria!"
King Domine had arrived. His invasion had begun.
End of Arc 7.