Thousands of people filled the stadium, some barely able to remain in their seats for what was to come. Xerxes studied the crowd, their excitement almost tangible as they cheered and roared before anything had even begun.
Yet, a single voice quieted the masses, overshadowing the clamour of thousands. Daryul's words echoed throughout Heaven's Arena, drawing every eye—Nicolas' and Xerxes' parties in particular.
"Today, ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to Heaven's Arena, where we shall commence the next Eclipse Tournament!"
Both parties reacted to Daryul's proclamation, whether with fear or anticipation remained unclear, but the faces of Nicolas' group bore a cockiness that seemed to challenge the entire arena. The Embered Flames, however, stood apart, their demeanour starkly different for a party of their youth.
Daryul observed their expressions and something deeper within them. His rose-coloured eyes glowed once more as his grin widened.
"Very well, then. It seems both contenders are ready. Let every soul here heed these words: these battles are not mere barbaric bloodshed, but something far deeper. They are a testament to resolve, perception, and ambition—and today, that shall be proven!"
To Xerxes, the speech sounded like hollow motivation. Yet, was there something more Daryul sought in this tournament? He couldn't say, but oddities lingered—the arena's very formation, for instance. Could it be tied to this so-called perception?
Nicolas' boisterous voice cut through his thoughts. "Count on me to finish this zombie boy! Watch as my golden blade cuts him down—EVERYONE, BET ON HOW FAST I'LL END HIM!"
The crowd roared in approval, throwing a collection of various numbers. Xerxes understood: status swayed them, and spectacle enthralled them. They adored a show, and if they craved one, he wouldn't deny them. After all, nothing is more thrilling than an underdog's triumph.
Ignoring the taunt, Xerxes drew Morningstar, its silver gleam flashing toward his foes.
Daryul chuckled, as if intoxicated by the southern drugs of Layne. "Very well! If both sides thirst for battle, who am I to muzzle rabid hounds? That, in itself, would be inhumane. Embered Flames, Golden Blade—prepare! We begin in three seconds!"
Xerxes barked swift orders. "Embered Flames, coordinate tightly. Stick together for the first minute; we can't afford early eliminations. Understood?"
A resonant bell tolled, its vibrations shaking the arena. Before Xerxes could blink, a gust of wind lashed his face. "Airi?" he muttered, startled by the speed—it could have only belonged to her, couldn't it?
He was wrong.
Thornfum charged like a frenzied boar, his stocky frame wielding a warhammer twice his size. An incantation spilt from his lips, too swift to decipher.
Nicolas, panicking, shoved two bald dwarves forward. "What the hell are you useless charlatans doing? Stop that damned dwarf!"
The dwarves chanted in unison, "Crushing defeat", and twin pillars of earth erupted, surging toward Thornfum.
Xerxes froze as he began to see the enemy party assert themselves into a formation where Thornfum could easily be taken out due to his recklessness.
Whether from past trauma or sheer disbelief, he couldn't say why he froze. This wasn't the plan. Thornfum wasn't supposed to be this reckless! Xerxes stressed within his mind. Time was moving forward, but he wasn't. It was the lack of control—he feared it.
Then, movement flickered in his periphery, Leiya's back. She lunged forward, not just to adapt, but to prove she had moved on. This tournament was a gateway for Leiya to move on; she was doing exactly the thing he had lectured her on.
It was to adapt to circumstances and focus on the future, rather than being stuck in the past, but on what was to come. She really wanted to change things for herself, and it was evident.
"I'll cover you, Thornfum!" she roared. Mimicking an incantation—as per the strategy of not letting anyone know she had incantationless mana—she thrust her palms out. "Cascading Wave!"
A torrent of water collided with the earthen pillars, slowing their advance just enough for Thornfum to leap, his hammer arcing toward Nicolas. The golden-bladed warrior barely dodged, saving his himself but tearing his maroon jacket.
Thornfum grinned. "Scared of a bit o' mud, Nicky-wicky?"
Nicolas seethed. "Hold your tongue, you mad dwarf!"
"Iris, fire!" A cloaked woman, now dubbed 'Iris', melted into the treeline like an Eshvir goblin, hiding from plain sight. Five arrows shrieked through the air, spiralling into one unblockable force aimed at Leiya and Thornfum.
They braced—until a single word scorched the battlefield.
"Uprise."
Geysers of flame—similar to the ones native to the dragon districts in Fedradia—erupted, devouring the arrows without a trace of ash. The crowd gasped as Claudia and Xerxes stepped forward, hands outstretched. They exchanged a nod.
Nicolas clutched his head. "Imbeciles! Can none of you do anything right?"
Xerxes advanced, his comrades rallying. Their magic, their weapons—everything seemed to bend to the Embered Flames' will, as if fire itself wove new paths for them.
Airi spoke to Xerxes, solidifying his resolve. "All it took was that one action; now you'll be able to move forward."
"You're making a poor show of yourself, Nicolas. Babbling and firing half-arsed orders—you promised the crowd an easy victory, yet here you stand—all words, no steel."
Nicolas screamed, "I'm not even close to starting with yo—" and before he could finish, Xerxes activated his Orc soul shard. Xerxes closed twenty metres in a breath.
Crimson energy shimmered around him as he slashed horizontally, a force Nicolas barely blocked before hurtling backwards, crashing through terrain.
Leiya caught Xerxes' eye. They'd planned for this much in any scenario: isolate the enemy, force one-on-one battles. So she did exactly that, with a water-coated axe kick, splitting the earth and dividing the battlefield into numerous sections where one-on-one battles could be accessible.
Now, it was Xerxes against Nicolas.
Claudia, Thornfum and Leiya faced the dwarves and Iris.
The real fight had begun.
****
Nicolas was picking himself up from the splintered branches, holding his head. Blood curdled within his mouth as he spat it out. He muttered under his breath, "What in the six kingdoms was that? It must have been a fluke, right? Surely a single strike from some measly sword couldn't have done that."
He looked at his arms, which were slightly coated in a silver hue. "I activated my Mandilex soul shard, too? Was it my subconscious? Whatever it was, I won't let it happen again."
Nicolas finally raised himself from the ground, acknowledging what was happening on the battlefield. There were divots and cracks everywhere, which prevented easier access to one another.
Due to his hasty order as well, the dwarves' earthen pillars had created a lot of separation, which prevented further support from them. It was now clear to him that his only option was to fight Xerxes one-on-one.
Brushing his hair back slightly, he put two hands on his sword, gripping it with so much force that he wouldn't dare let go, as Xerxes moved forward into view—his one hand holding his sword, his other bandaged arm free.
"You are more than I thought, Xerxes, that I will not deny. Though you have not seen anything yet, bare your eyes and witness what I can do," Nicolas said through a chuckle that resounded with resolve in what he could do.
Raising his blade and twisting it before his face, "Luminance, holy style of the 7th," a gust of pressure followed his words, with Nicolas' blade donning a radiant hue that basked in a light so bright it looked as if it had been coated in ichor.
Xerxes attempted to observe it, but there wasn't time for that. Nicolas immediately dashed forward, leaving him in a forced defensive state.
He drove the blade straight towards Xerxes, activating his Mandilex soul shard. Xerxes surrounded his forearms with the strength to withstand the blow.
The blade met Xerxes', and what should have been a strike Xerxes could have easily blocked did the exact opposite. Pain rattled through his forearm bones as if they had been struck by a battering ram.
One singular ring of light circled Nicolas' blade after the attack, followed by an impact that pushed Xerxes back. But Nicolas couldn't help but wonder why he was not startled—it had been enough force to knock back Tier 5 equivalent beasts from the Forest of Dreams.
"Orion's Hunt: Reverie," Xerxes said, his teeth gnashing, with a gust of wind coming from his breath. His stance changed—one that accentuated his natural strengths—and that was, "Reverie extension speed."
Xerxes then slashed with tremendous speed, allowing him to execute both horizontal and diagonal slashes, all of which caught Nicolas. On the final sequence, Xerxes drenched his body with the full weight of his Orc and Goblin soul shards, combining both speed and strength.
Nicolas had already been slashed numerous times; deep wounds laced his body as if he were simply a training dummy from his childhood. Now, Xerxes was ready to end it.
His intention was clear—it was depicted upon Xerxes' face—as he thrust his blade directly into Nicolas' stomach, tearing straight through his flesh without hesitation.
The crowd covered their mouths in pity. The speed had totally outclassed him, as Daryul commented in amazement, "Has the underdog really taken Nicolas out of the battle? Is this the end for the Golden Blade, the child who was meant to win, as sworn by his words?"
An unnatural silence gripped the surroundings. The wind brushed across Xerxes' face as he stared down at Nicolas, whose grip on consciousness was slipping with every drop of blood lost to Morningstar's edge.
Then, the wind surged.
Leaves, once nestled upon the ground, spiralled upward as if summoned. No—not summoned. Reacting. They were heeding someone's call.
Nicolas' eyes twitched. One ring of light flared around his blade. Then another. And another. Seven in total.
His eyelids snapped open, revealing a subtle, radiant glow. His fingers clamped around Xerxes' wrist as if he were a whole new person with unfounded power.
"Earthen mana, heed my call. Subdue my foe within the soil from which you were born." His voice was a whisper, yet it carried the weight of the earth itself. "Quelling Oblivion."
Xerxes had no time to react. The ground beneath him turned liquid, swallowing his feet, then his knees.
Xerxes cursed, 'Shit. I can't even brace—I need to do something!'
He gritted his teeth, flooding his muscles with as much reinforcement as possible, activating as many soul shards as he could, but the earth's pull was relentless.
"7th Commandment of The Golden Order: Purge." Then, in a similar fashion to how Xerxes had carved into his flesh, Nicolas plunged his blade straight forward, with the burning radiance of the sun, cutting straight through any defence he thought he had.
A golden glow illuminated the entire battlefield as Nicolas stabbed his blade straight through Xerxes, his blood splattering all over Nicolas.
"AND NICOLAS HAS DONE IT—HE DID EXACTLY AS HE SAID, HE HAS WON!" Daryul's voice echoed throughout the entire arena, as the Embered Flames and the Golden Blade couldn't help but look at the sight—and it was horrific for the Embered Flames.