The underground fortress hummed — a colossal behemoth of stone, steel, and ancient defenses.
Vyom stood silent.
Mavran watched him closely — expecting questions, awe, maybe even fear.
Instead—
Vyom exhaled slowly through his nose.Rolled his shoulders once.
And spoke.
Flat. Bored. Almost annoyed.
"Shall we go to the Colosseum already?"
Mavran blinked.
Glitch materialized midair — arms flailing."WAIT WAIT WAIT BRO BRO — THAT WAS A WHOLE 'END OF THE WORLD' SPEECH — YOU'RE JUST GONNA—?!"
Vyom ignored him, stepping forward — each step casual, heavy, unshaken.
Mavran, for the first time in a long while, was caught off-guard.
Vyom stopped inches away from him.
His voice — low, deliberate — carved itself into the heavy air.
"I don't care who you are."
Another step closer.
"Or who you were."
Vyom's eyes gleamed — frostbitten steel, unshakable.
"Player. Ally. Enemy."
His words struck sharper than blades.
"I only have one goal."
A pause.
The whole fortress seemed to lean closer, waiting for his declaration.
"I will be superior to you."
Mavran's expression sharpened — the corners of his lips twitching, unreadable.
Vyom didn't stop.
"No matter who stands before me."
His hand brushed against the hilt of his blade — not as a threat, but as a promise.
"I am the ruler."
A simple, deadly truth.
"I already know why you called me here," Vyom said, voice heavy with certainty. "You want your successor—the current ruler of Zyphorion—to taste defeat. To experience something they've forgotten long ago."
A thin smile ghosted across Vyom's lips.
"And after all that boring worldbuilding crap—"he cracked his neck sideways, muscles flexing lightly—"—I'm itching for a fight."
Without waiting for permission — without even glancing back — Vyom turned.
Walked towards the exit.
Glitch stared at him, open-mouthed.
Mavran remained still, hands behind his back, watching Vyom's figure disappear into the fortress tunnels.
The old man's eyes narrowed — sharp and gleaming.
For a heartbeat, something ancient burned behind them.
Pride?Nostalgia?A warning?
Maybe all three.
Softly, too soft for Vyom to hear, Mavran muttered:
"Good… very good."
The air in the fortress shifted — alive, awake.
As Vyom marched forward into the unknown.
The Ruler had made his presence known.
The colossal Colosseum loomed — empty, silent, save for the three figures standing at its heart.
Kael Veyron Zenith — ruler of Zyphorion — waited calmly at the center.
He radiated casual authority — golden-black battle suit gleaming faintly under the artificial lights, every fiber of his body relaxed yet crackling with restrained power.
Mavran casually walked up the spiral stairs to the audience seats —with a snap of his fingers, a translucent dome of pure energy shimmered to life, sealing the entire Colosseum inside a high-grade isolation barrier.
"Go wild, boys," Mavran said lazily, seating himself atop a throne-like chair. "No need to hold back."
Down below, Kael smirked — his voice smooth, relaxed, yet carrying weight.
"My name's too heavy, kid," he said, crossing his arms. "Just call me Kyle."
Vyom gave a slow nod, cracking his knuckles, his entire body already tuning itself for battle.
No grand speeches.
No posturing.
Just warriors speaking in their native tongue: Combat.
Kyle smiled broader.
"Shall we begin?"
Vyom didn't answer with words.
He answered with action.
His body blurred — black and deep-blue lights twisting around him, forming into his combat suit.
A sleek, semi-organic armor — veins of unstable energy pulsing through plates of flexible dark alloy, almost serpentine in design.
It hugged his form perfectly — minimal yet monstrous.
Glitch whistled in the air, floating above.
"Whew... full armor already? Someone's pissed today."
Kyle, facing him, mirrored the move.
Golden-black streams burst from microscopic nodes along his skin — plating snapping into place almost instantly.
His armor was regal — a king's war attire, edged with intricate symbols, flowing like liquid steel when he moved.
The two stood across each other now — mirrors of power, yet completely different in their aura.
Vyom's was the storm — unseen yet suffocating.
Kyle's was the sun — blinding and oppressive.
From the audience stand, Mavran's voice echoed once more.
"Kiddo," he called out lightly, a teasing note underneath.
"You can fight as whoever you want to."
Vyom, tightening his gauntlets, allowed himself a faint grin.
'Their karmic points are clean enough,' Vyom thought.'No danger in revealing a little more.'
And so—
Without any hesitation, Vyom released the first seal.
Vein-lines of unstable darkness exploded across his combat suit — the ring's suppressed hunger snarling into visible form as spikes of kinetic energy crackled from his limbs.
The Ruler's true might — unfurling.
Kyle grinned wider, sensing the shift.
"This..." Kyle muttered, flexing his fingers, the ground beneath him trembling slightly,"...is going to be fun."
And with a sharp whistle from Mavran—the Colosseum's duel officially began.
The two rulers charged at each other, leaving behind nothing but afterimages.