The Great Colosseum still buzzed with the echoes of Thaddeus' bitter defeat. Edric Blackmoore's cocky laughter lingered like a foul taste on the tongue, souring the atmosphere, leaving the air tight with tension. But before silence could settle too long, Kaizer's voice boomed across the arena, carrying his trademark flair:
"Well, well, folks! If shadows couldn't snuff out that smug grin in the last round, maybe a storm can wash it away. And by storm—oh, you know who's coming next."
The sand beneath the arena cracked faintly as Jerken Knightmore stepped forward. His white hair gleamed beneath the lantern lights, his blue eyes sparking like the calm before lightning. His presence alone seemed to hum with static; every step was heavy, deliberate, and yet buzzing with restrained energy.
Across him, Thalassa Corvane raised her chin, sapphire eyes gleaming defiantly. Her hands stretched outward as faint ripples of water began to seep from the tiles beneath her feet, a soft rushing sound filling the hall. Even in the dryness of the stone arena, the tides answered her, curling into serpentine streams that swirled at her command.
Kaizer leaned forward dramatically, grin wide.
"Oh-ho! Now this is textbook elemental clash—lightning versus water. If you were betting people, I'd tell you to hold your pockets tight, because this one's gonna be electrifying. Literally."
A few sophomores chuckled, though the tension was palpable.
The signal was given.
Thalassa struck first. Waves rose like fangs, surging forward, swallowing half the field in a curtain of water. Jerken didn't even flinch. His body glowed faintly, arcs of pale-blue electricity skating across his arms. He stepped into the incoming tide—and the moment water touched him, it screamed.
The entire arena erupted into blinding white as lightning forked through the summoned flood. The scent of ozone, sharp and metallic, filled the air. Thalassa gasped, her streams shattering into steam as the voltage ripped through them.
"Is that… all?" Jerken's voice was calm, almost bored, but thunder rumbled beneath his words.
Before she could reform her tide, Jerken blurred forward—faster than the eye could follow. His blade, wreathed in crackling bolts, slammed into the ground at her feet. A pillar of lightning exploded upward, throwing Thalassa off her stance, her control slipping as her own summoned waters turned against her.
Kaizer gasped theatrically.
"Yup—ladies, gents, and everyone in between—this is why you don't bring a puddle to a lightning storm! Jerken Knightmore is showing us why thunder answers to no tide!"
The last strike came like judgment. Jerken raised his hand to the ceiling, drawing lightning out of nothing—out of the very air—and then drove it down like a spear. The blast shattered through Thalassa's defenses, leaving her crumpled on the stone floor, unable to rise.
The arena shook with cheers and gasps. Jerken, unmoved, lowered his blade… then turned his cold gaze across the crowd. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted a finger and pointed—straight at Edric Blackmoore.
A hush fell. Jerken didn't speak a word. He didn't need to. The challenge was thunder in itself.
Then, without so much as acknowledging the roaring whispers of the audience, Jerken turned his back and walked away, sparks still crackling faintly in his wake.
Kaizer cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
"Uh, well… I don't know about you all, but I suddenly felt my life choices judged. That stare could fry my soul harder than that lightning fried poor Thalassa."
The laughter was nervous, strained.
---
The tension hadn't yet lifted when Kaizer raised his hand again.
"Alright, alright, no time to mourn tidal waves and pride. Because next up—we've got another duel to rattle your bones and maybe your eardrums!"
Vexana Tret Gewerson stepped forward. Short violet hair framed her pale face, her black eyes calm but sharp. The hall quieted at her presence—because unlike Jerken's storm, hers was silence. A suffocating stillness seemed to settle as if sound itself bent away from her.
Her opponent, however, shattered that silence with a laugh. Gideon Ashcroft strolled onto the arena, sandy-blonde hair tousled, sea-green eyes flashing with mock confidence. His blade swung lazily at his side, as though this was no battlefield, but a stage for him alone.
"Well, well…" Gideon drawled loudly, smirking at Vexana. "Guess I'm the lucky one today. A little violet-haired doll for me to spar with. Try not to break too easily, sweetheart. Wouldn't want to mess up that pretty voice of yours."
The hall shifted uncomfortably. A few sophomores chuckled at his arrogance, but among the freshmen, reactions hardened—Klyden leaned forward but didn't laugh, lips pressed into a rare frown. Liora's disgust was etched clear on her face. Wads only raised a brow, silent but watchful.
Vexana said nothing. She simply raised her hand.
The sound that followed was not a sound—it was the collapse of sound. A crushing wave of silence rolled through the hall, heavy and suffocating. Gideon's smirk faltered, his ears ringing as the very air trembled. Then came the retaliation—a sharp, piercing resonance that shattered stone tiles beneath his feet.
"Now that's what I call heavy metal!" Kaizer quipped, earning nervous laughter. "Though, uh… I don't think our sophomore likes the tune."
But Gideon wasn't finished. With a flicker, his afterimage darted forward. His body seemed to split into three, each lashing at Vexana with delayed strikes. She dodged the first, silenced the second with a shockwave, but the third slipped through, his blade grazing her arm.
He laughed, cruel and taunting.
"Come on, doll. Sing louder for me."
The fight turned brutal. Each of her sonic blasts shattered his illusions, but his persistence wore her down. Echo after echo, strike after strike—until finally, one illusion caught her from behind. The blow staggered her, knees buckling.
And Gideon stood over her fallen form, smug victory plastered on his face.
He leaned closer, his words dripping venom loud enough for all to hear:
"Guess silence really doesn't suit a woman. Shame. I almost liked watching you struggle."
The hall froze. Not laughter this time—only a heavy, bitter silence.
Klyden's fists clenched but he didn't rise. Liora's lip curled in disdain, her glare sharp enough to kill. Wads tilted his head slightly, watching, expression unreadable.
But among the others—Ysoria, Ashborne, Jerken—there was no silence. Only the simmer of anger, controlled but undeniable.
Kaizer cleared his throat, trying to mask the shift in atmosphere with humor, though even he sounded strained:
"…Well. That was… certainly a duel. Not the ending I'd clap for, but a win's a win, folks. Let's hear it for Gideon Ashcroft… though personally, I wouldn't invite him to karaoke night."
The laughter this time was thin, brittle.
The matches had grown darker. And everyone felt it.