The air was heavy, laced with anticipation and trembling doubt. The stone arena stood vast beneath the rising twilight, its cracked floor echoing the stories of previous duels. Yet today, all eyes were locked on one man—Arslan.
He stood in the center of the ground, calm as ever. His black hoodie swayed lightly under the silent winds, his expression unreadable. The gleam of twilight kissed his pale skin, and his dark, messy hair fluttered like a shadow of intent.
Across him stood five knights of Eshalorn. Clad in silver armor etched with azure lines of power, they looked confident, powerful—and united in one thing: vengeance.
The crowd murmured. Whispers rose like a sea of doubt.
> "How is he going to fight all five?"
"Why hasn't he forfeited?"
"He'll be crushed... He should've left the match..."
A hush fell over the place like a prelude to a storm. Somewhere in the noble balcony, Queen Maria of Kaivelle leaned forward, her blue eyes sharp with curiosity. A faint worry tugged at her brows, but something in her heart—some unspoken intuition—made her wait.
Two crystals glowed at the far ends of the arena. Arslan still had to protect them.
And the knights? They wanted revenge. Their pride had been wounded in earlier matches, and now they stood not only to win, but to destroy.
> "He must pay," the leader of the five spat. "We'll take those crystals... and his pride with them."
And then—they moved.
The five knights rushed toward Arslan, weapons glowing with radiant force. Their auras collided like tidal waves, surging across the ground. But just when their blades were about to meet flesh—
Arslan vanished.
A breath skipped across the crowd.
> "Shadow Stride...?" someone whispered.
And then—he reappeared.
Behind the knights.
Calm. Collected.
> "I will punish you all," he said quietly, "by taking your powers. So... wait."
The knights snarled feel this as insult..., turned instantly, for the first time during this event .... They unleash the spirits and launched a full-powered assault. Blades swirled with wind, flame, and raw force. One of them roared and summoned a storm hammer; another launched a torrent of piercing beams.
Then—
BOOM.
A deafening blast.
Dust, smoke, broken stones.
Even the Queen gasped. Her fingers tightened over the railing as the smoke lingered.
> "That's... the end of him...?" a knight muttered under breath.
But no.
From within the swirling smoke... a shape rose.
Wings of black energy stretched from his back, carved from the abyss itself—Wings of Shadow. A pulsing, translucent barrier circled around him like a dark halo—his Dark Shield, unharmed.
Arslan hovered in the air, his face cold, his eyes burning with quiet resolve.
The crowd lost its breath.
Even Queen Maria couldn't help but smile.
> "He's still alive..." she whispered to herself, a warmth rising in her voice. "And those wings..."
The knights faltered. A moment of hesitation cracked through their confidence.
> "Tch... what the hell is this guy?" one whispered.
> "He blocked all of that?!"
But their fear didn't last.
With a unified shout, the knights charged again, blades glowing, fury rising.
Arslan stared down, voice sharp as ice.
> "That was me defending."
He slowly unsheathed his weapon—Volthren, a sleek, obsidian-forged sword laced with crimson pulses of dark flame and electric veins.
> "Now... it's my turn."
He held the sword skyward.
TRINEX SURGE.
A triple-elemental eruption—a triad of dark, fire, and lightning—formed a blazing corona around him.
Then—lightning struck.
It crashed down from the sky, lashing toward the ground in spirals—but just before impact, it shifted, morphed—into fire bursts trailing shadows.
The knights were caught mid-run.
BOOM—BOOM—!!
Two knights went down instantly. Their armors cracked; their consciousness faded.
The arena erupted with shouts. People stood in awe. Some gasped. Some covered their mouths.
The remaining three knights, now afraid, made a sudden dash—not toward Arslan, but toward the two remaining crystals.
> "We end this now!" one yelled.
But Arslan's eyes flickered with shadow.
Phantom Rift. Soulflare Dominance. Shadow Stride.
A combo of speed, power, and teleportation.
In a blink, he was in front of them.
They skidded to a stop.
> "No... no... you can't—"
But Arslan raised a finger.
> "No. You cannot run."
His voice was soft. Terrifying.
> "You started a war... But I'll be the one who ends it."
He closed his eyes for a moment. Then—he moved.
Night Piercer Veil activated.
Shadow slashes curved through the air, surrounded by Dread Spikes — enchanted blades of agony and protection. Arslan surged forward with his Soulflare-enhanced speed and began slashing through the air.
But his strikes weren't meant to kill.
He sliced low—precise strikes to disable.
The three knights dropped, screaming as energy fled from their legs.
Arslan landed quietly. The crowd was stunned silent.
He walked toward them, now fallen and barely conscious.
And then, softly...
> "I told you I'd take your powers."
He unsheathed a new tool—Void Chains—black, ethereal, binding weapons forged from the deepest wells of dark manipulation.
Dark Lash. Void Bastion.
The moment the combined power surged, the chains lashed out, wrapping around the knights, glowing and pulsating, feeding on their strength.
It was not pain—but the pull of soul. Their powers drained. Their energy vanished.
The crowd stood frozen. This wasn't revenge.
This was judgment.
Within moments, the chains dissolved, and the knights lay powerless.
Arslan, without a word, walked toward the two crystals.
He touched one—then the other.
A soft glow confirmed it.
Victory.
The crowd exploded into cheers. Some still stood silent, unable to comprehend what they had seen.
In the high seat, Queen Maria clapped softly. Her eyes remained locked on the lone figure standing at the center of it all.
> "Interesting..." she murmured.
There was something in the way he moved.
Not just a warrior...
But something ancient.
A force that no one had expected—yet now, no one would forget.
And Arslan?
He turned away. His eyes on no one.
Just silence.
Just calm.
He had won.
But something deeper stirred beneath the stillness.
The world had seen a glimpse—of something rising.
And it had wings of shadow.