The announcement of Fayl's withdrawal still lingered in the air, like a note that never quite resolved.
Whispers bounced through the stands. The murmurs weren't about Fayl, he was already forgotten.
They were about Jacob.
About what it meant for an Elite to withdrawal.
Ayling didn't let the silence drag.
"Well then," he chuckled.
"we move on! Match Two - Naeva Solene versus Izan Thorne!"
The crowd shifted, uncertain how to feel.
The screen flared to life, snapping attention forward as the two figures stepped out.
Naeva moved like wind over water.
Fluid. Pure.
Her shoulder length raven hair, swaying in the wind. Her uniform was untouched.
Perfect.
Tap tap tap
She didn't look at Izan.
The one in question; walked with heavy steps.
Taller, broader, a scar etched across his face. His hands were tucked into his pockets until the last second.
Expression unreadable.
"Solene...Throne..." Ayling's voice lowered into something dramatic.
"Begin!"
Naeva jumped back immediately.
WOOSH!
Izan, moving fast, he extended his palms out. Magic condensing.
He flared his arms forward.
A wave of concussive force screamed forward, warping the air. Not flash, not slow.
Brutal and direct.
RUMBLE!!
A wraith spirit appeared next to Naeva. It was mirroring her from above as she dodged to the side.
It's long limbs flapped in the air.
With a flick of her finger, the wraith charged at Izan.
The tendrils of ghost-light reaching him like grass vines.
Izan simply rose one palm....
CRACKK!
The air shattered.
A ripple of pressure detonated in a wide area.
Pure kinetic force. Magic, Izan was all to familiar with.
The ghostlight was obliterated, flinging Naeva back, but not before her wraith caught her mid-air, twisting her to safety.
"He didn't even chant..?" the crowd muttered.
The pure destruction of that spell echoing in the surrounding.
The ground seemed to lower.
Naeva's face was cool.
Initiating first, she burst out, shifting again.
She used her wraith, it's arm extending, a ghost-claw lashing out.
ASHHH!
Izan pivoted with surprising speed for his size.
Moving his foot, Naeva closed the gap in an instant...
But when she appeared on his left...
BOOOSHH!
A force node he'd planted in the ground with his foot earlier, detonated.
It struck Naeva.
The force of kinetic energy, destructive.
The wraith was thrown away in the detonation, whilst Naeva clattered away.
"....Pre-set pressure traps."
Wasting no time, he charged at Naeva....
WHOOSH!
But when he got closer.
His senses shut.
A faint ripple, unnoticed by most.
He'd walked into a trap.
A false sense of security.
One she very engineered.
Naeva appeared behind him, wraith attached to her, its arms folding around her shoulders like a cloak of death.
Tap
Tapping his shoulder along with the wraith...
She chanted something and before you know it:
Crash!
He crashed to the floor....
The fight was over.
The arena hushed.
Even the announcer hesitated.
Naeve stood over him, wraith folding into her back.
"Izan Thorne is unable to continue" Ayling voiced.
A beat.
Then applause - quiet at first. Not out of disrespect.
But awe.
She didn't bow, and walked back to the waiting area.
Everyone staring at her raven hair, and poker face.
"So that's spirit bonding..."
"Not power. Presence."
Maerth Olin let out a low breath.
"She never needed flash", he murmured, "just timing."
A smile tugged on Mireya's lips, "Izan didn't even see her spirit until it was too late."
Korreth grunted, "Classic misdirection. That wraith has range."
Jael remained silent a moment longer, before continuing, "That's the first true use of Spirit Bonding we've seen today."
"Let's hope the rest don't disappoint."
----
Match 3: Lyria Skorne vs Caelun Redd
Match Three. Lyria Skorne versus Caelunn Redd.
A moment of silence before the crowed whispered.
Two students stepped forward.
One dressed cleanly, a flowing coat, silver-lined and adorned with a beast insignia. The other - unassuming, hair tousled, eyes unreadable.
Lyria walked calmly.
A quiet ripple passed through the stands.
A large spectral beast shimmered faintly behind her. A towering feline silhouette that seemed to flicker in and out.
Caelun didn't glance at the beast behind her. He just stood there.
Ayling looked left and right. "Begin!".
WHOOSH!
Lyria struck right away.
Her beast roared as a flash of purple energy surged forward.
It wasn't just a summon. It was synchronisation.
The air bent as she and the feline moved in tandem, slashing toward Caelun, leaving afterimages in their wake.
He barely moved.
A step, a tilt.
He slid under the beast's claw, and sidestepped the edge of Lyria's strike.
Slowly, his raised his foot...tapping the ground.
BOOM.
Dust shot up as the ground cracked underneath.
Lyria's eyes narrowed in shock as the boy charged at her.
Before he could address Lyria, the beast lunged again.
It's fangs bared at Caelun, appearing in an instant.
HASSH!
He flicked his hand out.
A sudden explosion of light coming forward.
BANGG!
It wasn't elegant.
Colliding with the beast, it sent it sprawling backwards.
It recoiled, growling. Dazed.
Then Caelun shifted foward. Expression still unreadable. His aura rose.
A flicker. A spark.
He appeared behind Lyria.
Nothing flashy.
A hand on her shoulder.
"Match," he said.
The crowd was silent.
Aylind raised a hand. "Winner: Caelun Redd."
It was quick.
Making the unassuming boy shine in everyone's eyes briefly.
Lyria didn't argue the decision. She walked off, her beast fading with each step.
No anger.
Just a quiet gaze.
Caelun bowed to her slightly, walking back to the waiting room.
"That was too easy", someone muttered.
The crowd pulsed, discussing the match.
"These matches are crazy...but there too quick.." one muttered.
"Yeah. I just hope we get Jacob vs Kalen! That should be good."
------
Moments before Match 4, the crowds energy hadn't dulled.
But inside the waiting room, the world was quieter; except for Kalen's breath.
It wasn't loud.
But it was off.
Too controlled.
Like he was forcing a calm to mask a boiling underneath.
He sat in a far corner, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked on the ground.
The gauntlet time.
The stares from his father...
Jacob's smirk.
All of it replayed.
Again.
And again.
Each breath was a war.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
His chest still tightened. Muscles tensed.
He flexed a hand once, twice, before curling it into a fist.
GRIP
"Can't lose. Not again."
-----
The coliseum roared as the names flashed midair.
Match 4: Kalen Voss vs Selle Varn
The stone floor rumbled faintly.
No terrain changes. No illusions.
Flat ground.
Ayling's voice echoed.
"Step forward."
They emerged.
Selle moved with a dancer's poise.
Braids swept back. Expression unreadable.
Measured steps, calm hands, no wasted motion.
Across from her, Kalen walked slow.
His gaze didn't waver. Breathing stilled.
No flourish or smirk.
Just presence.
"Begin."
Gravity warped.
Selle launched the moment the call dropped, a snap of wind funnelling her limbs as she utilised speed magic.
WHOOOSH!
WHOOSH!
A burst of momentum, angling, aiming to catch Kalen before he'd settled.
He didn't need to.
CRACK! CRACK!
The ground beneath her folded.
A pulse erupting from Kalen's compressed force.
Gravity surged from his foot, inverting the field instantly.
She was forced to abort the sudden rush.
Flipping in the air, she almost landed.
But Kalen was already there...
He moved like weight didn't apply to him. His weight doubling everything else however.
CAVE
Selle threw wind magic towards him.
He tilted. His head, and the space between them.
The gravity inverting the ground, her legs caught it wrong.
A step late, helpless in midair.
He grabbed her by shirt.
BOOOM!!
The weight of gravity sending Selle straight through the ground...
Not enough to break her.
But enough to end it.
The arena judged.
Winner: Kalen Voss
The murmurs layered. Not cheers. Shock.
He'd won with absolute control.
The instructors exchanged glances.
From his seat, among the noble delegation.
Lord Drevon Voss, simply narrowed his eyes. No change in expression.
It was over quickly, with Selle being escorted, no major injuries apparent.