The clash of steel and magic had barely settled. Dust swirled in the fading light, and Selphira's aura, still blazing from her renewed resolve, clashed against Aurelian's relentless strikes. Every swing, every parry, carried weight—the history of generations, the pain of loss, and the burden of being chosen.
But then, without warning, the arena shook. A dark sphere of black flames hurtled from above, scorching the ground where it landed. The heat alone forced spectators to stagger back, and a shadow longer than the tallest tower stretched across the arena.
All eyes turned skyward. From the smoke and shadows, a figure descended, almost effortlessly, his presence radiating authority and terror. The black flame faded from the air around him as he landed gracefully, robes flowing like liquid night, horns glinting faintly in the sun's dying glow.
He surveyed the arena with measured calm, his voice smooth, courteous, yet carrying an undeniable malice:
"Ah… what a gathering. The famed Aurelian, the Chosen Hero, and Selphira, the esteemed champion of blades. How delightful to witness such pride… such spirited dedication. Truly, a festival worthy of my attention."
A chill ran down the spines of all present. Even those who had fought with the courage of lions felt the oppressive weight of his presence.
Selphira's grip tightened on her sword, her knuckles whitening.
"Zerathorn Veylis… you will pay for the flames that devoured my home and for my parents' lives!"
Zerathorn inclined his head slightly, maintaining the poise of a polite guest at a grand celebration.
"Ah… forgive me, my dear champion, but I do not recall every trivial occurrence. Some… moments, however, linger. That elf couple, so proud, so brave… and their child, scrambling helplessly… unforgettable in its fragility."
He let his gaze linger, each word a dagger of contempt wrapped in velvet politeness.
"And now, their offspring stands before me, radiant and strong. How… admirable. Yet so naive. Do you even comprehend the magnitude of what you face?"
Selphira's chest heaved. Tears threatened to spill, rage and sorrow mixing into a blazing storm.
"Naive? I'll show you… I will never forgive you for what you did! I will never—"
Aurelian stepped forward, voice firm, steady:
"Selphira… we need to work together. Stop letting anger control you—if we fight separately, he'll crush us both!"
For a fleeting moment, her eyes met his. The rational part of her mind urged caution, but the demon's words, his arrogance, ignited a wildfire of fury. "Don't… order me! I am not yours to command!"
The clash reignited. Selphira surged forward with renewed aggression, every swing of her blade sharper, infused with the pain and memories of her childhood—the laughter of her parents, the warmth of her home, and the terror of that night. Every strike was a scream, every parry a plea for justice.
Aurelian matched her, stepping into the dance of blades with everything he had. He had no idea of her past, but he knew the rhythm of her fury, the patterns of her strikes, and the silent, burning resolve behind them.
From the shadows, Zerathorn's smile widened. Polite, calm, and icy, he clapped once, lightly.
"Such spirit… admirable, yet futile. You fight with valor, yet it is so… amusing to watch. Let us see if your combined strength can entertain me for more than a few moments."
His minions began to materialize from the shadows, dark forms with gleaming eyes and jagged weapons. Their presence drew a gasp from the crowd. Even the participants who had been defeated earlier took a defensive stance.
One by one, familiar faces—the tournament contestants—joined the battle lines. Though defeated, they had not forgotten their honor. They spoke with respect yet determination:
"We will handle the demon's minions. You—the hero and Selphira—focus on Zerathorn."
Selphira's brow furrowed, still furious, but Aurelian's steady presence calmed the sting of pride. With a nod, she allowed herself to step back slightly, focusing on the greater threat.
Zerathorn's voice cut through the rising roar of the battle:
"Ah… finally, the loyal servants show their worth. How quaint. Fight bravely, for it may amuse me to watch you struggle."
With that, chaos erupted. Minions clashed with contestants, steel ringing against steel, magic flashing across the arena. Aurelian and Selphira moved as one, striking with precision, covering each other's weaknesses, yet always aware of the looming shadow of Zerathorn.
Every step, every strike of the hero and champion was mirrored by the laughter and mockery of the noble demon, whose aura seemed to sap the courage of even the most hardened warriors.
And in that storm, one truth was clear: victory would demand every ounce of skill, every spark of courage, and an unbreakable bond between the hero and Selphira.
The stage was set. The final battle had truly begun.