The Grand Coliseum breathed like a living beast. Tens of thousands of voices merged into a roar that shook the banners hanging from its crown. Trumpets wailed, drums rolled like thunder, and every seat was filled with faces craning to see the arena below.
Orin whistled, eyes wide, craning his neck until he nearly toppled over backward. "It's so big," he said reverently. "Bigger than Yira's laundry pile. And noisier!"
Code stood beside him, arms folded, face carved from stone. "Do not disgrace yourself," he said flatly.
Orin saluted. "Disgrace? Never heard of her."
"Focus, idiot."
On the other side of the arena's tunnel, Elyas Veynar emerged. The prodigy of the Academy moved with a precision that made the crowd hush before exploding in cheers. His white training robes carried no dust, no crease. His dark hair was combed back, and his eyes held the calm of a man who'd already measured his opponent.
Yullan watched from the mayor's balcony, her knuckles whitening on the rail. She glanced at Orin, who stood with shirt half-buttoned and hair sticking up like a scarecrow, grinning at nothing. She exhaled through her nose. Idiot.
The announcer's voice bellowed: "VELARIS PROUDLY PRESENTS! THE FIRST SEMIFINAL! ELYAS VEYNAR—ACADEMY'S DISCIPLINED PRODIGY—VERSUS… ORIN OF RIVERBEND!"
Half the crowd roared Elyas's name. The other half laughed when Orin tripped on his own foot while jogging out.
The gong struck.
Elyas lowered into stance: one foot forward, back straight, palms open, aura blooming like water spilling from a jug. It shimmered blue, clear, and serene. The air around him rippled faintly, as if his very breathing made reality shift.
Orin stretched his arms over his head, rolled his shoulders, then squatted low and flapped his elbows like a chicken. The crowd erupted in laughter. "Is he… warming up, or laying eggs?" someone shouted.
"Cluck, cluck," Orin muttered, eyes twinkling.
Then Elyas moved.
It wasn't flashy. Just a step. But the step covered ten paces in less than a heartbeat. His palm thrust forward, ki compressed into a narrow line. Orin crossed his arms just in time. The impact blew him back two meters, boots carving trenches into sand.
He coughed, blood on his lip, and grinned. "That tickled!"
Elyas pressed forward with a triple palm combo. Right—left—elbow. Each strike was a needle sewing him into place. Orin blocked two, the third thudded into his chest, rattling ribs.
Orin staggered, spat red, then burst into a laugh. "Your turn!"
He unleashed his Wild Fang Barrage—a flurry of chaotic punches, fists flying like hail. The crowd gasped as dust lifted in a storm. Elyas, expression unchanging, stepped small, weaving like water around stones. Each punch missed by a breath. He slid to the side and countered, one straight fist cracking against Orin's cheek.
Slow motion: Orin's head snapped sideways, spit arcing through air.
He laughed louder.
From the sideline, Code's voice cut sharp. "Focus, idiot!"
Orin froze, chest heaving. He remembered the stone slabs, the logs, the circles in dirt. His smile narrowed, sharpened. His feet planted firm.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Aura uncoiled—black smoke laced with blue sparks, but not flaring wild. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
He stepped forward. "Heaven-Splitting Palm!"
His strike came clean, ki slicing air. Elyas raised a guard. The palm smashed into his forearm—CRACK—ground splitting beneath their feet. Elyas slid backward two steps, eyes flickering for the first time.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. "He moved him!"
Elyas's lips curved faintly. "Not bad."
Orin's grin widened. "Thanks! Watch this!"
He thrust a Piercing Fang Fist. This time it wasn't messy. His fist drilled forward, aura condensed sharp. Elyas blocked, but the impact forced him back again, dust curling at his heels.
The crowd screamed. Even Yullan gasped.
Elyas breathed once, and his aura swelled. The blue shimmer tightened, condensing closer to his skin. It looked like liquid glass poured over his body, rippling with each subtle motion. When he stepped, the ground didn't crack—the air folded. When his fist cut, there was no roar—just compressed silence, then whump, as though reality itself shifted aside.
Orin's aura flared to answer, black smoke writhing, sparks snapping wild. The two auras touched and hissed—storm against water. Sparks sputtered, hissing like oil dropped in flame.
Elyas darted forward, palm cutting straight. Orin met him, Beast Stance dropping low. He stomped with Earth-Cracking Step, fissure racing out, dirt spraying like geysers. Elyas leapt aside, grace intact but landing heavier than before.
Orin threw his head back and laughed. "Circle upgrade! Bet you didn't see that coming!"
The crowd roared, some in disbelief, some in glee.
The pace shifted. Faster. Sharper.
Elyas struck first—palms flashing, each one sharp enough to split breath itself. He moved like ink lines drawn across a page, straight, flawless, without waste.
Orin met him with wild laughter, fists whipping in storms. His barrage came messy, but inside the storm his knuckles found rhythm—Code's training, the Piercing Fang hidden among the chaos. He roared, missed twice, landed once, missed again—then another hit clipped Elyas's guard, sparks biting the air.
The arena filled with the sound of collision. Ki howled, sand lifted in clouds, every clash throwing shadows long across the walls.
Elyas's blows hammered precise; Orin's tore unpredictable. One clean, one chaotic. One silence, one thunder. And between them, the ground split and the dust rose higher, until the crowd could barely see anything but flashes of blue and black-blue colliding.
Then silence fell. Not real silence, but the kind that swallows breath before a storm breaks.
Both fighters stood, panting, dust swirling between them.
Elyas exhaled. His aura thickened, deeper blue, translucent like a pool at midnight. Ripples shivered outward with every step. He raised his palm, condensed ki so dense it bent the air in front of it.
Orin's eyes lit like fire. Sparks raced across his arms, black smoke coiling tighter. He leaned low, Beast Stance trembling with power. His grin was bloodied, savage, and joyful.
He charged.
Elyas charged.
The stadium held its breath.
Elyas's palm cut forward, his aura condensed into a blade of liquid glass, blue light shimmering like a tide crashing inward. Every ripple from his ki spread across the sand, bending the air around his hand.
Orin dropped low, teeth bared, his fist wrapped in smoke and sparks. Black aura coiled tight like a storm compressed into a bottle, blue lightning flickering across his skin, snapping with each heartbeat. His grin gleamed bloody, wild, certain.
They moved together. The world slowed.
Sand rose from the ground in lazy spirals, caught between their opposing forces. Banners high above froze mid-flap. Even the roar of the crowd vanished, replaced by the pounding of Orin's heart. Thump. Thump. Each beat made the sparks flare brighter.
Elyas's eyes narrowed. Calm. Focused. His palm stretched for Orin's chest, ki humming with enough weight to crush stone.
Orin's knuckles drove forward, a dragon caged in smoke and lightning, released in one reckless burst.
The two auras collided—blue serenity meeting storming chaos. The impact didn't make a sound at first. It bent the world around it, a pressure so dense it silenced everything. Sparks hissed against water-ripples, black streaks slamming against liquid light.
Then, just as the collision reached its peak—
The page turned black.