The city of Veloria awoke in a storm of drums.
The grand coliseum towered in the distance, its banners stretched to the wind, its stone walls vibrating with the pounding of thousands of feet as citizens swarmed for the greatest fight the kingdom had ever seen.
But in a small corner shop on a quiet street, Orin was too busy eating.
"Woohoo! This is the BEST!" Orin shouted through a mouthful of rice, bits of food spraying from his lips. "I get to fight the devil guy AND eat chicken? Today's the best day ever!"
He was ten years old, barely tall enough to sit comfortably at the table, yet the plates before him looked like the aftermath of a royal banquet. Fish bones stacked high, bowls of rice licked clean, chicken stripped down to nothing but glistening bone.
Yullan sat across from him, her knuckles white around a teacup. Her face burned red, though whether from anger or fear even she didn't know. "Are you insane?! You saw what he did to Sir Galven! That man is a monster! And you—you're just a kid!"
Her voice cracked, betraying her fear.
Orin leaned back, grinning, a drumstick still in hand. "Don't worry, THIRD WIFE. If he breaks me, I'll just get stronger bones!"
Every other customer in the shop froze. For one tense heartbeat, the only sound was the sizzling of food in the kitchen. Then laughter broke out—loud, uncontrollable, spilling from lips of villagers and city folk alike.
Yullan's face turned crimson. She slammed the table so hard her teacup jumped. "W-WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT MARRIAGE?!"
Orin blinked at her, genuinely puzzled, then smiled wide again. "Don't worry, I'll make it official after I win!"
The laughter grew louder.
From the corner, Code's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Enough nonsense."
The martial artist leaned forward, his gaze heavy, his tone darker than iron. "Orin. This isn't a game. That thing you're about to face isn't human. Today, you will stand—or you will fall. There's no in between."
For once, Orin went quiet.
He placed the drumstick down and clenched his small fist. Sparks of blue light danced across his fingers, lightning crackling faintly in the air. His grin softened, just slightly, into something sharper.
"I know," he said. "That's why I'm excited." He tilted his head back, eyes gleaming. "I finally found someone who won't break after my first punch."
Yullan bit her lip, her chest rising and falling. The boy was an idiot, reckless, impossible. And yet… there was something in his eyes, a fire that made her heart twist. She whispered under her breath, "Idiot… just come back alive."
But Orin only leaned forward, grinning wider. "Don't worry, THIRD WIFE. We'll make it a honeymoon trip after the match!"
Yullan's scream echoed across the shop as the crowd collapsed into laughter again.
By the time the three of them reached the coliseum, the streets were alive with a tide of humanity. Merchants shouted, flags waved, children rode on shoulders, all of them buzzing with anticipation and dread.
The coliseum gates loomed, swallowing them whole. Inside, the noise hit like a storm. Tens of thousands of voices roared, stomping feet, beating drums, a living earthquake.
The announcer's voice cut through it all, magically amplified, shaking the air:
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WELCOME TO THE GRAND FINAL! THE CLASH OF LIGHTNING AND DARKNESS!"
The crowd roared.
"IN THIS CORNER—THE BOY WHO DEFIED MONSTERS, WHO STOOD AGAINST THE DEVIL HIMSELF—ORIN, OF RIVERBEND!"
The gates creaked open.
Orin stepped out.
He was a child, no more than ten. His martial arts clothes, stitched lovingly by Yira, hung loose on his small frame. But as he walked, sparks snapped across his shoulders, black-and-blue aura crackling in the air.
And he grinned.
"Woooow! Look at all these people!" he shouted, waving with both hands as though he were the main act of a festival. "Are they here for me?"
The crowd burst into laughter and cheers.
From the noble stands, Yullan screamed, face scarlet. "MORON! Wipe your mouth at least!"
Orin turned toward her, eyes bright, voice booming so loud the whole arena heard:
"Thanks for the breakfast, THIRD WIFE!"
The coliseum erupted. Nobles nearly toppled from their seats, guards stifled laughter, villagers howled.
Yullan's entire face turned red. "Y-YOU—! WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT MARRIAGE?!"
Orin grinned wider. "It's fine, you'll get used to it!"
The laughter and cheers filled the air, lightening the weight of what was to come. For one moment, the boy looked like nothing more than a fool.
But then the drums stopped.
The other gate opened.
From the shadow of the tunnel, Draven emerged.
Each step he took snuffed out another torch. His aura rolled like a tide of tar, black haze laced with crimson veins, thick enough to choke the air. The front rows shivered as if ice water poured down their spines.
The crooked smile never left his lips. His eyes glowed faintly red, hunting through the crowd like a predator.
The cheering died. Whispers spread, prayers muttered. Children clung to their mothers.
And then the announcer's voice cracked.
"AND IN THIS CORNER—THE DEVIL FIGHTER HIMSELF… DRAVEN!"
The coliseum thundered with unease.
Orin tilted his head, watching Draven step into the light. Sparks flickered across his body, but his voice came out cheerful, almost admiring.
"Whoa… this guy's way cooler than me…"
The contrast was perfect: a boy wrapped in storm, a devil wrapped in night.
The gong sounded.
Orin charged first, feet cracking the stone beneath him, blue lightning exploding with each step. His aura stormed outward, whipping the sand into a frenzy.
Draven didn't move. He simply raised one massive arm, the haze deepening, swallowing the light around it.
Their fists collided.
The sound was cataclysm.
Blue sparks erupted like fireworks, leaping high into the stands. The haze surged forward, drowning half the arena in suffocating shadow. The ground split, fractures racing outward, sending shockwaves through the stadium.
For a heartbeat, all anyone saw was storm and darkness colliding.
And then the voices of the fighters broke through.
Orin laughed, blood dripping from his lip. "Wow! You actually blocked me! Usually they go flying after the first punch—hey, don't break too fast, okay? I like my toys durable!"
Draven leaned closer, crimson eyes narrowing, voice low and venomous. "…You think you're playing?"
"Of course I'm playing!" Orin barked back, eyes blazing with glee. "Fighting IS playing! C'mon, let's go again! Harder this time!"
The haze swelled, pressing harder. Draven's crooked smile widened. "I'll enjoy breaking your plaything bones."
Orin's grin didn't falter. He pushed back, sparks flying wild. "Then I'll just get stronger bones! Maybe you can teach me, huh?"
The crowd could only watch in disbelief. A boy, no taller than their children, stood against a monster cloaked in night, laughing as if this were a game.
And the coliseum shook, waiting for the storm and abyss to decide which would consume the other.