The coliseum was drowning in shadow.
Draven's haze poured outward, thick and choking, swallowing torches and banners alike. Veins of red pulsed through the darkness, throbbing like a living beast. For the crowd, it felt like midnight had descended into the arena. Some gasped for air. Others clutched their children, trembling as if the devil himself had taken the stage.
And in the middle of that abyss, Draven laughed.
A low, guttural rumble that made the sand tremble beneath their feet. His crimson eyes burned brighter, glowing like twin embers in the void.
"You bite, do you?" His crooked grin widened. "Good. Don't stop."
Orin staggered back, sparks spitting wildly from his body, his small chest heaving. Drool and blood still ran down his chin, glowing faintly blue with leftover sparks from his bite. He spat on the ground—droplets fizzled like firecrackers—and grinned like a maniac.
"Heh… you taste gross. Like burnt socks!" he declared, shaking his head violently. "But hey, I'll bite you again if you want!"
The crowd roared—half horrified, half laughing in disbelief. Some nobles covered their mouths, others gagged. A villager shouted: "He's insane!"
Yullan clutched the railing, her voice cracking. "IDIOT! STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT!"
But Orin only waved up at her, grin wide, eyes blazing. "Don't worry, THIRD WIFE! He's not that scary—he's just a big punching bag!"
Draven stepped forward, each step echoing like a hammer on stone. The haze spread further, the air thickening. A handful of people in the front rows fainted outright, collapsing into the arms of those beside them.
Code leaned forward, his jaw rigid, eyes unblinking. He's releasing it. This… this is the real Draven. Even I can feel the pressure from here. And that boy… He glanced at Orin, who was bouncing on his toes like a child waiting for a toy. …is still laughing.
"Alright!" Orin shouted, slamming a foot into the ground. Sparks exploded, dust flying. "Let's see if I can run like Elyas!"
The crowd blinked in confusion—who?
Orin crouched, then vanished in a blur.
BOOM! His foot cracked the stone, leaving a crater. Sparks flared along his path, streaks of blue afterimages littering the air. For one heartbeat, it looked like a dozen Orins scattered across the arena, lightning ghosts dancing wildly.
"WOOOHOO! I'M FAST NOW!" his voice echoed everywhere at once.
The crowd gasped. Some screamed in awe. Others pointed wildly: "There—no, there—no, behind him!"
But in the stands, Code pressed a hand against his temple. …No. He's not blurring. He's flailing.
Orin reappeared right in front of Draven, face inches from his chest. "Peekaboo!"
He swung a wild punch. Sparks exploded, forcing Draven back half a step.
Draven's crimson eyes narrowed. "…Little rat."
The clash began in earnest.
Orin blurred again, messy but unpredictable. He appeared on Draven's left, punched, vanished, reappeared on his right, kicked. Each time, sparks erupted, the air smelling of ozone and burning sand.
Draven didn't dodge. He simply swatted. A backhand here, a shoulder slam there, haze arms catching sparks and swallowing them whole. Every block sent Orin tumbling, yet the boy bounced back up each time, laughing louder.
"Missed me! Missed me again! Woooo!" Orin shouted mid-blur.
"Storm… you amuse me," Draven murmured, his smile stretching.
Then Draven moved.
One step, and suddenly he was where Orin would land. His massive hand shot out, catching the boy mid-swing. This time both hands closed around him, haze swirling to engulf Orin's entire upper body.
The sparks dimmed. One by one, the crackling lines of lightning snuffed out, eaten by the abyss.
The crowd screamed.
Yullan's heart seized. "NO! ORIN!"
From the bench, Code's knuckles went white against the railing. This is it. If he can't break free now…
Orin's eyes bulged as the haze pressed into his skin, draining the sparks out of him. He could feel the storm inside him guttering, like a candle drowning. For a second, his grin faltered.
Then he roared: "HEY! HANDS OFF—MY LIGHTNING'S NOT YOUR SNACK!"
He lunged forward again—this time biting Draven's wrist with all his might.
ZZZZZT! Blue sparks erupted from his mouth, mixed with saliva, spitting wildly into the air. Drool glowed electric, sizzling as it hit the ground. Draven's blood seeped into his teeth, dark red streaked with black, instantly wreathed in haze. The mix splattered grotesquely—blue sparks and red-black ichor painting the sand like a twisted firework.
The crowd gagged, screamed, and laughed all at once. "HE BIT HIM AGAIN?!" "Disgusting!"
Orin mumbled around the bite, sparks spraying from his lips. "T-too late! Already did!"
And then—
BOOOM!
A mini shockwave erupted from inside the bite, a burst of lightning from Orin's mouth itself. The force shoved Draven back two whole steps—the first time the devil moved against his will.
The coliseum went dead silent.
Draven stopped. For a long moment, he stared at the boy, blood and haze dripping down his arm. Then… he laughed.
A booming, guttural laugh that shook the air. His crimson eyes blazed brighter, his grin twisting beyond human.
"Finally… a bite that stings."
Orin staggered back, chest heaving, sparks reigniting wildly across his body. His grin returned, toothy, insane. "Heh… told you. I bite hard."
Draven raised his arms, and the haze erupted outward.
The torches of the coliseum vanished. The topmost seats felt the press of suffocation. Nobles clutched their chests, unable to breathe.
And from the heart of the storm, Orin screamed back with laughter, his aura storm exploding black-and-blue once more, lightning tearing cracks in the very stone.
The arena was swallowed.
Half storm, half abyss. Sparks shrieked. Haze suffocated.
And in the heart of it all—one boy, one devil, both grinning, both laughing.
The real fight had only just begun.