The storm boy's laughter faded, but the words hung in the arena like sparks that refused to die.
"Candy in the fire! Balloons going SPLAT!"
For the first time, Draven went still. His head tilted to the side, slow, almost mechanical. His smile didn't vanish—it stretched wider, splitting his pale face into something that no longer looked human.
"…Candy? Balloons?" His voice rolled like grinding stone. Then, softer, a hiss beneath the growl: "…Good. When you burst, little storm… I'll eat what's left."
The haze shuddered, as if his laughter had been a trigger. Then it exploded outward again, devouring the arena with choking blackness.
The crowd panicked. Men fell to their knees, clutching their throats as if the air itself had teeth. Women covered their children's eyes, trembling. Even nobles leaned back, pale and sweating, gripping the edges of their seats.
Yullan's hands shook against the railing, tears streaking her face. "Don't… don't joke with him, idiot…"
On the bench, Code's jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. "…He's not fighting Orin anymore. He's hunting him."
Orin only spat blood, grinning. Sparks flared back around him, black and blue, wilder than ever.
Then it happened—his storm cracked.
The once-perfect orbit of lightning shattered, arcs breaking formation. Sparks burst loose, flying uncontrolled into the air. One slammed into the coliseum wall—KRAK!—showering the front rows with molten shards of stone. Another streaked sideways, striking a torch and exploding it into fragments.
ZZZRRRT-BOOM! A shockwave burst outward, rattling the stands. Several people fell backward, hair standing on end from static.
"ORIN!" Code's voice rang sharp from the bench. "CONTROL IT!"
The boy's answer was as loud as the sparks bursting from his chest. "I'M TRYING—It's like holding a fart!"
The crowd gasped. Yullan's face flushed crimson, tears still flowing as she screamed, "YOU—IDIOT!"
Orin cackled anyway, lightning spitting from his teeth.
Then he charged.
His small body blurred forward, messy arcs trailing like meteor tails. He swung a punch—ZZZRRRT!—straight into a wall of haze. Sparks vanished on impact, eaten by the abyss, but the backlash shredded the ground into glassy fragments.
He twisted, blur again—"Spin cycle!"—arms flailing, punches raining down. Every swing detonated sparks, each crack like firecrackers in a storm. Two hit Draven's chest, the impact cracking haze armor, forcing a burst of red light from beneath.
For a heartbeat, the devil actually shifted back a step.
Orin whooped, blood dripping from his lip. "See?! Told you—candy goes fizz when you bite it!"
Draven's hand lashed out, backhanding him with force like a hammer. The boy flew sideways, slammed into the sand, sparks bursting from his limbs. He bounced up instantly, laughing again.
"That tickled!"
Draven moved, and the haze followed.
His chest and arms rippled as if his skin was boiling. Then the shadows thickened, coating his torso in armor-like layers. It wasn't steel. It wasn't bone. It was moving tar, shaped into a shell, crawling and tightening into plates that flexed like muscles. Crimson veins pulsed inside it, glowing faintly.
Behind him, the haze twisted upward, spreading into jagged forms. Shadowed wings stretched halfway open—unreal, unsubstantial, but terrifying in their slow, pulsing beat. Every flap sent a wave of pressure across the arena, and with each wave, the crowd shrieked louder.
"M-Monster…" a noble stammered, falling to his knees.
Children hid their faces in their mothers' skirts. Some grown men covered their eyes.
Draven's claws elongated, sharpened into talons of black smoke. His grin gleamed from within the haze-armor mask. His voice came out doubled, layered, like two throats speaking at once: "…This is no more than a shadow of me. A hint… of what you'll never defeat."
Orin's reaction was instant. His eyes widened, not with fear but excitement. Sparks spat from his arms like fireworks.
"Ooooh! Cosplay upgrade!" he shouted. "Hey, do I get wings too?"
Somewhere in the crowd, someone burst into laughter despite themselves.
Yullan's fists clenched, her lips trembling. "Idiot… he's not even serious yet."
Code sat rigid, his knuckles white. "…This is only the shadow form. If he fully shifts…"
The clash resumed.
Orin blurred, but his steps were jagged—every launch cracked the stone, every stop blew a crater. Sparks scattered like bullets, uncontrolled. He lunged shoulder-first into Draven's chest—BOOM!—detonating arcs in a spray of lightning.
Draven barely moved, haze armor absorbing half, though the impact still forced him back. His claws lashed, tearing through the air, scraping sparks that shrieked like dying birds.
Orin laughed, blood mixing with sparks dripping from his lip. "Spin spin spin—kaboom!" His fists rattled against Draven's torso, bursts of light punching through haze, forcing tiny shockwaves that cracked the floor beneath them.
But for every spark that landed, ten more were swallowed.
The coliseum shook under the storm.
Columns cracked, torches fell, banners ripped. The crowd clutched each other in terror. Some screamed Orin's name, others begged for the match to be stopped, but the announcer's voice was long gone, drowned by thunder and haze.
Amid the chaos, Orin's storm wavered again. Sparks cracked uncontrolled, exploding at his feet. One burst under his knee, forcing him down to the ground, gasping. His hands shook as the arcs spat wildly, tearing up more of the arena floor.
Kneeling in the storm, teeth bloodied, his grin somehow didn't fade. "Heh… guess I'll just spin until I break then!"
Above him stood Draven.
The haze armor covered most of his body now, claws gleaming, shadow wings flexing slowly. His crimson eyes blazed from the abyss, locked on the boy kneeling in sparks.
"…Storm or abyss," he rumbled, each word vibrating the stands, "you will shatter first."
The crowd held their breath, waiting for the end—whether it was the boy's, or the coliseum's itself.