The coliseum was no longer an arena. It was a battlefield between nightmares.
The storm cracked.
Orin staggered, knees sinking into fractured stone. His aura spun wildly, sparks no longer orbiting neatly—they burst in random bursts, detonating across the floor. Each flare was a miniature bomb, a pulse that rattled the entire structure.
ZZZRRRT-BOOOM!
One arc split sideways, smashing through a column. Stone splintered, dust and shards showering the crowd. Another burst erupted beneath him, kicking sand into glass fragments. The child gritted his teeth, sparks pouring from his body like blood.
"Heh…" He spat crimson. "I'm still spinning!"
The crowd screamed in chaos. Some clung to each other, others tried to flee, but the storm pushed at them from every side. The static crawled over their skin, hair standing on end. Some fainted, others prayed.
On the bench, Code's jaw tightened, sweat beading on his brow. "…If he can't stabilize it, the storm will devour him before Draven does."
---
Draven stepped forward.
The haze clung thicker now, no longer just smoke. It crawled up his limbs like tar alive, layering into armor. Plates of shifting black curved across his chest, glowing faintly with crimson veins. His arms flexed, claws lengthened, dripping shadow.
Behind him, the haze stretched upward, folding and flexing. Wings of smoke took shape, skeletal outlines that pulsed with red light, opening and closing like lungs. Each beat of those phantom wings sent a wave of crushing pressure across the coliseum, shoving the crowd further into hysteria.
Some screamed. Some fainted. Others pointed with trembling fingers.
"DEVIL! MONSTER!"
And Draven smiled wider. His crimson eyes blazed brighter, his teeth gleamed like broken glass.
"A storm that breaks is still just wind," he said, voice layered, echoing as though two throats spoke at once. "But me? I am hunger without end."
---
Orin spat blood, his grin refusing to fade. Sparks spat from his lips as he laughed.
"Hunger, huh?" He staggered up to his feet, his storm bursting uncontrolled, sparks flying in every direction. "Good! I'm snack size!"
The crowd froze, some breaking into hysterical laughter despite the terror.
Code shut his eyes briefly. "…Even at the edge of death, he jokes."
Orin blurred forward, each step cracking the ground beneath him. Lightning trails spilled from his feet like fireworks. He cocked a fist, arcs gathering, naming his move as only he could.
"LIGHTNING DUMPLING PUNCH!"
The fist slammed into Draven's chest. Sparks detonated in a flash of black-and-blue. The haze armor cracked under the blow, a jagged fissure glowing red beneath.
The crowd roared—half in awe, half in horror.
---
Draven's response was immediate. His clawed hand lashed sideways, catching Orin across the ribs. The boy flew, sparks spraying from his body like a comet tail, crashing into the sand with a crack that left another crater.
Orin coughed, spat blood, and rose again with a manic grin. "Spin spin spin—kaboom!"
He lunged again, fists whirling, sparks bursting in showers. Each impact cracked the ground, scattering debris. Draven absorbed them all, haze thickening, swallowing half the sparks while letting others burn against his armor.
Still, dents spread across the shadow plates.
Orin's laughter rang, bloody and electric. "See?! Dumplings explode when you stuff 'em too much!"
---
But then the haze behind Draven moved differently.
The air grew heavier. A sound rose—a low HHHHHhhhuuuhhhh…, as if the coliseum itself was inhaling.
The haze twisted, spiraling upward. Slowly, horribly, it shaped into a jaw.
The Shadow Maw opened.
Ribs of black fog stretched, bending into the form of teeth—long, jagged, dripping smoke like blood. They weren't stable. They melted, reformed, split again, always moving, always hungry. Between the fangs glowed a deep red light, faint at first, then pulsing like magma in a distant throat.
When it opened fully, the sound was CRACK-CRACK-CRACK, like bones breaking under pressure.
The coliseum tilted toward it. Dust, banners, even sparks from Orin's storm were pulled toward the abyssal mouth. Small stones rose into the air, sucked into its gullet, vanishing without a sound.
The crowd shrieked. Hair whipped backward, clothes pulled taut against their skin. Some tried to run, but the suction dragged them toward the railing.
Code's eyes narrowed, voice low: "…The Maw. He's bringing out the Maw."
Yullan covered her mouth, tears flooding. "He'll be eaten alive…"
---
Orin froze mid-step, eyes wide—not with fear, but awe.
The sparks around him danced violently, half of them sucked toward the gaping jaw. His grin widened.
"Heh! Let's see if your mouth's bigger than mine!"
The crowd gasped in disbelief.
"He's insane!"
"Does he think this is a joke?!"
Then Orin blurred forward, messy and wild, sparks exploding uncontrolled in his wake.
The Shadow Maw opened wider, its crimson glow bathing the arena in bloody light.
The world itself seemed to split—half storm, half abyss.
Sparks from Orin shot ahead, some sucked into the gaping jaw, others bursting against the pull with miniature explosions. Sand and rubble floated upward, torn between storm pressure and abyss suction. Flags whipped toward the mouth, glowing faint red in the hellish light.
The crowd went silent—every scream swallowed by the sound of the Maw's pull.
And in the middle of it—
A boy, drenched in black-blue lightning, bleeding, laughing, charging straight on. His grin split wide, sparks crackling from his teeth.
Facing him—
The devil, armored in shadow, crimson eyes burning, jaws of haze open wide, endless teeth waiting.
Wide shot. Frozen in the mind of every witness.
A storm against the abyss. A child against the devil.
The hum deepened.
Orin leaned forward, his body low, sparks orbit tightening like a coil about to snap. The air around him quivered, trails of light scratching across the sand just from the pressure of his aura. Black sparks hissed tight to his skin, blue arcs zigzagged outward, white flares pulsed steady, and red bursts thumped in rhythm with his heart.
"He's moving," Code muttered, voice taut.
Then Orin blurred.
A streak of neon carved across the battlefield—black, blue, white, red—painting the air like comet trails. The ground cracked in a jagged line where his foot had launched. In less than a blink, he was there, fist clenched, aimed at the heart of the abyss.
Draven's grin stretched. His haze armor thickened, claws rising to meet the blow. Shadows surged, red veins glowing like molten metal inside the mist.
CLANG!
The impact rang out like iron on iron. Sparks and haze burst in every direction.
Orin's black sparks condensed at his fist, punching into the haze armor. The armor screamed—yes, screamed—as it cracked, voices howling from within the mist. Blue sparks whipped free from orbit, snapping against Draven's claw with ZZZRRRT! sharp enough to split stone. White sparks burst in a flash, a shockwave slamming outward, kicking up dust and throwing debris against the walls. Red sparks pulsed—BOOM!—an explosive heartbeat that forced Draven's foot to skid backward in the sand.
The crowd gasped as one, a single intake of breath.
"He pushed him—he made the devil move!" someone shrieked, voice breaking.
Draven's claws twisted, his grin unshaken. He shoved back, haze screaming louder, the armor regenerating even as cracks spread across its surface. Sparks and mist tangled, each arc and wisp tearing at the other like wild animals.
Orin's teeth flashed in his white-eyed face, bloody and grinning. "Heh! You feel that, ugly? That's called a punch!"
KRRRACK-BOOOOM!
Their locked clash detonated, shockwave ripping outward. Stone chunks from the arena floor ripped free, pillars shuddered, cracks spiderwebbed along the coliseum's edge. Guards threw themselves over nobles still scrambling for the exits.
But in the center, neither storm nor abyss gave way.Draven's grin widened. His claws lowered, pressing into the cracked earth.
The ground boomed—and then split.
From the fractures, black haze surged upward, twisting and knotting until it formed chains thicker than tree trunks. They didn't rattle like steel. They slithered. Each link rotated, writhing like a serpent's spine, and at the end of every length a mouth gaped open, formed of mist and jagged teeth.
They screamed.
Not metal, not wind—screams of countless throats, shrill and broken, as the chains lunged for the storm child.
Gasps broke through the panicked exodus in the stands. A woman shrieked, clutching her child, "They're alive!"
Orin stood his ground, storm orbit humming. His grin stretched wider, blood dripping from his lip.
"Chains? Really?" His voice cracked with laughter. "What am I, your pet dog?!"
The first chain snapped at him, jaws wide, shrieking.
ZZZRRRT!
A blue spark whipped free from his orbit, snapping across the chain's length. The haze writhed, split, and dissolved into nothing with a final screech.
Another chain wrapped low, circling his ankle. Orin's black sparks condensed, forming a tight shield around his leg. The jaws bit down—and shattered like glass against the humming storm.
"Bite harder, ugly!" Orin jeered, leaping back.
Three more came from above, teeth clashing together. Orin's white sparks burst, exploding in a blinding flash. The chains recoiled, hissing, dissolving under the shockwave. Guards shielding nobles squinted against the light, some screaming that the sun itself had fallen into the arena.
The last two chains anchored deep in the earth, dragging like serpents ready to coil. Orin's red sparks thumped in rhythm with his chest, pulsing outward.
BOOM.
The anchors cracked.
BOOM.
The earth split, chains snapping in half as they were torn from their foundation.
Draven's eyes narrowed, his grin sharp with delight. "Break them. Yes. Show me your teeth, little storm."
Orin wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand, sparks orbiting faster. "Heh! Got more? Or you out of toys already?"
The chains dissolved into mist, sucked back into the devil's body. The coliseum trembled, sand raining down from shattered walls. In the silence that followed, only the hum of storm and the hiss of abyss filled the void.
Draven straightened, haze armor writhing, claws lengthening until they scraped the stone beneath. The shadows rippled with every movement, screaming voices swirling in his aura.
"Come, child," he rasped. "Bite deeper."
Orin leaned forward, storm orbit blazing, sparks whipping faster. "Tch—don't order me around, ugly. I'll bite wherever I damn want!"
Then he moved.
BLUR!
Orin vanished into a streak of neon—black core, blue arcs, white flares, red pulses. Draven's claws slashed, cleaving through the streak.
But Orin was already above him.
"Storm Beast Claw!"
He swiped downward, fingers curled like talons, black sparks coating them like a predator's nails. Red bursts detonated at the tips, gouging into Draven's haze armor. The armor screeched, cracking wide, the faces inside howling. Blue sparks split off in a jagged whip, raking across Draven's shoulder.
Draven snarled, twisting, claw arcing up to intercept.
CLASH!
Fist and claw collided, white sparks bursting in a flash that blinded half the coliseum. The shockwave hurled sand into the air like a storm of glass.
Draven lashed back, claws slashing in a savage barrage. Each swipe cracked the air like thunder, haze trailing behind like dark fire. Orin ducked, blurred, countered—his body a storm in motion.
One claw carved a crater where Orin had stood a breath before. He reappeared at Draven's flank.
"Lightning Meteor Pounce!"
His feet burst with red and blue sparks, launching him skyward. White sparks exploded behind him, blinding Draven's gaze. Then Orin dropped, a comet of four-colored light, fists first.
KRRRRAK-BOOM!
The impact split the arena floor, shockwave rolling outward. A crater formed beneath Draven, haze armor buckling.
Orin bounced back, storm orbit humming faster, after-images blurring around him. Ten Orins appeared, all grinning, all lunging from every angle.
"Storm Flurry!"
Draven slashed one illusion, his claw tearing through nothing. Another slammed his back with a black-sparked fist. Another kneed his side, red sparks detonating on contact. Dozens of blows rained in, each punctuated by sparks—blue whips, white flashes, black claws, red bursts.
The crowd screamed. Some prayed. Some shouted his name. But everyone's eyes were locked on the storm child overwhelming the devil.
Draven roared, haze bursting outward in a violent pulse. Illusions scattered, sparks cut, and the boy was hurled back.
"Enough!"
The devil drew in a breath, shadows condensing into his chest. Then he exhaled—an abyssal breath of haze, thick and screaming, rushing like a flood.
Orin planted his feet. His orbit tightened. Sparks whirled, condensing to his fist.
"Dragon Vein Wave!"
Blue sparks spiraled, red pulses boomed, white flares surged, black arcs condensed into the core. A cosmic serpent of storm roared from his fist, spiraling through the air.
CLASH!
The dragon of sparks slammed into the abyssal haze. Teeth of light bit into shadows, ripping, tearing. The coliseum howled with the collision, air bending, stone screaming as cracks spread across the walls.
KRRRRRRAAA-BOOOOOOOM!
Half the arena floor vaporized in the clash. Pillars toppled, seats collapsed, guards and civilians still inside screamed as dust choked the sky.
In the chaos, Orin grinned through blood and sweat, his voice cracking with manic laughter.
"Now that's a playdate!"