The coliseum was groaning. Stone walls cracked like bones under strain, dust raining down in thin clouds that caught the glow of sparks and haze. What once had been the proud heart of the city now felt like a prison about to collapse in on itself.
Orin stood in the center, his small body wrapped in an orbit of four-colored sparks that pulsed with steady rhythm. Black arcs spun tight to his skin, blue lightning zigzagged wildly, white flashes hummed with clean intensity, and red pulses thundered with the beat of his heart. His eyes—blank white, radiant—made him look less a boy and more a storm given flesh. The hum of his aura rolled like a drumbeat, heavy, oppressive, alive.
Across from him, Draven grinned, haze armor writhing like a thousand shadows pressed into his flesh. Crimson veins glowed inside the mist, his claws stretched long enough to split the air with cracks. The chorus of voices inside his aura grew louder—screams, whispers, laughter. He looked hungry.
Code rose from his seat. His voice carried sharp and heavy, even through the chaos.
"Guards," he said, low but commanding, "listen to me. This next clash won't be a match—it will be a calamity."
The guards hesitated, eyes darting between the monstrous child and the abyssal devil below. One stammered, "B...but ..S-sir Code, the finals—"
"MOVE THEM!" Code's roar cracked the stone at his feet. A spiderweb of fissures split outward from where he stood. "Now! Get the crowd out before they're buried alive! The coliseum won't survive what's coming."
That broke the dam.
"Evacuate! Move! Out, out, out!" the guards screamed, scrambling to push through panicked citizens.
Chaos erupted in the stands. Men and women tripped over each other, children crying as they were dragged by their parents, nobles cursing as they shoved commoners aside. People tumbled down stairs, spilling onto one another. One merchant fell, his gold chain snapping as he crawled on hands and knees.
But not everyone fled. Some froze in place, eyes locked on the boy in the arena. "He's… not human…" one whispered. Another, an old priest, dropped to his knees, tears streaking his dusty cheeks. "A storm child. The gods have sent us a storm child…"
And still others clung to their seats, even as guards pulled them away. "No! I must see it! He'll kill the devil!"
The sound of panic became a twisted chorus—screams, prayers, curses, awe. The roar of humanity clashed with the hum of storm and abyss, the entire city shuddering beneath the weight of it.
At the railing closest to the arena, Yullan stood unmoving, though dust caked her hair and guards tried to pull her back. She tore free, eyes wide, wet with tears. Her voice broke through the din: "ORIN! Don't you dare die, you idiot!" Her hands trembled as she gripped the broken railing until her fingers bled.
Code didn't move. He kept his gaze locked on the cratered battlefield. His jaw was stone, but his fists tightened, trembling against his sides. In the depths of his chest, his aura threatened to burst. His voice, when it came, was quiet—meant only for himself.
"…That boy isn't surviving. He's becoming something the world hasn't seen."
The stage was set.
Silence—just for a breath—fell between the storm child and the abyssal devil, while the city around them collapsed into chaos.
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!"
Both combatants staggered, haze and sparks whipping the air between them. The arena floor was gone, carved into fractured ridges and molten cracks. Dust rolled like stormclouds.
Orin's body trembled, but his grin never faltered. His white eyes glowed brighter, sparks orbiting tighter, faster, until they blurred into streaks of light.
Code's voice, tight as steel, whispered from the stands: "He's… condensing it all."
Orin slammed his fists together once. Sparks shrieked, collapsing inward. Black arcs locked into a shell around his right hand. Blue lightning crackled, coiling like serpents. White sparks spun fast, humming like a living star. Red pulses boomed, pounding in time with his frantic heartbeat.
His small hand looked like it was gripping a sun.
Across from him, Draven crouched low, haze armor swelling, claws elongating, each link of shadow armor screaming. Red veins glowed like magma, his grin stretching wider, madder.
The coliseum fell silent. Even the crowd's panic quieted for a breath, all eyes locked on the collision about to happen.
Then they moved.
Orin blurred forward, sparks trailing like comet streaks. Draven surged upward, claw tearing the air in half.
CLASH!
The fist of storm met the claw of abyss.
KRRRRRRAAAAAAK-BOOOOOOOM!
The world split.
A shockwave ripped outward, radial, tearing everything it touched. The floor buckled, then exploded, chunks of stone flung into the air like meteors. Pillars shattered, stands cracked, the outer walls of the coliseum split like parchment.
Crowd members screamed, some hurled from their seats by the blast. Guards threw themselves over nobles, though many were crushed under falling debris.
Sparks exploded outward—black like ink, blue like lightning veins, white like shattered glass, red like blood pulses. The haze claw cracked, crimson veins bursting, shadows shrieking as they were torn apart.
Then the sound caught up.
KRRRRRAAAA-THOOOOOOM!
The entire coliseum collapsed.
Walls crumbled, arches toppled, dust swallowed the sky. From the outside, the grand arena that had stood for centuries folded inward, devoured in an instant by the storm and the abyss.
When the smoke cleared, nothing remained.
Only a crater.
A massive wound in the city's heart, jagged edges glowing faintly from the heat of the clash. Debris smoldered, rubble scattered like bones. In the center, two silhouettes lay half-buried in dust: one small, sparks flickering faintly; one massive, haze leaking in tattered wisps.
Silence hung heavy.
The coliseum was no more.