The silence after the collapse was worse than the roar that had caused it.
The coliseum—the pride of the city, the arena of legends—was gone. In its place gaped a wound. A crater, vast and jagged, like a god had slammed a fist into the earth.
The edges glowed faint red, molten veins dripping down the walls like blood seeping from torn flesh. Stone pillars and marble arches lay snapped inside, half-buried, smoldering, smoking. The air shimmered with heat, turning the two silhouettes at the center into distorted shapes. Dust clouds rolled thick, choking the sunlight, painting the world in sepia shadow.
From the stands—what little remained of them—survivors stared down in horror. Some stood frozen, hands clamped over mouths, eyes wide as if watching the end of days. Others dropped to their knees, whispering prayers that were lost in the haze.
"He… the boy… he made this crater…" one man croaked, voice trembling.
"No," another hissed, clutching his child tight. "Not a boy. A demon. A demon in a child's skin."
Further back, a woman sobbed into her hands. A priest bent low, forehead pressing against shattered stone, tears streaking through the dust caked on his face. "Storm child… forgive us, gods, the storm child is real…"
Guards scrambled along the fractured paths, pulling civilians back, shouting for order. "Stay away from the edge! Back, damn you, back!" But no one truly obeyed. Eyes remained fixed on the crater, drawn to it like moths to fire, even as fear rooted their bodies.
Yullan stood at the broken railing, dust streaking her hair, her arms raw where guards had tried to drag her away. She shook them off again, bloodied hands gripping the splintered stone. Her voice cracked through the silence, hoarse but sharp:
"ORIN! ORIN!"
Her cry echoed into the crater, swallowed by the rolling dust. She leaned so far forward the guards seized her again, dragging her back before she toppled in, but she fought like a wildcat. Her nails dug into the stone, leaving bloody streaks.
Code didn't move. He stood like a statue on the ruined terrace, eyes locked on the crater's heart. His fists trembled at his sides, aura suppressed but trembling against the surface of his skin. The storm child's energy still lingered, humming faintly even in silence.
"…He survived the clash," Code murmured, voice low, unreadable. His gaze didn't waver. "But so did the devil."
Dust swirled, wind shifted, and in the depths of the crater two silhouettes flickered into view: one small, sparks flickering faint like dying stars; the other massive, haze leaking like blood smoke from a wound that would not close.
The survivors saw them. And the panic began again.
The wind shifted, pushing the dust aside in heavy swirls. At last the survivors could see them clearly—two figures at the crater's heart.
One small. One massive.
The small one was hunched, a boy-shaped silhouette trembling on his knees. Sparks still orbited him, but faint, flickering like dying embers. Black arcs spasmed, blue lightning stuttered weakly, white flashes dimmed, red pulses skipped beats. Yet they hadn't gone out.
The massive figure opposite him knelt low, haze armor cracked and bleeding mist. Crimson veins flared erratically, bursting in weak spurts. His claws twitched, dragging faint trails across the broken stone. The chorus of voices inside his body had thinned, whispers now instead of screams. But he was still there. Still breathing.
The crater was silent but for the groan of shifting stone.
Up in the ruined stands, people clung to one another, unable to look away.
"Which one…" someone whispered, voice trembling. "Which one will rise first?"
Prayers began to weave through the dust. Desperate words, shouted, murmured, chanted. Some begged the gods for mercy. Some cursed the storm child's name. Others, trembling, called for his victory.
"Rise, storm child…"
"No… please, let the devil crush him…"
"He's a demon boy, not a savior…"
"He's our only hope…"
Every breath hung on movement in the crater.
Then the small silhouette stirred.
Orin's body sagged forward, palms scraping the cracked stone. He spat blood, his white eyes dim for a moment—then flared bright again. His sparks flickered like fireflies around him, sputtering, but not gone. He pushed his knees beneath him, trembling, almost collapsing again.
"Come on…" Yullan whispered at the railing, voice breaking. "Get up, idiot. Get up."
Orin swayed, nearly fell flat on his face. He laughed instead—a ragged, bloody laugh that carried up the crater walls.
And then, inch by inch, the storm child rose to his feet.
The stands erupted.
Some screamed in awe. Some screamed in horror. Some dropped to their knees, calling him angel, calling him devil, calling him monster.
But every pair of eyes was locked on the boy who had risen before the monster.
Orin wobbled on his feet, sparks spitting weakly from his skin, flickering around him like wounded fireflies. His chest heaved, blood streamed from his mouth, his knees buckled with every step. He should have collapsed.
Instead, he grinned.
It was stupid. Bloody teeth, split lip, face smeared with dirt and crimson—yet that grin was wide, childish, and absurdly bright.
"Still standing," he croaked, voice rough, words tumbling out between coughs. "Hah… guess I win the race."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Some clutched their heads in disbelief. "The boy… the boy got up first."
Others shook violently, eyes wide in terror. "He's not a boy—he's something else. He's… wrong."
A noble in jeweled rags sobbed openly, "Storm child… storm child…" while another spat in rage, "No! Demon spawn!"
The crater was no longer just destruction—it was an altar, and Orin stood on it.
Yullan's voice ripped above the chaos. "ORIN!" Her throat was raw, but she screamed anyway, trying to hurl herself over the railing. Guards seized her arms, dragging her back as she kicked, nails raking against stone. Tears streamed down her dust-streaked face. "You're going to kill yourself, you idiot!"
Orin raised a hand, unsteady, waving at her as if this was a casual stroll. "Third wife! Don't cry! You'll ruin your pretty face!" His bloody grin widened.
Yullan went scarlet through the tears, screaming even louder as the guards restrained her. "You little pervert! This isn't funny!"
Code's eyes narrowed. His aura pulsed once, restrained only by sheer will. He had not moved, but his thoughts were sharper than his silence.
He rose first. Against everything, after all that… the boy rose before the devil.
The stoic master, who had seen countless battles, clenched his jaw. The boy was a storm. Uncontrolled. Relentless. And terrifying.
The survivors in the stands broke into chaos again, voices clashing: awe, fear, worship, hatred.
But in the crater's center, only one thing mattered: the storm child stood, swaying and bloodied, but standing tall.
For a heartbeat, the crowd believed it was over. The boy had risen. The devil had not. A fragile cheer began to ripple through the survivors, voices breaking with relief, as if daring to hope.
Then the crater groaned.
The massive silhouette twitched. Haze armor cracked, spilling ribbons of black smoke that slithered along the broken earth. Crimson veins pulsed violently, bursting open, bleeding mist like liquid fire.
Draven moved.
One claw dug into the crater floor, carving trenches as he pulled himself upright. The cracked armor reformed in jerks, grotesque patches of haze sewing itself shut. Shadows poured from his chest, whispering like lost souls crawling up his body.
A murmur spread across the coliseum ruins, quick and sharp. Then it turned to screams.
"He's—he's still alive!"
"No! It can't be!"
Children cried, parents pulled them close, guards shouted in vain. The fragile hope shattered, replaced by raw horror.
Orin tilted his head, sparks sputtering, grin crooked. "Tch. Thought you'd stay down, ugly. Guess not."
Draven's head lifted, glowing crimson eyes cutting through the dust. His mouth split into a ragged grin, too wide, too sharp, his teeth gleaming like broken glass.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't a laugh—it was a tearing sound, a broken rattle that clawed its way up his throat. It vibrated in the air, crawling over skin, making the dust itself shiver. The haze around him thickened, bleeding into the crater walls, turning molten edges into shadowed scars.
Yullan's scream choked in her throat, eyes wide. The guards restraining her trembled too, as if the sound itself stripped the courage from their bones.
Code's jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. He had expected Draven's survival. But this laugh—this was hunger.
The balance reset.
One boy, flickering sparks.
One devil, bleeding haze.
And both were standing.
The crater vibrated with tension. Every breath from Orin's battered chest sent sparks stuttering into the dark, while every rumble from Draven's broken body bled more haze into the air.
Code finally moved.
He stepped to the edge of the shattered terrace, aura sharpening, a visible tension running through his frame. His hand hovered near his side, restrained but ready. His gaze pierced the battlefield. If the balance tipped too far, if Orin collapsed—he would intervene. Master or not, boy or not, this clash could not be left to devour the city whole.
Yullan's scream rang out again, raw and breaking, cutting through the dust. "ORIN!" Her throat bled with the sound, but she didn't care. She shoved against the guards, nearly throwing herself over the railing, eyes wild, tears streaking down her cheeks.
Down below, the two figures faced each other once more.
The small storm child, sparks orbit faint but unbroken.
The haze devil, armor bleeding shadows yet still grinning.
Around them, the crater steamed, molten edges glowing, debris still falling like slow rain.
From the stands, the survivors watched with wide, hollow eyes, caught between awe and terror. Whispers tangled with screams. Some called the boy savior. Some cursed him as demon. None dared look away.
Silence swallowed the ruin, broken only by the hiss of sparks and the drip of haze.
Then Orin staggered forward one step. His tiny frame tilted, knees shaking, sparks sputtering. He spat blood, wiped it with the back of his hand, and grinned wide through the crimson smear.
"Heh… you're still standing? Perfect! That means our playdate's not over—feels just like my birthday!"
The crater shook under his laugh, sparks hissing against the abyss.
Draven's grin widened in answer.
Silence hung for a beat after his words, the crater humming with sparks and haze.
The crowd didn't breathe. Then voices broke.
"He… he called it a playdate?" one man croaked.
"He's insane!" another shrieked.
A hysterical laugh tore from somewhere, high and broken, "A birthday? He's calling this his birthday?!"
Others fell to their knees, foreheads pressed to stone. "The storm child… even the devil is just his toy…"
Yullan gaped, face blazing red through her tears. She screamed, thrashing against the guards, voice cracking into rage. "IDIOT! This isn't your birthday, you pervert!"
Code's eyes narrowed, jaw tight. Even at death's door, he doesn't lose that absurd tongue… He's laughing in the abyss. His fists trembled once, aura sparking faintly around him. He couldn't decide if it was courage or madness. Maybe both.
Down below, Orin just grinned wider, sparks crackling against the haze.