The coliseum was drowned in absolute silence. Not a single voice dared break the moment. Only the roar of the wind spiraling around Asori could be heard. Grains of sand floated suspended in the air, like dust trapped in an invisible vortex. Sunlight fell upon his eyes, and they were no longer the same: two golden kaleidoscopes spun within them, as if Astral itself had claimed him.
Kael, who just moments ago had dominated the fight with a cruel smile, instinctively took a step back. His dark sword trembled in his grip, and for the first time, a shiver ran down his spine.—What… the hell are you? —he spat, his voice laced with rage, but also fear.
Asori did not answer. He stepped forward. The ground cracked beneath his foot, as if the earth itself moved aside to let him pass. His breathing was calm, serene… yet his aura was a storm held in check.
Kael roared, swinging a downward slash that split the air in two. The blade came down like lightning… but Asori merely tilted his head. The sword passed so close it brushed his hair, yet not a single strand moved out of place.
—WHAT?! —Kael bellowed, unleashing a torrent of blows at inhuman speed.
But every single strike was dodged. Asori did not retreat—he slid between the cuts as if he had already seen them before they happened. A slight twist of the ankle, a barely perceptible shift of the shoulder, a subtle lean of the waist. His body danced with the very edge of death.
The spectators held their breath, until finally a cry burst from the stands:—Impossible!—That brat's dancing between the strikes! others shouted, torn between awe and fear.
Blair stood, her hands pressed to her chest, her eyes glistening with emotion.—Asori… she whispered.
Beside her, Mikan frowned.—This isn't just technique. It's not his style… it's like someone else is fighting through him.
Mikrom, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the arena, muttered almost inaudibly:—It can't be… but with those eyes, maybe…
Blair whipped toward him.—What are you saying?
Mikan pressed as well:—Speak clearly, Mikrom!
The young man clenched his teeth, then finally said it:—That brat… maybe he's using… Hakiri.
The word fell like thunder. Murmurs rippled through the coliseum. Blair's eyes widened in shock.—How could Asori possibly have that?!
Mikrom didn't look away from the arena.—He was exposed to Astral so pure on Mount Aeryon that his body isn't normal anymore. If anyone was going to awaken Hakiri in a do-or-die moment… it was him.
Blair swallowed hard, remembering Eryndor's words.—On Mount Aeryon… where he trained… Astral flowed stronger than I'd ever seen—or so Master Eryndor said.
The crowd buzzed, but their focus snapped back as Kael, in desperation, charged with all his power. His dark sword carved a brutal arc, its shadow seeming to swallow the light itself.
This time, Asori did not merely dodge. He spun on his axis and, with a motion both precise and savage, slammed his elbow into Kael's forearm. The impact cracked like thunder. The sword flew from Kael's grip, spinning through the air before embedding itself in the sand several meters away.
The arena erupted in screams.
Kael gasped, stunned. But before he could react, Asori drove a fist wrapped in Astral straight into his abdomen. The knight doubled over, blood spraying from his mouth. His body was hurled to the ground in a cloud of dust.
Asori gave him no respite. He grabbed Kael's armor with one hand, smashed a brutal headbutt into him—the crunch echoed to the highest seats—then spun and launched a roundhouse kick that sent the knight crashing into the platform's edge. The impact shook the entire structure.
Kael staggered back up, blood dripping from his lips.—DAMN YOU!
He summoned a wall of shadows, raising it like a dark barricade. But Asori, golden eyes blazing like suns, advanced without fear. He gathered Astral into his palm and roared, his voice splitting the air:
—AETHERION!
The blast shattered the wall and hurled the knight back several meters. His armor cracked, his breath came ragged, desperate.
Mikrom leapt to his feet, eyes shining.—He did it! That brat's beating Kael!
The crowd roared, torn between euphoria and dread, while Asori stood wreathed in an aura more explosive than ever. His intensity was so overwhelming that Darian, from his throne, could only watch in rapture at the spectacle, while Aisha beside him looked at Asori in confusion: this way of fighting was nothing like the boy who once showed mercy to his foes.
Inside Asori, however, something else roared. Power surged through his veins like cold lava, each heartbeat carrying a torrent of Astral that lit his bones from within. At first, it was a steady current, shaped by training and technique—but now it was mixed with something harsher, darker: a voice, sharp and urgent, demanding not strategy but retribution. It wasn't reasoned thought; it was primal instinct whispering Blair's suffering—the hands that bound her, the humiliation she endured. The voice did not ask for mercy. It demanded blood.
Asori felt it pulsing in his throat, as if the wind itself was commanding him. He tried to resist, recalling Eryndor's teachings, the calm that had guided him—but Hakiri, once awakened, amplified everything: rage, fear, the need to protect. What followed was an outburst: not calculated, not elegant, but brutal and direct.
He lunged at Kael in a relentless flurry of attacks. His Astral-forged fists hammered with the fury of someone who no longer fought to teach, but to break. An elbow shattered the knight's guard; a barrage of knees stole his breath; a chain of strikes hurled Kael around like a puppet with its strings cut. Each blow carried the mark of raw, savage urgency—unrefined, terrifyingly effective. The crowd roared, jaws dropping at the unleashed violence. And those who knew Asori shivered: this was no longer the boy who dodged for honor. This was vengeance.
Asori stepped forward. Then another. Each heavier than the last. He raised his arm, ready to finish it. But the moment he gathered Astral into his palm, a searing pain tore through his body.
His aura flickered. An internal surge forced him to his knees. Blood began streaming from his left eye, running down his face.
—ASORI! —Blair and Mikan screamed together.
The crowd fell into a deathly hush.
Asori clenched his teeth, panting, struggling to hold focus. Hakiri was too much. It felt like his body was burning from within, every vein on the verge of bursting.
In front of him, Kael fought against death as well. He staggered, leaning on his sword for support. A bitter, blood-soaked laugh escaped his lips.—Brat… you scared me… but in the end, you're just weak flesh.
He stumbled forward two steps, but his knees gave way. He collapsed face-first, fingers clinging to his weapon as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.
Asori too was on his knees, vision blurred, his eye bleeding, chest heaving with ragged effort.
The two locked gazes from the ground, like broken beasts.
The entire coliseum held its breath. No one knew what would happen in the next second.
The battle… was not over yet.