Vane stepped down the stone stairway toward the combat zone, each step thrumming with a new sensation. He could feel... everything.
The whole arena pulsed with mana—the magical life force woven into every creature and every stone.
Everything except Kiren.
The werewolf stood in the arena like an empty vessel. No flow, no aura, no shimmering field of mana. Just a dense, caged core of pressure inside him.
"That's Ki," Oscar said. "Internal energy. Werewolves don't have mana. And because of that, they can't use magic."
Vane hummed. "Anything else I should know?"
"Yeah," Oscar said grimly. "Werewolf hide is immune to magical attacks."
"Great."
Vane dropped into the ring. Kiren stood at the opposite end, two long blades sheathed across his back, posture relaxed—almost lazy.
"Why is he holding swords? He's not transforming?" Oscar wondered.
"Transformed or not," Vane muttered, "it won't matter."
The instructor stepped between them, scanning their expressions.
Then he dropped his hand.
"FIGHT!"
Kiren didn't move. He didn't draw his blades or even take a stance.
Vane flexed his fingers.
"Better get out those swords, wolf," Vane said. "Because you're going to—"
"DOWN!" Oscar yelled.
Vane obeyed instantly, crouching just as two steel blades carved through the space where his skull had been.
Kiren slid past, blades sheathed once again. He looked bored. Unimpressed.
Vane regained his stance—then glanced back.
The first three rows of seats behind him had been obliterated, crushed as if a wrecking ball had plowed through them?
"I thought you said werewolves can't use magic!" Vane snapped.
["They can't,"] Oscar said.
["That was brute force."]
Vane exhaled slowly.
"I think I need to take this a little more seriously."
"Just forfeit," Oscar warned.
"And why would I do that?"
"Because the instructor should've stopped this match after that first strike. Something is wrong."
Vane looked at the instructor.
The man watched calmly, face unreadable.
The crowd, however, roared—thrilled by the explosive opening.
"I made a promise to beat that mutt," Vane said. "I'm not quitting."
He opened his hand.
Sparks crawled up his fingers.
Mana swirled, coiling around his arm—building, condensing—
—and ignited.
Purple flame surged up his forearm.
The crowd sighed. They had seen enough fire mages in this evaluation, they had hoped to see something different.
But Vane wasn't done.
The flame spread across the right side of his body—burning brighter, hotter, the skies grew dark—until storm clouds gathered overhead.
Thunder cracked.
Wind roared.
"Is he... a dual elementalist?" someone whispered.
The crowd leaned forward.
Excited. Hungry. Some scared.
Kiren's eyes never left Vane.
The mage shot forward.
He moved so fast the air shuddered, a blur of fire and lightning. He leapt, drawing back a fist burning white-hot.
Kiren grinned—and leapt to meet him.
He unsheathed both blades mid-air.
Vane's fist crashed into Kiren's upward strike.
The collision rippled through the arena like a shockwave.
BOOM—
A split-second later, Kiren twisted, kicking Vane in the ribs.
Vane flew downward—slamming into the arena floor, carving out a crater in the stone ring.
Kiren landed lightly, blades gleaming—then sprinted forward to follow up.
But the rubble exploded upward.
Vane shot out of the dust, grabbed Kiren's face mid-charge, his hands burning up, he detonated a point-blank blast of heat.
The explosion boomed across the coliseum.
Kiren flew backward, swords spinning out of his hands—but he dug his bare fingers into the ground, skidding to a stop.
He grinned—feral, excited—and dashed forward again.
They collided mid-ring, locking hands, raw strength grinding the floor into powder beneath them.
Kiren pushed.
Vane pushed back.
Kiren laughed. "Well isn't this fun?"
Vane didn't answer.
His eyes said enough.
They disengaged simultaneously.
Kiren swung his fist—Vane dodged—
Behind him, another row of seats crumbled.
Vane gritted his teeth and counterpunched.
His fist slammed into Kiren's jaw, snapping his head to the side, eyes glazed over.
Vane moved to finish—but Kiren's focus returned instantly.
The headbutt was brutal.
Vane slid back across the cracked ground.
Kiren pursued ruthlessly, throwing a barrage of attacks—punch after punch after punch—each blow quaking the entire arena.
Vane blocked, his crossed arms trembling, feet digging trenches in the stone.
Another punch.
And another.
And another.
Vane finally countered, he pushes outwards, forcing Kiren off balance and spinning into a kick that sends Kiren stumbling back.
Vane raises his hand like a finger-gun.
The sky split.
A bolt of black lightning speared down.
Kiren backflipped away, landing flawlessly.
Vane fired again.
And again.
Lightning rained down in rapid volleys.
Kiren dodged, flipped, twisted—then sprinted toward one of the swords he'd lost earlier. He snatched it up mid-run—
—just as another bolt fell.
Kiren didn't dodge this time.
He swung.
Sword met lightning.
The strike split in two around him.
The crowd gasped.
Kiren charged.
Vane unleashed more bolts—
Kiren cut through them as if they were threads of silk.
Vane raised his hand.
He called, the storm answered.
Winds ripped up seats.
Banners tore free.
Mana in the air twisted violently.
Lightning converged into one massive spear of black-violet light.
It crashed down.
Kiren barely raised his sword in time—
The bolt obliterated it, flinging the blade away.
He avoided the worst of it, but his right arm was twisted unnaturally, steaming, fingers mangled.
His calm smile sharpened.
Adrenaline—Ki—predatory hunger—surged.
His nails lengthened.
His canines extended.
His aura became suffocating—violent.
"He's still not transforming," Oscar said, unnerved. "This is... still his base form."
Kiren sprinted forward, tearing through bolt after bolt with his claws.
He pounced—
Vane dropped a hand to the ground—
A stone wall erupted in front of him—
SHRIP
Kiren tore straight through it, unphased.
His hand closed around Vane's throat.
In one motion, he dragged Vane across the ring, stone breaking, sparks flying, then hurled him skyward.
Kiren leapt, caught Vane's face mid-air, and slammed him down so hard the arena floor fractured outward in a spiderweb of cracks.
His broken hand reformed—bones cracking—claws gleaming.
He drew back for the finishing strike—
"KNOCK-OUT!" the instructor shouted.
Kiren froze.
Silence.
Every protective barrier around the arena flared under the force of the fight. Students sat pale-faced, trembling from the mana shockwaves.
Then the cheering began—
Soft at first—
Then louder—
Then deafening.
Kiren's claws retracted, teeth dulled, body steaming as his wounds healed rapidly. His shirt was shredded, hanging in tatters.
He looked down.
"Wake up, poser."
Vane cracked open an eye.
"I thought the rules said no killing."
Kiren laughed. "You're still alive, aren't you?"
He extended a hand.
Vane stared at it—then took it.
Kiren hauled him up.
The arena roared, applause thundering.
Kiren stretched. "That was tougher than I expected."
Vane narrowed his eyes. "Why didn't you transform?"
Kiren's smile slipped—just slightly.
"It's better for both of us that I didn't."
He brushed dust from his arm.
"You're strong, Vane Drayton. I wonder what exactly hides behind those purple eyes."
Vane didn't answer.
Kiren turned and walked off, hands in his pocket.
Lyra teleported beside Vane, worry etched across her face.
"Are you okay?"
He sank into the broken ground.
"He beat me," he said. Not sad—just honest.
Lyra laughed nervously.
"At this point I'm convinced no one can beat him. And he didn't even transform. He's a bea—"
She stopped when she saw the look in Vane's eyes.
"—but of course the fight could've gone either way," she corrected quickly.
Vane exhaled.
"I wonder... who would win if we both fought without holding back?"
"What?" Lyra asked.
"I meant him at full strength," Vane said absently.
"Uh-huh..." Lyra murmured.
She glanced up.
The storm clouds were finally dispersing.
'They're both monsters,' she thought.
And the terrifying part?
This was only their first fight.
---