The crowd's roar hit a new pitch as Cael stepped onto the tournament stage, sunlight glinting off the sand-packed arena floor. Across from him, Aiden Belmonte strode out with the same insufferable swagger, greatsword strapped across his back, hands loose at his sides like he'd already won.
"Didn't think you'd make it this far," Aiden called out, voice carrying easily over the noise. "Figured someone would've knocked that amnesia out of you before now."
Cael rolled his shoulder, working out a kink that wasn't really there. "And here I thought you'd be nervous. Guess losing to Elena taught you nothing."
Aiden's grin flickered—just barely—before snapping back into place. "That was a fluke. You'll find out soon enough what a real Talent looks like."
"Can't wait." Cael drew his sword, letting the blade catch the light. "Really, I'm on the edge of my seat."
The referee raised a hand between them, gaze sweeping the crowd before settling back on the two combatants. "Finalists ready?"
Aiden didn't bother drawing his greatsword. He just stood there, hands sliding into his pockets, chin tilted with that same lazy confidence he'd worn since the tunnel. "Whenever you're ready to lose."
"Begin!"
Cael moved before the word finished leaving the referee's mouth, spatial mana already coiling at his feet. He didn't blink into existence beside Aiden—too obvious, too easy to predict now that Elena's warning sat fresh in his mind. Instead he closed the distance the normal way, blade angled low, then arcing up in a diagonal slash aimed at Aiden's exposed shoulder.
Aiden's hand shot back and yanked the greatsword free in one smooth motion, mana flooding down the blade in a visible shimmer of reinforcement. Metal met metal with a clang that rattled up Cael's arm, the greatsword's flat catching his slash and holding it dead in the air.
"That's it?" Aiden's voice stayed light, almost bored, even as his mana output surged around the blade. "Guess the rumors were exaggerated."
Cael disengaged, spinning back a step, already reading the reinforcement structure bleeding off Aiden's sword. Dense, layered, brute-force efficient—nothing subtle about it, just raw mana crammed into every inch of steel. Cael's Eyes of Origin picked apart the pattern in an instant, filing it away without him even trying.
"Give me a second," Cael said, twirling his blade once. "I'm still figuring out how bad you actually are."
He lunged again, feinting high before dropping the angle at the last moment, aiming for Aiden's ribs. Aiden shifted the greatsword down in a lazy parry, barely moving his feet, the weapon's weight doing all the work. The block came a half-second slower this time—not much, but Cael caught it, filed it away too.
"You talk a lot for someone who hasn't landed a hit," Aiden said, greatsword still angled defensively, hands never fully committing to an attack of his own.
"You talk a lot for someone whose only move is standing there," Cael shot back, circling right, testing the give in Aiden's stance.
Aiden's grin sharpened at the edges, something colder slipping through the arrogance. "Careful. Wouldn't want you to get bored before I show you something interesting."
"Please." Cael settled his weight, sword held loose and ready. "Bore me."
Aiden's grin vanished. The greatsword came up in a blur, no longer lazy, no longer bored—just weight and speed and mana crammed down the blade in a torrent. Cael barely got his sword up in time, the impact driving him back a full step, boots skidding through sand.
"There we go," Aiden said, already swinging again before Cael's balance settled.
The second strike came sideways, aimed at his ribs, forcing Cael to twist away rather than block. He felt the wind of it pass close enough to tug at his shirt. No time to counter—Aiden's follow-through spun the greatsword in a wide arc, and Cael ducked under it, sand kicking up where the blade bit into the ground.
"Getting quiet," Aiden said, wrenching the sword free and pressing forward again.
Cael parried the next blow, angling his blade to redirect rather than absorb, but the force still rattled up through his wrist. Aiden didn't let up—another strike came immediately, then another, each one faster than the last, each one forcing Cael another step backward. He caught glimpses of the reinforcement structure feeding into every swing, dense and layered, but there wasn't a spare second to actually process it. Just survive. Just move.
A downward slash cracked against his raised blade and drove him to one knee, sand scattering beneath him. He rolled sideways before the follow-up could land, came up already backing away, chest tight.
"This is the part where you're supposed to do something impressive," Aiden said, stalking after him without hurry, like the outcome was already decided. "Or was that all just for Elena's benefit?"
Cael didn't answer. Talking cost breath he needed. He circled right, put a few feet of sand between them, tried to read the pattern in Aiden's mana output—but every time he found a thread to pull, another strike came crashing in, scattering his focus. The bastard wasn't just strong. He was relentless, throwing attack after attack with no gaps, no openings, no room to think.
A horizontal slash forced him to leap back, and the one after that clipped his shoulder—not the blade, just the pressure wave of reinforced steel passing too close—spinning him half around. He caught himself before he fell, sword scraping a groove through sand as he planted his feet.
The crowd's noise had shifted, a low murmur rolling into something sharper, more excited. Cael could feel it even without looking, the tide of expectation swinging visibly toward Aiden.
"Come on," Aiden said, closing the distance again, sword raised. "Where's all that mouth from before?"
Cael's back foot hit something—the edge of the arena boundary, he realized, glancing down for half a second too long. Aiden capitalized instantly, greatsword arcing down in a strike meant to end things right there. Cael threw himself sideways, more instinct than plan, felt the blade pass close enough to hear it cut air beside his ear.
He hit the ground rolling, came up several feet away, breathing harder than he wanted to admit. Aiden stood where he'd left him, sword resting on one shoulder, not even winded.
"Careful," Aiden said, voice dropping into something almost gentle, almost mocking. "Wouldn't want you stepping out of bounds. That'd be embarrassing."
Cael's gaze flickered from his feet to Aiden's approaching form. He pushed himself upright, sword held in a two-handed guard, his knuckles white. The air tasted of dust and defeat.
Aiden gave a dismissive scoff, the sound lost in the crowd's rising anticipation. He started his advance, not with a rush, but with the measured, final stride of an executioner. The greatsword rose, its reinforced edge humming with a lethal concentration of mana, a visible distortion shimmering around the steel. This was it. The finishing blow.
Cael's mind went blank. His body moved without a command, a pure, desperate instinct for survival overriding any thought of swordplay. There was no time to lift his own blade, no space to dodge. As the greatsword fell in a silver arc aimed straight at his head, he threw his left hand up, palm open, a futile gesture against tons of furious steel.
A sudden, biting cold flooded his palm, a sensation as sharp and alien as the Riftfang's claw. Mana, not his own controlled spatial energy, but something wilder, colder, surged from his core and down his arm. He did not command it. It simply answered his desperation.
A wall of jagged, crystalline ice exploded from the sand in front of him. It rocketed upward, a foot thick and twice his height, sprouting from the ground with the sound of grinding stone and splintering frost. Aiden's greatsword slammed into it. The clang was not metal on metal, but a deep, resonant thoom that vibrated through the arena floor, followed by the screech of steel biting into something impossibly hard. The greatsword embedded itself halfway into the ice wall, its momentum completely absorbed, and stuck there, quivering.
A cloud of icy mist billowed from the point of impact. The roar of the crowd died in an instant, replaced by a wave of stunned, collective silence. Aiden stood frozen, hands still on the hilt of his now-trapped weapon, staring at the impossible barrier.
Cael lowered his arm, his own eyes wide, breath catching in his throat. He stared at his own hand, then at the crystalline wall separating him from Aiden. The cold still clung to his skin. Where had that come from?
Aiden wrenched his sword free with a grunt, the shriek of metal pulling from ice grating on the dead quiet. He took a staggering step back, his arrogant smirk gone, replaced by a look of utter disbelief. He stared at the ice, then at Cael, his gaze narrowing.
"Deviant?" The word was quiet, a breath of confusion and accusation aimed more at himself than at Cael.
The silence in the arena stretched for a single, sharp breath before it shattered. A low hum started in the back rows, a single whisper that multiplied into a thousand, cascading down the stone tiers until it was a rolling wave of noise. On the sand, the sudden chill from the ice wall met the hot, suspended air.
Cael stared at his hand, the one he had thrown up in desperation. A phantom cold still prickled his palm, a ghost of the raw, untamed power that had answered his panic. Elemental Synthesis. It wasn't just a theory in his head, a trick he'd learned in a training room. It was real. He hadn't just copied Elena's technique; his Talent had given him the affinity itself.
Aiden's voice, raw with disbelief, cut through his thoughts. "You're a Deviant."
The word hung between them, heavy with a meaning Cael was only just beginning to grasp. He looked from his hand to the glistening, translucent barrier, then back to Aiden, whose face had twisted from shock into a mask of pure fury.
"You've been hiding this whole time?" Aiden snarled, his grip on the greatsword so tight his knuckles were bone-white. "Playing the part of some weak, newly awakened stray?"
A slow grin spread across Cael's face, a genuine spark of amusement dancing in his nebula eyes. This changed everything.
"I told you I was still figuring things out."
The casual reply was like a lit match to gasoline. With a roar of pure rage, Aiden charged. He abandoned all pretense of swordsmanship, his form sloppy, his movements fuelled by nothing but fury. Mana, wild and uncontrolled, blazed around his greatsword as he swung it in a reckless, horizontal arc.
This time, Cael didn't retreat. He saw the attack coming, not just with his eyes, but with a new sense of the raw elemental energy pouring off Aiden. It was clumsy. Wasteful. Cael ducked beneath the swing, the wind of the blade ruffling his white hair, and planted his foot. He pivoted on his heel. As Aiden's momentum carried him past, Cael lashed out with a kick, the reinforced toe of his boot connecting sharply with the back of Aiden's knee.
Aiden's leg buckled. He stumbled forward, catching himself on the sand with one hand to keep from falling completely. He spun around, face flushed with humiliation and rage, the crowd's roar now a chaotic din of shock and excitement.
Cael stood his ground, sword held loose at his side. "Look at that," he said, his voice level but carrying over the noise. "You finally got me to move."
Aiden rose to his feet, fists clenched so tight his entire frame trembled. His mana output spiked—not gradually, but in a sudden, violent surge that made the air around him shimmer and distort. His greatsword hung at his side, and for a moment, he just stood there, breathing hard, every muscle coiled tight as a spring.
"You think this is a game?" His voice came out hoarse, stripped of all pretense and arrogance, replaced by something primal and raw. "I'm going to break every bone in your body."
He raised the greatsword high above his head, both hands gripping the hilt. Mana pooled into the blade like water finding its level, a visible concentration of energy that made Cael's skin prickle. Then Aiden brought it down with all his strength, not at Cael, but straight into the sand between them.
The impact sent a shockwave rippling outward in all directions.
It wasn't an explosion—it was worse. The ground cracked, sand spraying upward in a wide radius, and the force of it slammed into everything in its path like an invisible fist. Cael saw it coming and braced, but the wave still caught him full-force, lifting him off his feet and hurling him backward. He crashed onto his back fifteen feet away, the air punched from his lungs in a sharp gasp.
His Eyes of Origin flared, analyzing, processing, dissecting the attack's structure in the microseconds before his body hit the ground. The mana output was staggering—far beyond what Aiden had been throwing around before, a sudden multiplier that didn't match his rank or his cultivation speed. Cael's mind raced through possibilities as he dragged himself upright, coughing dust from his throat.
How did his mana get that big?
He watched Aiden stand in the center of the arena, still trembling, still radiating that explosive fury. The heir's chest heaved with each breath, his eyes wild and unfocused. Every time Cael looked at him, another spike of mana rippled out—not an attack, just the raw overflow of energy that came with whatever was happening inside Aiden's body.
A Berserker Talent. It had to be. The angrier he got, the stronger he became. But that wasn't what caught Cael's attention. His Eyes of Origin traced the flow of mana feeding into Aiden's core, expecting to see it drawn from his own reserves, burning through what he'd cultivated. Instead, wisps of ambient mana curled around Aiden from the environment itself, pulling from the arena, from the crowd, from everywhere around him, feeding into his body like tributaries into a river.
He's drawing external mana. Absorbing it directly.
Cael's gaze sharpened. If Aiden could do that, pull from the environment to supplement his output, then Cael could too. His Absolute Assimilation had already shown him how to access multiple affinities. Drawing ambient mana would just be another technique to absorb.
Aiden charged.
Cael moved this time, sidestepping the greatsword's wild swing and feeling the blade cut through the space he'd occupied a heartbeat before. He didn't run—instead, he planted his feet and thrust both palms outward. Ice crystallized from his mana, forming razor-sharp shards roughly the size of his hand. They materialized in a fan pattern, hovering in the air between him and Aiden for a split second before he pushed them forward with a violent gesture.
The shards shot toward Aiden like arrows.
At the same time, Cael reached out with his spatial affinity, feeling for the ambient mana around Aiden, wrapping it around him like chains. Space Bind—the technique born from merging Elena's domain with his own spatial control. The air around Aiden thickened, mana locking into place, pinning him in a small bubble where movement became sluggish and constrained.
The ice shards zeroed in, a dozen crystalline projectiles converging on their trapped target.
Aiden's mana exploded outward in a desperate, uncontrolled burst.
It wasn't directed, wasn't refined—it was pure, raw energy vomited out in all directions at once. The Space Bind shattered like glass, the spatial constraints snapping under the pressure. The ice shards disintegrated, shattering into powder that hung momentarily in the air before the shockwave scattered them. Cael felt the blast hit him like a physical blow, his feet sliding backward through the sand, his breath catching again.
He skidded to a stop ten feet away, legs planted to keep from falling. Dust swirled around them both. Aiden stood at the arena's center, still trembling, still burning with that terrible, escalating fury, and the crowd's roar had reached a fever pitch.
Cael pushed himself upright, muscles burning, his mind already spinning through calculations and possibilities. Aiden was stronger now—significantly stronger—but the bastard was also burning through his reserves at a rate that didn't match his cultivation. That shockwave should have cost him everything. Instead, he was still standing, still radiating that volatile, escalating energy.
The answer clicked into place as Cael's Eyes of Origin traced the mana flows again. Aiden wasn't just pulling from the environment anymore. He was gorging on it, drawing more and more ambient energy into his body without any regard for control or balance. It was like watching someone drink seawater to quench their thirst—technically possible, but catastrophically stupid.
Cael's gaze sharpened as he analyzed the mana structure flooding through Aiden's core. The channels were straining, the pathways visibly distorting under the pressure. Mana was supposed to flow in controlled patterns, circulating through the body in specific routes. What Aiden was doing was like trying to push a river through a garden hose.
He's going to poison himself.
The realization hit Cael cold. Mana poisoning. It wasn't immediate, wasn't something that killed you in seconds, but the signs were all there—the uncontrolled trembling, the wild, unfocused eyes, the way his movements were becoming erratic rather than precise. Aiden's body couldn't handle the volume of raw energy he was forcing into it.
Across the arena, Aiden took a staggering step, then another. His greatsword drooped slightly, its tip dragging through sand. For just a moment, Cael saw something flicker across Aiden's face—confusion, maybe, or pain—before the fury reasserted itself like a mask being pulled back on.
"Come on!" Aiden's voice came out rough, almost slurred. "Fight me!"
Cael didn't move. He just watched, cataloging every sign of deterioration. Aiden's skin had taken on a feverish flush, sweat pouring down his temples. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving in gasps that came faster and faster. The mana radiating off him was still escalating, still drawing more and more from the environment around them.
The crowd's noise shifted—the roar of excitement morphing into something uncertain, whispers cutting through the chaos as people noticed something was wrong.