10th Day of the 2nd Earth Cycle[1], 2000, g.c.
The atmosphere at the Royal Player's Ball was electric with anticipation and anxiety as the arena completed itself. Black marble stretched beneath silver moon markings and violet light lines, each crescent glowing like moonlight trapped in fresh ink. Beyond the dimensional barrier, the ballroom remained perfectly visible. Inside it, though, space unfolded wider than the Grand Hall had any right to contain.
The music lowered into a tense rhythm, not fully gone, like the Ball itself was holding its breath. The bass still tapped from somewhere deep in the walls, slow and cautious now, while the magitech speakers dimmed into low instrumental hums. Laughter had faded into whispers. Perfume, wine, roasted meat, and Elysian Trees still clung to the air, but anticipation had muscled its way underneath all of it. Nervous sweat hidden beneath an expensive fragrance. Mana signatures flexing behind polite faces. A room full of people pretending they weren't hoping for impact.
The dimensional separation allowed us to move around with miles of space while remaining completely stationary and visible to those outside. That was the beautiful part.
From the crowd's perspective, Gaijin and I stood inside a flawless glass dome on the ballroom floor. They could see us clear as day, hear us without distortion, and feel the faintest echo of pressure when mana moved. But inside the arena, space unfolded wider than the Grand Hall had any right to contain. The circular floor stretched with impossible distance once you focused past the edge of the barrier, like the castle had swallowed an open plain and dressed it in marble. The horizon curved in black and violet shimmer, far enough for two monsters to move without accidentally turning a noblewoman's appetizer into battlefield debris.
Ma Dukes directed a few servants to go around and serve fresh drinks to those watching and wanting. That woman understood presentation.
If a fight had to break out during a royal party, at least make sure folks had something cold in their hands. Servants moved carefully around the outer ring, passing glasses of Braye wine, infused liquor, chilled nectar, and fizzy mana drinks that glowed faintly in jewel colors. The nobles took them without looking away from the arena. Even the ones pretending to disapprove accepted refills. They were getting ready for a real show.
Inside our arena, I saw Gaijin glancing around, so I decided to boast about my new stage.
"I hope you don't mind the battle ring. I learned this lil' dimensional trick from the Sycamore Tree in Endora. You won't have to worry about holding back in here."
Gaijin's eyes moved over the silver moon markings, the barrier's glassy curve, and the impossible width of the space surrounding us. For half a second, I saw respect try to pass through his face before pride slammed the door on it.
"Hmph. It's impressive, but nothing I haven't seen. I've met Magicians from Junji who could control Spatial Mana to this degree, yet it doesn't make you a strong fighter."
"I hope you can fight as much as you project."
His jaw tightened, but his posture remained disciplined.
"It is you, Mikazuki-dono, that I pray actually holds strength. Otherwise, this will be a painful lesson."
"Not for me to worry about. I'm the teacher in this situation."
Outside the barrier, the guests gathered closer.
Queen Sayaka stood front and center, furious with Gaijin for putting East Velonica's alliance on the line without permission. Her posture was composed, her hands folded in front of her sleeves, but the anger in her eyes had no trouble finding daylight. Still, the Night Orchid wasn't able to hide her pride in her brother's courage. That pride flickered beneath the frustration, quiet and warm. Gaijin was reckless, but he was not weak. Sayaka knew that. The whole Kurozumi delegation knew that.
Vasilisa watched in silence, already realizing she might have stepped into a gold mine if I performed the way she thought I could.
Her visible gray eye glowed with restrained Gem Mana, the celadon light faint beneath her lashes. She stood with that professional RIAA posture, clipboard replaced by a glass, but I knew her mind was already building posters, contracts, rumors, and ticket routes. She wasn't watching a private duel. She was watching a possible market shift. A Demon Lord from Velonica fighting a Warrior Prince from East Velonica during a royal ball? That was the kind of event Artists would sing about, argue about, exaggerate, and try to sell.
Auburn watched with new interest.
Now that he knew I was hiding my true strength, he expected me to reveal far more than I did during Beau's humiliation. His eyes followed every breath I took, searching for the crack in the mask. Beatrix Ashendor, meanwhile, made her way toward the drink table behind the crowd, where Jojo King stood confidently with a glass of whiskey.
Beatrix reached for a bottle of Braye wine.
Then she noticed Jojo. More specifically, she noticed the glorious length and shine of Jojo's beard and immediately froze in place.
The woman who ruled Lashun, who knew how to move through political circles, who could smile through fear while standing beside Auburn Graham, went still like a deer caught in lantern light. Her blue eyes widened. Her ivory fingers hovered just above the wine bottle. Her mouth parted by a fraction as if the Creator herself had whispered something unholy into her ear.
And listen, I wasn't judging. I'm lying. I was absolutely judging.
Beatrix was a true female Elf, and many Elven women had an uncontrollable attraction to facial hair. It was a strange little kink, considering pure Light Elf men couldn't grow facial hair, and Dark Elves often couldn't grow beards. Gaia was hilarious like that. Whole elegant bloodlines out here getting spiritually defeated by a jawline forest.
Jojo finally noticed her and smiled at her. Just a polite smile, too. Nothing wild. Nothing seductive. No effort. That made it worse.
The Ivory Viper was struck with love at first sight. Or whatever kind of bougie lust High Elves had. Her hand lowered slowly from the wine bottle like she had forgotten why she came over. Jojo lifted his glass slightly in greeting, unaware that his beard had just ruined the emotional stability of a Light Elf ruler who definitely had bigger problems.
The Wolfpak had gathered near one side of the barrier.
Luda was calm, his drink still in hand, golden eyes sharpened just enough to show interest. Alex was curious, arms folded, red wings tucked, that white-and-red fit still fresh. Steez was excited with a chill smirk, shoulders loose, already entertained before the fight even started. Swamp's eyes were wide, ready for the violence like he had been waiting all night for somebody to finally turn the function into a combat sport.
Even Kimmi and Uncle Charles came out of the kitchen to watch with relaxed interest. They stood next to Omnia, Jennifer, and Azumi, all watching with a mixture of calm and excitement.
Omnia sat beautifully, too serene for the danger in front of her. Jennifer's fan rested near her lips, pinkish-red eyes shining with appetite for drama. Azumi looked like she was trying not to bounce on her heels. My women and family looked more ready for the show than half the crowd.
That helped my mood.
Gaijin finally stepped forward, removing his blazer and rolling his arm sleeves backward.
The movement was deliberate. Formal. Almost ritualistic. He slipped the blazer from his shoulders, folded it once, and handed it through the barrier toward a Kurozumi attendant as the dimensional wall rippled just enough to accept the garment. Then he rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt back over his forearms, exposing strong wrists and corded muscle. His black and white horns caught the arena's violet glow, and the silver moon markings beneath him reflected along his polished shoes.
He stood tall... for a 5'5" Oni, that is.
"Allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Kurozumi Gaijin, Warrior Prince of East Velonica."
The crowd quieted another notch.
Gaijin lifted his chin.
"...And recently titled the Devil of East Velonica."
The title struck the barrier before the murmurs did.
The crowd whispered at it.
I had to tilt my head at what I had just heard.
"So they're just handing out Devil titles to every horny young man they see?"
Some of the crowd chuckled.
Queen Sayaka laughed.
She covered it behind her fingers, but not fast enough. That little laugh escaped her composure like a fox slipping through a fence. A few Talasi locals grinned. Jennifer's fan trembled with amusement.
Gaijin didn't laugh.
His expression hardened.
"Titles are not jokes. Titles carry divine weight, given to us by the universe born from Jerrica the Creator."
The humor faded from his voice, replaced by something older and stricter. Faith. Burden. Expectation hammered into the bones.
"A man either proves he is worthy of them, or gets crushed beneath the weight of expectation."
That made something click in my head.
"So Gaijin follows the teaching and faith of that sealed Succubus. The belief in creating a path to one's desire by any means."
[Midnight Star: Belial] immediately decided to be himself.
"Jerrica has been sealed for 2000 years. It's time they found a new God to follow. Like us."
I ignored him to continue with my thought.
"What that means, Belial, is Gaijin isn't just testing me. He's trying to test himself against the title, Devil of Velonica."
That made him more interesting.
Still annoying. But interesting.
The Kurozumi prince slid into a horse stance with clean foot placement and hips low enough to prove suffering had been part of his childhood curriculum. Spine straight. Shoulders settled. Hands open, ready to become fists the moment his breath changed.
"My job classes are M-Cee and Martial Artist. Do not expect something as cowardly as mind magick for dominance from me."
"Seems you're limiting yourself by not using all of your tools."
"My tools are these fists. What are your job classes, Mikazuki-dono?"
I rubbed my chin for a moment, pretending to think deeper than I needed to.
"Hmm... I consider myself an M-Cee, but I've never registered any of my job classes officially. I think my second one would probably be called a Death Sage."
Gaijin blinked once.
"Did you just make that class up?"
"Yeah. What, you don't like it?"
Gaijin sighed as if he didn't know if I was taking this seriously or playing around.
The truth was, I was doing both.
"Mikazuki-dono, you do know that we Oni are a noble warrior race. Strength is our language. Protection is our duty. Combat is where lies die, and truth dominates."
"When you put it like that, it sounds exhausting."
His eyes narrowed.
"Yet, you do it with a second nature. You didn't create this arena, that barrier, to protect us within it."
I smiled because he had me there.
"Haha. I'll concede that point to you."
Outside the barrier, Queen Sayaka placed her fingers before her lips.
A memory softened her eyes for a moment. She had heard that statement before. Probably from their mother. Maybe daily. Maybe beaten into Gaijin's spine with the kind of love that thought pressure made men valuable. I could see it in the way Sayaka looked at him. Admiration wrapped around worry. Worry wrapped around old family training.
Gaijin was finally done with the pleasantries and decided to open with a strong high kick.
The leg snapped so fast it caused the air to pop with a sonic boom.
His body launched from the horse stance with sudden violence, hips turning, foot slicing upward toward my head in a sharp arc. The pressure wave cracked against the inside of the barrier, a white ring flashing around his ankle for half a breath. His Wind Mana burst along the kick in pale green ribbons, sharpening the motion and compressing the air around it until the strike sounded like a whip breaking the room in two.
My natural reaction caused me to move so fast that when I returned to my original position, it appeared as if the kick traveled straight through me.
The crowd gasped. Someone outside the barrier screamed before realizing my head was still attached. To them, Gaijin's leg had passed through my head and shoulder like my body was a bad memory. My coat barely moved. My hands stayed relaxed. I had stepped out of the strike, crossed behind its path, then returned before the spectators could process the movement. The only proof was a faint afterimage and a ripple of indigo shadow.
That was when I consciously decided to slow my speed down, so normal eyes could track my movements better. No point giving them a show if the show looked like skipped frames.
Gaijin didn't rest after the miss.
He continued with an onslaught of attacks that had me actively dodging and parrying. While it wasn't lightspeed movement, Gaijin was still throwing strikes at supersonic speeds that caused micro booms from the air pressure. Each punch cracked with small shock rings. Each kick whipped pale Wind Mana through the arena like bladed breezes. He stepped in hard, pivoted fast, changed levels, and chained his combinations with the discipline of someone who had been fighting since childhood.
I let him work.
A straight punch came toward my throat. I shifted half an inch and brushed it aside with two fingers. A knee drove for my ribs. I turned my hip, letting it pass close enough to ruffle my coat. Gaijin spun into a backfist that would have caved in stone. I ducked under it, silver moon markings flashing beneath my shoes. He stepped forward, elbow snapping down. I caught his forearm, redirected it, and let him feel that even my casual parries carried weight.
The guests loved it.
I could tell from all the oohs and ahhhs, even the cheering after I dead-stopped any of Gaijin's strikes. The barrier let them hear the sound without the danger. Every crack of air pressure, every foot skid, every palm slap against forearm, every Wind Mana burst became part of the performance. Vasilisa's eye glowed brighter. Sayaka's hands tightened slightly. The Kurozumi guards watched with tense respect. My Wolfpak looked like they had front-row seats to a training session nobody else knew was one-sided.
The bi-colored horn Oni released a snarl after his Wind Mana-boosted flying kick was effortlessly blocked.
He launched himself forward, both feet leaving the ground as Wind Mana gathered under his heel and behind his shoulders. The kick came in like a battering ram wrapped in air, a crescent shockwave leading the strike. I raised one arm and caught it against my forearm with a dull boom. The impact spread beneath my shoes, violet arena lines flickering, but my body barely shifted.
Gaijin's eyes widened. Before he could recover, he followed with a downward chop.
Good transition. Too eager.
I redirected his wrist with one hand, turning his own momentum just enough to expose his ribs. My other palm opened and struck him clean in the side. Not a punch. Not a full-force blow. Just an open palm with enough controlled power to make a point.
The hit landed with a thick thud. Gaijin's breath left him in a sharp burst.
The shock traveled through his torso and lifted him off his feet, sending him sliding back twenty-seven yards across the arena. His shoes scraped against the black marble, sparks flicking from the silver moon lines as he forced his heels down and refused to fall. The barrier caught the pressure behind him and rolled it upward in a pale violet shimmer.
After a stumble, he regained his balance.
Then he looked at me with an intense grin.
"Finally. So you do hit hard. Good. Show me more of that."
I stared at him for a second. Then shook my head.
"You know, I think you've got lingering trauma and terrible hobbies. Be careful, that's how you develop weird fetishes."
[Midnight Star: Belial] could not mind his damn business.
"You two should be buddies then. You're both kindred spirits."
"Belial, shut the fuck up."
Unlike a lot of the nobles, the Wolfpak saw everything and had their own take on the action.
Steez tilted his head, eyes narrowed like a man watching a replay no one else had access to.
"Why is broseph moving so slow?"
Alex folded his arms, red wings shifting behind him as he watched me sidestep another faint rush from Gaijin.
"He's probably trying to let the crowd keep up with as much as they can."
Luda nodded without taking his eyes off the arena.
"Agreed, Alex. Xi is making the fight entertaining for them while not showing his best abilities to a crowd that houses enemies and spies."
Cali stood beside them, glasses low, drink held near his chest as he watched the barrier shimmer with every little shockwave.
"Why would he even invite enemies to his Ball?"
Alex's mouth curled.
"Cause Xiro is crazy, prideful, and cocky as hell. But what else is new?"
They all chuckled a bit at Alex before returning their eyes to the arena before them.
Inside the barrier, Gaijin rolled his shoulder and settled back into his stance.
His grin hadn't faded. But neither had mine.
The crowd watching us relaxed into excitement and audible joy. Mostly because the action was trackable now. With Beau, half the room had watched a proud man scream at ghosts, piss himself, get shot, and vanish into a portal before their brains could figure out where the fight even started. That kind of victory looked terrifying if you didn't understand the trick. With Gaijin, they had rhythm. They had movement. They could make sense of the damage done. Punches, kicks, blocks, dodges, sliding bodies, cracked air, and a prince coughing up proof that I had touched him.
Simple enough for the nobles. Entertaining enough for Talasi. Dangerous enough for the people who actually knew how to read combat.
The barrier let all those little sounds reach the audience just right. Every snap of Wind Mana, every sharp crack of pressure, every foot scrape against moon-marked marble carried through the transparent dimensional wall like the arena wanted them to hear the parts that mattered. The ballroom outside looked like a painted theater through glass. Silver-blue lantern flames reflected in cups. Fans hovered near lips. Dresses swayed as people leaned forward. Servants held trays at their sides, forgetting to move because the fight had caught them, too. The Royal Player's Ball had become a spectator sport with better lighting and worse consequences.
The Aylin sisters were stunned by my speed, defense, and unwavering control of the match.
Ceyda didn't even touch her drink again. She held the glass near her chest with both hands, but it had become a decoration. Her mouth hung open in awe as her pale Celestial face caught the violet glow from the barrier. Every time Gaijin attacked, and I barely moved, she looked like someone had just placed another impossible metal in front of her forge and asked her to explain the alloy. Her craftswoman brain was trying to measure me through angles, weight, timing, and force, and every calculation kept returning rude answers.
Niomi couldn't stop watching my hands and hip movements.
That woman had the gaze of somebody who pretended to be studying technique while absolutely enjoying the view. Her purple lips stayed slightly parted, and those moon charms around her outfit caught little flickers of silver light whenever she shifted. She watched how I redirected Gaijin's wrists. How my weight settled before each counter. How my hips turned just enough to change the whole line of attack without wasting motion. She wasn't just attracted. She was impressed, and that was a dangerous combination for a woman who already looked like she liked to be called Ms. Aylin in the bedroom.
Ceyda finally found her voice, though it came out breathy.
"This is Lord Xiro's true strength? He's not even using real magick yet. Everything has been martial, so far. Do you see how fast he is?"
Niomi's eyes stayed on my hands as I parried another quick jab from Gaijin inside the barrier.
"To think House Mikazuki was secretly raising a man like him right under our noses."
Most of the Nox women were melting out of their composure.
That was honestly impressive, because House Nox treated composure like lingerie: pretty, strategic, and meant to come off when the situation earned it. Michelle's eyes quietly tracked every move I made, soft but focused. She didn't cheer loudly like some of her cousins. Her attraction sat quieter, warmer, almost private. Her gaze followed my footwork, my shoulders, the way I let Gaijin come close enough to feel hope before taking it away.
Her cousin, Karyna Nox, stood tall with her arms folded, ignoring the fight to stare at a white-haired Tengu through the crowd.
Alex. Of course.
That nigga wasn't even in the arena and still managed to become somebody's side quest. Karyna's gaze moved over his red wings, white locs, face markings, and the exhaustion still sitting in his posture from Danica's earlier terrorism. She had the look of a woman deciding whether she wanted to approach a problem or become one. The Nox were dangerous like that.
Jennifer was the most entertained. Her breathing increased as she watched me with delight and desire. The fan in her hand hid absolutely nothing. Her pinkish-red eyes glimmered over the top of it, half-lidded and predatory, following every dodge like she was imagining the same reflexes in a much warmer room.
"I knew Lord Xiro was strong when he was carrying around full trees as a kid. But he seems virtually untouchable in a fight."
She pressed the fan closer to her lips, smiling harder.
"With a man like him, no other Nox would be worthy besides the Madam of the House."
Omnia sat beside her, serene and wickedly amused, her cyan cat-slit eyes never leaving me.
"Keep watching. You've barely seen anything yet."
That made Jennifer inhale softly.
My queen knew exactly what she was doing. Omnia didn't need to compete with Jennifer's attraction. She fed it with royal confidence, like she was letting the woman stare at the first page of a book and promising the later chapters were worse for her self-control. I wasn't even close enough to hear it, but I knew my wife's energy. She enjoyed people appreciating me almost as much as she enjoyed owning me.
Back in front of the crowd, Vasilisa said nothing, but her eyes weren't missing a thing.
For every kick she saw blocked, marketability flashed across her thoughts. For every punch dodged, she saw stage control. As I remained in place while Gaijin threw a whirlwind of attacks at me, all she could see was showstopping discipline. She saw a performance with purpose. Saw a man controlling not only a fight, but an audience's ability to understand that fight. She saw somebody strong enough to kill the tempo, smart enough to shape it, and cocky enough to make it look like he was enjoying the inconvenience.
Her visible gray eye glowed faintly with Gem Mana again, that celadon shine hidden beneath her platinum lashes. Her breath stayed calm, but her fingers tightened around her glass as if she was holding herself back from writing a contract on the nearest servant's tray.
Somewhere behind that professional expression, she was probably losing her entire business-minded soul.
True M-Cees.
Rappers.
The return of a lost job class.
The Four Horsemen of Arcadia.
All that future nonsense was probably lining up in her head with dollar signs, cultural prophecy, and thighs pressed together from the sight of powerful men moving like living legends. Professional women were still women. And Vasilisa Belova had been standing in my castle all night, discovering that the Wolfpak was not only dangerous, but dangerously fine.
Auburn watched from the back with annoyance and gritted teeth.
He didn't like how effortlessly I was making it appear. Didn't like that I was too calm in the face of someone giving off SS-Class levels of magick pressure. It didn't make sense to him. And niggas like Auburn hated when the world refused to fit inside the little mental cage they built for it. His eyes narrowed, trying to find the trick, the cost, the weakness, the hidden pressure point he could name and own.
He couldn't. That bothered him more.
Jojo peeked over at him behind Beatrix and smiled harder at his facial expressions before returning to the conversation with her. That man was having a good night. Former Hero, now sipping whiskey at a Demon Lord's Ball, watching his old associates discover that their measurements were trash. Character development had never looked so peaceful.
Beatrix swirled the wine around in her cup before gently caressing Jojo's beard.
Her fingers moved like she was touching a holy artifact. Slow. Delicate. Almost reverent. The ivory-skinned High Elf had positioned herself close enough that the edge of her sleeve brushed against his arm, and her blue eyes were no longer on the arena at all. Gaijin could have kicked a hole through the floor, and I don't know if Beatrix would've noticed unless Jojo's beard moved in response.
"This is such a lovely and wonderful display of masculinity."
Jojo's brows lifted slightly as he looked toward the arena.
"Meaning you're enjoying the duel so far?"
Beatrix's gaze stayed on his beard as if the answer should have been obvious.
"Quite the opposite. I have no interest in watching the Devils fight each other. It is you and your exotic facial hair that I would rather continue getting familiar with."
The flirtation was all but apparent on her face.
And by "apparent," I mean a blind monk could have felt it from another room.
Jojo took it with surprising smoothness. He did not panic. Did not stammer. Did not fumble the moment like a man unprepared for a beautiful Elven ruler losing her soul over his beard. Instead, he smiled with the calm confidence of a man discovering that the Prime Realm System had finally decided to apologize for the Church.
"Then please, continue with the stories of your life in Aridor, before you came to Velonica. There's no need to rush; we have all night to fall in love."
Beatrix's fingers paused in his beard.
Her eyes lifted to his.
"If it is a morning where we wake up together, then I will consider it a good night."
Jojo's smile deepened, warm and dangerous in that quiet way.
"To think, a woman of your beauty and charm arrived here without a date."
Beatrix paused for a moment. Only a moment.
But it was enough.
Her gaze tried to drift back toward Auburn, then stopped before fully turning. Not guilt exactly. Calculation. Like she had just remembered a puppet was still standing where she left him, and she needed to decide whether this new distraction was worth loosening a string. The wine in her glass swirled once more as if she needed the motion to cover the guilt, or the annoyance, or whatever noble label she wanted to slap over "I may have found a new interest."
"Not exactly. You can say I came with... a friend."
That pause had a whole divorce proceeding hiding inside it.
Meanwhile, during our fight, the Kurozumi prince shifted his strategy.
Gaijin finally realized that outspeeding me was an impossible task, so he figured he would attack with a broken rhythm. Smart. Not enough to solve his problem, but good enough to make me pay attention. The Chaos Oni's movement changed. His clean martial flow bent sideways, becoming unpredictable. More feints. More stutter steps. More shoulder twitches that looked like false starts but carried enough intent to tempt a reaction from lesser fighters.
His feet scratched against the black marble in quick, uneven patterns.
Tap. Slide.
Pause. Explode.
His new punches came a half beat early, then late. The angle of his kicks felt wrong, crooked on approach, but the arcs ended in near-perfect placement. A knee rose like it would target my ribs, only to turn into a side kick aimed at my knee. A backfist started too wide, then folded inward toward my temple. His hips lied. His shoulders lied. His eyes told partial truths with commitment issues.
If it wasn't for my [Probability Manipulation], he would have landed some lethal strikes.
Instead, he kept missing when he knew he should have hit.
The arena floor cracked under his footwork as his frustration grew. Each heavy step spiderwebbed the black marble, moon markings flickering where his pressure bit into the stage. Thin fractures opened beneath his heels, then sealed themselves a breath later as the dimensional arena repaired the damage with violet light.
I slid around another crooked elbow and tapped his forearm aside.
"I respect the remix in style as an attempt to catch me slippin'. But adapting is something I do better than most."
Gaijin's jaw tightened.
His hands shifted.
Then Wind Mana gathered around him, not in a gentle breeze, but in tight green coils that wrapped his limbs like serpents made of storm pressure. The air sucked inward around his feet, pulling dust, loose mana glitter, and fragments of cracked marble into a small vortex.
"Envelope and guide—Enhanced Wind Mana Arts: Flash Steps!"
With green winds surrounding him, Gaijin launched toward me at blinding speeds.
The first burst cracked the arena's air so hard the barrier flashed white along one side. His body became a green-black blur, a horned silhouette cutting through distance like a thrown blade. His flying knee came in with brutal precision, aimed high enough to smash my chest and throat in one line. The Wind Mana behind it compressed into a cone that would have ripped a normal fighter apart before the knee even landed.
It nearly tagged me. Nearly. My body evaded at light speed.
For the audience, the movement snapped wrong again. One instant, I was there. Next, the force of Gaijin's attack tore through the space I had occupied, creating a ripple through the arena air like invisible glass had been punched. The wind behind his knee spiraled forward, slamming into the far side of the dimensional barrier, where it spread across the curved surface in green rings before fading.
Gaijin landed on his feet with a new grin drawn across his mouth. He had forced me to move faster. That mattered to him. He didn't waste time as he gathered clusters of Devil Mana around his body and aura. The pressure darkened immediately.
His Wind Mana had been sharp and bright. This new energy crawled. Black-violet clusters formed around him like burning bruises in the air, pulsing with a low, demonic hum. The silver moon markings beneath his feet dimmed where the energy touched, like the floor itself disliked the flavor. His shadow deepened until it no longer matched his body.
"They said that the Crimson Lady of Velonica was the fastest of the Deva. It appears her offspring relies on speed as well. But what good does your velocity do against defense like this..."
His shadow opened beneath him.
"Djinni protection from the void—Hyper Devil Mana Arts: Abyss Armor."
The shadow beneath Gaijin opened up like the mouth of Infernia's void had just gotten an invitation to the Ball.
Dark energy punched out in tendrils.
They slapped around Gaijin's body like something trying to capture him and pull him down into a place light couldn't rent property. The tendrils were thick and sticky, shining black with indigo veins crawling through them. They wrapped around his arms, legs, torso, shoulders, and horns, twitching like living tar with hunger. For a heartbeat, it looked like the void had decided Gaijin was food.
Then the constructs hardened.
The black sticky mass morphed into an ebony and indigo battle armor suit. Plates formed over his chest, shoulders, forearms, and shins, edged in jagged demonic curves that looked grown rather than forged. A long tail attached behind him, sleek and armored, swaying once with unsettling life. Hellish mana pulsed through the seams, each beat making the armor's surface ripple like something breathing underneath.
That shit must have weighed the same as air because it didn't slow him down the slightest.
Gaijin swiftly appeared on my blindside with a right hook that would have shattered Mt. Fuji into dust. I intercepted his wrist.
The impact slammed into my palm and forearm with a heavy boom, sending pressure lines across the floor. His Abyss Armor screamed against my grip, black mana biting at my skin. I parried the punch outward, stepped in, and slammed a solid gut shot into his stomach.
The punch folded sound inward.
Gaijin's armor dented around my knuckles, but the Devil Mana chewed back instantly. Still, the force traveled through him and sent him sliding across the arena floor again, boots dragging twin scars through the marble. Violet repair-light sparked under his heels as he fought to remain upright.
Gaijin caught himself and regained balance. With a pair of coughs, he spat up a few drops of black blood. Then he laughed.
I looked down at my hand.
My knuckles were burned and corroded open, black, bloody inner bones and nerves showing beneath torn flesh. The damage smoked slightly, edges sizzling with leftover abyss energy like acid had kissed my hand and left teeth behind. It smelled metallic, burnt, and faintly rotten, a nasty little mix of blood and void corrosion that would've had a normal man screaming.
I only stared at it for a second.
My [Auto-Infinite Regeneration] didn't take long to repair it back into fighting order.
Flesh knitted from the wrist outward in black-red threads. Nerves recoiled into place. Bones sealed behind new tissue. Skin smoothed over with a wet shimmer before drying clean beneath the violet arena light. By the time Gaijin finished coughing, my hand looked like nothing had happened.
The crowd saw that too.
More whispers. More fear. More fascination.
Gaijin wiped his mouth with the back of his armored hand.
"Do you feel that, Mikazuki-dono? No man finds his worth without finding pain first."
"I don't think pain is the proof of value. I believe enduring fits that title more."
His eyes sharpened through the jagged shadow of his armor.
"That could not be further from the truth. Men are not born valuable. We find our worth by proving that we can protect and provide."
For a breath, even the arena felt smaller. His tail swept once behind him, cutting a black line through the air.
"Unlike women, who are born with their value linked to their beauty, we must prove our usefulness before achieving true worth."
That sentence hit the barrier harder than any punch.
Outside, I felt reactions ripple through the crowd. Some women nodded like that belief was just common sense. Some men lowered their eyes because they had heard it too many times to argue. Some looked uncomfortable because hearing poison spoken clearly made it harder to pretend it was medicine.
I stared at him.
"Who taught you that?"
"The world. Are you not a resident of Gaia? Did your mother not speak the same to you?"
"No. My mother loved me even when she didn't understand me. She's never told me I was worthless without providing."
Gaijin's expression didn't soften.
If anything, it hardened with disbelief.
"So, do you think without this grand castle, without the jobs you've created, without the strength you promise to hold... do you think they would still view you as valuable? As someone worth following and listening to?"
Honestly, he had me stuck on that one.
I had no reply or joke. That was rare.
The silence inside me felt louder than the crowd outside the barrier. Somewhere within me, I agreed and disagreed with him at the same time. I knew the ideology was flawed. Deeply flawed. But I also knew Talasi valued me because of what I did. I gave them water, roads, jobs, safety, light, and hope. If I wanted them to follow me willingly while I directed their lives, I had to give them proof that tomorrow would be better in my hands than theirs alone.
But proof of leadership wasn't the same as proof of worth.
When I was Jean, when I felt truly worthless and like a failure, Omnia saw value. Before limitless magick. Before the reincarnation.
Before Demon Lord anything.
Before I could provide for a kingdom or protect a nation or build aqueducts for people who ain't even know how good they had it. Omnia saw something in me when I barely saw anything in myself. Vericka loved me through confusion. Mom didn't understand all of me, but she never treated me like a tool that had to justify being kept. That meant Gaijin's ideology wasn't a universal truth.
I had experienced something different. And that difference mattered to me.
Gaijin coated his fists and feet in Devil Mana as his aura baked with more pressure.
The Abyss Armor pulsed, black and indigo veins brightening across its surface. His hands burned with void-black flames that didn't cast light. His feet smoked against the marble as if the arena hated touching him. Then he launched new kicks and strikes that crackled and burned the air as they tried to land.
"My father was a worthless Oni. A man from the Shirasagi Clan who did nothing but drugs and drink, due to his weak Combat Rating."
He threw a front kick wrapped in dark pressure.
I stepped aside, letting it pass close enough for the Devil Mana to scorch the edge of my coat before the bioarmor repaired the singed fabric with a ripple.
"Brother of the clan's grandmaster, yet he held no wealth, making him a terrible provider to his community and me."
"Shirasagi Clan? That means Gaijin is Headtrip's nephew or relative."
"The white horn Oni called my birth a stain."
He brought down an axe kick that split the blackwood floor beneath the illusion of our marble arena. The dimensional stage flashed and reshaped, but the force was real enough to make the barrier thrum. Black cracks raced outward from his heel, glowing with indigo rot before the repair-light swallowed them.
"They told me that any Shirasagi without pure white horns could never carry their name. They even suggested that my father kill me himself to atone for the sin of giving birth to a mutation."
Next came a punch.
Then a jab.
Both coated in Devil Mana, both aimed with enough force to turn a rib cage into a memory. I parried the first, slipped the second, and felt the heat of his corrupted aura scrape past my cheek like cold fire.
"Yet, that worthless Oni chose not to. Instead, he told me I held potential to surpass them all due to my perfectly blended bloodline. He then took me back to my mother in East Velonica."
In came a spinning elbow, followed by a roundhouse kick that I blocked with my forearm. The impact rattled through the arena in a thunderclap. He immediately threw a high kick that forced me to lean back to avoid his heel. The sole of his shoe cut the air above my face, Devil Mana dragging a black streak through the space between us.
"That journey would prove to be his last, as he would be killed outside of the city of Rian in an attempt to protect me. He stood no chance against the pair of chimeras."
Gaijin planted his back foot and threw a haymaker punch.
Something in my instincts answered before my thoughts could dress the response up with strategy. I threw my own matching punch and canceled his strikeout.
Our fists met.
The air rippled again, this time with thicker pressure that slammed against the barrier. A white-black shock ring burst from the collision and rolled across the arena, bending the violet light lines beneath our feet. Outside, several guests flinched back from the barrier even though it held perfectly. Drinks trembled. Fans snapped shut. A servant nearly dropped a tray before catching it against her chest.
Gaijin's eyes burned through the crackling pressure between our fists.
"He saw a promising future in me and died the day he was given true worth. So yes, Midnight King, I measure men by what they prove."
"What the hell is he talking about?"
His dad saw him as valuable when he couldn't provide anything. The thought struck me with more frustration than I expected.
I understood his desire to protect his sister. I understood wanting to defend the place that accepted him after rejection nearly killed him. I understood building your whole body into a weapon because the world once looked at you like a mistake. But his worldview needed a new pair of eyes.
His father had protected him, yeah. But his father saw his value in Gaijin before the proof. That was the part Gaijin couldn't let himself hold. His father didn't die the day he earned worth. He already believed Gaijin had it and died protecting it.
While I could respect his response to that traumatic life, his repeating a lot of the stuff I used to hear in the streets of Talasi told me Arcadia forced that ideology on men at birth. Prove you can protect. Prove you can provide. Prove you can bleed usefully. Prove your life is worth the resources it takes to keep you breathing. In a world where women outnumbered men, where women's magick surpassed whatever physical advantage men used to cling to, men had been taught to climb value like a ladder no one promised would reach love.
I was just lucky enough to have a mother who didn't follow it.
Right outside the barrier, Queen Sayaka's expression softened.
She was proud of Gaijin's display so far, but hearing him talk reminded her of his father's death. I saw it in the quiet pain around her eyes. She felt hurt for him as much as pride in him. She knew he wore his pride as armor, and unlike the Abyss Armor coating his body, this one had been built from grief, rejection, and every time somebody told him a man had to earn the right to matter.
But she also saw me listening.
Her fingers lowered slightly from her lips.
"Mikazuki-sama, are you someone who wears an armor of pride as well?"
I threw my own punch.
Gaijin dodged it while giving me a cocky smirk at the same time. He attempted to backhand me with his knuckles, but I matched it with one of my own. Our attacks deadstopped on contact with a loud, thunderous clap that snapped through the arena.
"So you only believe your worth is shown through strength. Then what does that mean about your value in this duel?"
Gaijin spun as he threw a follow-up punch.
I slipped through his guard and tagged him in his sternum with a knuckle strike.
On impact, I cast [Mana Disruption].
The Skill hit his flow like a bad note in a perfect song. The magick traveling through his Abyss Armor stuttered. Black-indigo veins flickered out of sequence. The armor's surface rippled wrong, losing density around the chest and shoulders. Gaijin's eyes widened as the Devil Mana construct weakened its own construction.
Alex picked up on it instantly from outside the barrier.
"Hey, he's using my skill!"
I followed the disruption with a three-piece combo to the face.
The first punch snapped his head left.
Second drove straight through his guard and cracked against his cheek.
Third caught him under the jaw with enough force to lift his feet off the floor.
Gaijin rocked backward, armor flickering around his face as he hit the ground. The impact bounced him once against the black marble, violet repair-light flashing beneath his shoulders.
I stepped forward, keeping my voice steady.
"You know, the strongest men I know are not only valuable because they can win a fight. They are valuable because people can breathe more easily when they enter a room. They're valuable because they make others smile more."
Gaijin snarled as he stood back on his feet.
Blood darkened his lip. The Abyss Armor around his jaw rebuilt itself in jagged pieces, though the [Mana Disruption] had left its surface unstable. His chest rose and fell heavier now, but his eyes had not lost their fire.
"They provide protection. Protection requires strength. Provision requires wealth or more strength to take from another."
"Yeah, but strength without self-love is just wasted noise. The person who should find you the most valuable needs to be the one you see in the mirror."
Gaijin dashed at me with a full sprint. The arena floor cracked under his first step. His second step brought a wave of Devil Mana behind him. His third step put him in front of me with a heavy punch aimed at my nose.
I caught his fist.
The entire arena went still.
His knuckles pressed into my palm, Abyss Armor grinding against my fingers, black mana sizzling around the contact point. The barrier hummed. The crowd quieted. Even the low music beyond the arena felt like it had taken a knee. Gaijin's eyes locked on mine, hot with fury, grief, hunger, and something close to desperation.
I stared him down.
"If you want to be the Devil of East Velonica, you should stop chasing your title's reflection in another man. And start deciding, do you consider yourself worthy enough to wear it with your own sense of pride?"
Gaijin froze for half a beat.
That was all I needed.
I ducked down and swept his legs at the ankle, picking him up into the air as he fell. His body tilted, balance gone, Abyss Armor tail whipping behind him in a black arc. In that breath of weightlessness, I drove upward with a rising kick.
My heel slammed into Gaijin's Abyss Armor.
The Devil Mana construct shattered.
Ebony and indigo plates burst outward into clusters of broken mana, scattering through the arena like black glass stars. The demonic tail snapped apart in segments. The armor's chest cracked wide, indigo light bleeding from the seams before the whole construct collapsed off his body.
Gaijin launched across the arena.
The crowd reacted heavily.
The impact snapped the sound of the ballroom into a forced silence that followed. He hit the floor hard, rolling across black marble with drops of black blood and saliva trailing after him. His shoulder struck once. His back struck twice. His heels scraped as he finally slowed near the far side of the circular stage, the barrier behind him glowing faintly from displaced pressure.
Gaijin started laughing as he coughed up blood, blocking his airway. But this time, the laugh was different. He didn't sound upset. There was a weird joy behind it.
A warrior's hunger.
He pushed one hand against the floor, shoulders shaking, blood dripping from his mouth as he lifted his head. His eyes burned brighter, not with humiliation, but relief. Like getting knocked down had confirmed something he needed more than air.
"So your rank as a true Demon Lord is not a false one. Good. That means I can fight at my strongest."
The final round of our match began with a heartbeat.
Not mine. Not his. The arena's.
A low thump rolled beneath the marble, pulsing through the silver markings and light lines as Gaijin Kurozumi pulled breath into his lungs. The dimensional barrier around us hummed softly, but inside, the air had gotten heavier. Miles of folded arena space stretched around us in a circular battlefield of moonlit floor and deep violet horizon, while the ballroom beyond watched through the barrier like a crowd staring into a storm trapped inside a bottle.
Gaijin flooded Bio Mana through his body, creating the familiar burning aura around him.
That heat bloomed from his skin first as a shimmer. Then it thickened into a visible flame around his shoulders, arms, chest, and legs. It burned close to his body, not wild or wasteful, but disciplined. His mana signature spiked in pressure as he completely pulled his full strength from within. The air around him trembled. The cracked floor beneath his feet smoked in thin, white curls as the violet repair-light tried to smooth away the damage from our earlier exchange.
His horns caught a new glow that layered them in light, shining bright in the dark. It made him look more royal than before. More dangerous too.
"Fighting you has been an eye-opening experience. But I guess it's time I show you who I truly am as a Martial Artist."
Gaijin dashed at me. This time, I didn't wait around.
I met him in the middle.
The first collision cracked through the arena like a drumline made from thunder. His fist came in low. Mine cut across high. He slipped under my forearm and threw a sharp body shot, but I turned just enough to let it scrape the side of my bioarmor. My elbow folded down toward his collarbone. He caught it with his forearm and pivoted out. Our feet crossed the silver markings so fast the glow smeared beneath us like wet paint.
Gaijin attacked with a cleaner rhythm now.
That was the part that caught my interest.
He was using a lot of the corrections I forced him to make. His footwork got tighter. No more overreaching just because pride wanted extra inches. His shoulders stopped betraying him before each attack. His guard recovered faster after misses. Even his defense picked up on my teaching patterns, shifting around the openings I had been punishing earlier.
That was rare. Some fighters got hit and got mad. Some got hit and got scared. Gaijin got hit and learned.
I grinned as I ducked under a hook and brushed his follow-up jab aside.
"You improve like Steez and Luda. This is getting fun."
His eyes sharpened like the compliment annoyed him more than an insult. He didn't answer with words.
He answered by trying to kick my ribs into the next calendar.
I tossed a high spinning kick that Gaijin ducked under, my heel cutting through the space above his horns as my coat flared outward. The kick would have taken the head off most people. Gaijin slipped beneath it with a tight bend at the knees, his balance clean, his body low, his eyes tracking my hip instead of my foot. Smart. Annoying, but smart.
Then I noticed a dip in his mana signature.
The pressure shifted.
His magickal presence reduced, like his Mana had been pulled back behind a curtain. But instead of weakening, he started emitting this overwhelming pressure that didn't taste like Mana at all. It pressed against the skin differently. Less flashy. Less colorful. More rooted. More absolute. Like the force wasn't asking the world to change for it. It simply insisted that it already existed, and everything else could adjust.
Gaijin's eyes lit up with a bright burst of violet energy.
"Art of the Ink Fist: Blackened Storm!"
Small shards of Devil Mana clusters circled around Gaijin's fist, creating a black sparkle that looked like popping blobs of ink inside a rainstorm. They flickered, burst, reformed, and crawled along his knuckles in tiny dark sparks. That new pressure wrapped beneath them, shaping the Combat Art into something sharper than his Mana Arts had been. Qi. Raw, bodily, stubborn existence moving through martial intent.
Gaijin launched into the Combat Art.
He threw a straight open palm first, aiming for my chest with enough speed to fold air around his wrist. I blocked it, but the impact felt heavier than it should have. The follow-up punch came lethal, cutting in from a tighter line than his earlier strikes. I parried, but the angle shifted half a hair from what I expected. Then came a spinning elbow, black Mana sparkles popping along the edge like ink exploding in slow rain.
With new foot placement, he lifted into a knee check that spun him on a heel pivot before finishing with a roundhouse.
For one breath, his body became a distorted streak of black. He maneuvered between my blocks and landed three strong and precise strikes.
First, a knuckle shot clipped my shoulder and sent a shock through my ribs.
Second, his elbow slammed across my jaw hard enough to snap my head to the side.
Third, his roundhouse dug into my torso like a planet had decided to express an opinion through footwear.
The attacks hit me like a star.
My thoughts scattered for a fraction of a second. The arena's markings blurred. The violet barrier stretched into streaks. My body flew backward before my pride could object. I hit the ground and slid across the marble, sparks hissing beneath my shoulders as the floor cracked and repaired beneath me.
The Wolfpak had a new look of shock on their faces.
Outside the barrier, Alex leaned forward, his red wings twitching behind him as his eyes tracked Gaijin's stance with sharp interest.
"The East Velonica prince is getting better mid-fight."
Steez's smirk faded into something more serious, though he still had a little attitude sitting in his face because that was baby bro's default setting.
"Man, Xi is playing around too much."
Luda's eyes narrowed, not at the damage, but at the difference.
"Did you two notice something unique about the Kurozumi's aura? His mana signature dropped, but his aura sharpened vastly."
Cali adjusted his glasses with one hand, drink held low in the other.
"That explains a lot. I couldn't track why it looked like Xiro received damage just then."
Raion's golden eyes stayed on the arena, calm but intrigued.
"Xiro has a bad habit of making dangerous people stronger, just so he can have fun."
Swamp threw both hands up like he was at the best sporting event of his life.
"Fuck all that, this is the best royal shindig I have ever attended. Get that niggah, Xiro!"
In the back of the crowd, Auburn Graham was witnessing everything and finding himself questioning more.
He had already been uneasy with how I was handling Gaijin, but seeing me get hit introduced something brand new to him. It wasn't relief. Nah, not quite. It was a recalculation. He didn't smile like a man who had found weakness. He frowned like a man who had discovered a hidden language in a book he thought he could read.
"I knew I wasn't mistaken. The Devil from East Velonica used qi just then."
Auburn placed down his glass of alcohol. That alone meant he was concerned. Qi Mastery this far south was not in his reports. Junji, yes. Aldo, maybe. But East Velonica? That changed the shape of several assumptions.
His focus shifted back to me while I recovered from the attack.
"With additional information that the Demon Lord can hide his true Combat Rating, this development is a big concern. These Majinn are beyond any of the reports on the two Velonicas."
I floated myself back to my feet.
The ground left my back slowly as my body rose upright, coat dragging off the marble and settling around me like a shadow remembering dignity. I looked over my body, feeling physical pain again for the first time in a long while. Real pain. Not the vague pressure of damage being erased before it could matter. My jaw throbbed. My ribs ached. My shoulder had this deep, pulsing heat inside it that made me aware of every breath.
I had almost forgotten how rude pain could be.
[Moon Sage: Tsukuyomi] slid in with the update and status report.
"Master, Gaijin's attacks are reducing the effects of your [Physical Damage Nullification] by half. Qi asserted the body's existence so stubbornly that it interfered with probability-skewed defenses and spatial tricks."
"So Qi just says fuck magick like that? No wonder God Qi feels so ridiculous when I use it."
"Qi, itself, is naturally strong against Mana. But significantly weak against Kundalini. With Kundalini failing against powerful Mana."
I always cheated during Rock, Paper, Scissors.
Gaijin watched me rise with a grin that carried more blood than mockery.
"Are you scared, Mikazuki-dono? I'm sure those punches didn't feel too good."
"Don't worry, G-Man, those were the last attacks you're going to land."
He rolled his neck, cracking tension from his shoulders while violet pressure continued burning in his eyes.
"You finally plan to take me seriously? Are you done with the lectures?"
I flexed my fingers once. The ache in my shoulder reminded me that he had earned this answer.
"Since you're now aware of my strength, I'm now aware of your skill. Mutual respect has been gained here, but it's now time I show you just how far apart we are from each other in terms of power."
Gaijin's grin sharpened.
"Then I hate to disappoint you, but our fight isn't over until I claim it is."
With those words, Gaijin began producing incredible amounts of qi into his fist.
His mana signature all but vanished, but the pressure his aura emitted was undeniable. The violet shine in his eyes deepened. The Devil Mana fragments around his body dimmed, almost bowing beneath the denser force gathering in his arm. His fist became the center of the arena, and the space around it distorted in small, violent pulses.
Even our arena dimension rumbled beneath our feet.
Silver moon markings flickered. Violet lines stuttered. The dimensional barrier hummed louder, glass-like surface rippling in slow rings. Outside, the crowd saw the pressure change and instinctively backed away, even though they were safe. Well, safe-ish. Safe enough for rich people, at least.
Gaijin was about to put his full back into it. But the outcome had been decided already.
I raised my hand and took a stance.
Then I began to boil the repressed Bio Mana flowing through me.
Heat flashed through my body in a sudden wave. It started in my core and rushed outward, turning my blood into a furnace for half a breath. My muscles tightened. My Soul Core pulsed. The air around my skin shimmered with invisible pressure, not large enough for most people to recognize, but deep enough that the observant ones would feel something change.
[Moon Sage: Tsukuyomi] regulated it before it became wasteful.
I had learned this trick back in Jerrica's Labyrinth when I had reached my limit before needing to evolve. A nasty little desperate adjustment from a time when survival kept teaching me things the peaceful times had forgotten to mention. It increased my magick strength by three times without needing to charge a lot of Mana. If you didn't know what to look for, it was easy to misjudge as an opponent.
At the sound of ice cubes rattling, I made the first move.
I dashed straight toward Gaijin with glowing indigo eyes.
The crowd watching expected a frontal attack. Hell, Gaijin expected a frontal attack.
I could tell by the placement of his front foot that he was looking to anticipate my position. His weight was loaded just right. His fist pulled back with all that Qi waiting inside it, lined up to fire through me the moment I committed. His eyes didn't blink. His stance didn't waver.
Perfect.
I landed exactly where he was hoping I would. And he didn't disappoint.
Gaijin threw a piercing right straight through my chest. The impact surprised him and the crowd as everyone gasped.
Queen Sayaka's voice broke through the silence with sudden fear.
"Mikazuki-sama!!"
Swamp's shout came right after, pure panic with no etiquette.
"Oh shit!!"
Vasilisa's accent sharpened with shock.
"Vhat!!"
Jennifer's fan dropped a fraction from her lips.
"Lord Xiro!!"
Uncle Charles simply chuckled from where he stood.
"Hehh. Would you look at that?"
Gaijin froze.
For one impossible second, they all thought he did the unthinkable.
His arm was buried through my chest, shoulder-deep, fist emerging from my back. The whole image was clean enough to make the crowd's blood stop. My coat hung around the wound. My head tilted slightly downward. The indigo glow in my eyes remained steady. The arena went quiet enough for the barrier to hum like a funeral bell.
But it only took another second before people noticed something about the scene.
There was no blood.
For Gaijin, there was no resistance.
No body weight.
No warmth.
No bones.
No organs.
Nothing.
That was when it started settling on him as the Xiro in front of him slowly dissolved into a dark mist of Yin Mana. My body unraveled from the hole outward, turning into smoke-black ribbons that curled around his arm and slipped through his fingers. My face stayed last, indigo eyes glowing inside the mist until even those faded into shadow.
Gaijin's eyes shot open.
Uncle Charles smiled.
"Thought so."
Ceyda's voice trembled near the front of the crowd.
"Lord Xiro?"
Michelle Nox leaned forward, eyes widening with quiet awe.
"He's gone."
Sayaka repeated it more softly, like the words had to pass through fear before becoming understanding.
"He's gone?"
Gaijin pulled his arm back as the last of the mist slipped away.
"Where did he go?"
The pool of shadows beneath Gaijin began to ripple like a still lake freshly disturbed.
A thin ring of darkness spread under his feet, widening with silent confidence. The violet moon markings dimmed beneath it. The black marble reflected nothing inside that pool. No lights. No horns. No crowd. Just a depth that felt way too patient.
Suddenly, the crackling sounds of electricity rang through the Ballroom.
I exploded from the darkness right beneath Gaijin.
Electric Mana coated around my fist in bright indigo-crimson arcs, snapping from knuckle to wrist like caged lightning finally getting parole. The air shrieked as I rose from the shadow pool, body twisting upward, coat trailing behind me like smoke caught in a storm.
I uppercutted Gaijin under the chin with the force of 30 nukes.
"Art of Xirotation: Shadow Shouryuken!"
The impact created a flash.
A pillar of electric-indigo light burst from the point of contact, lifting Gaijin off his feet so violently his body bent around the strike before rocketing upward. His head snapped back. His horns caught lightning. The pressure slammed into the barrier in a circular shockwave, making the transparent wall flash bright enough to paint every guest in blue-white light.
Gaijin launched into the ceiling of the dimensional arena.
He slammed into it with a thunderous crash, the upper barrier denting outward in a pale violet ripple before snapping him back down. His body hung for half a breath in the afterglow, limbs loose, suit torn, Bio Mana aura flickering.
As he fell back down, I was already wrapping up the fight.
Deadwind Mana and Devil Mana rotated in my palm.
The pure oxygen layered with abyss energy created a hypnotic indigo and harlequin pattern, evoking images of butterfly-like mana clusters around the growing sphere. It spun fast, but gracefully, like a flower made of cyclone pressure and hell-light opening in my hand. Deadwind carried that beautiful wrongness to it, all oxygen sharpened beyond life into something that cut and fed combustion at the same time. The Devil Mana threaded through it in black-green veins, abyss essence spiraling inside the sphere like oil poured into a hurricane.
The orb compacted.
Smaller.
Denser.
Meaner.
"Deadwind Mana Arts: October's Uzumaki."
I met Gaijin on his way down.
Then I slammed the compact spiraling orb right into his torso.
The magiton-boosted oxygen and Infernian essence ripped with rotational force as it carved into Gaijin's stomach and pinned him to the arena floor. The impact didn't just hit. It drilled. The orb rotated against him, indigo and harlequin light spinning in a tight spiral as black-green pressure bit into his body. The air screamed around it, pure oxygen feeding the violent rotation while abyss energy corroded whatever tried to resist.
His shirt didn't stand a chance of softening the impact.
The magick left trails of corroded skin where it tore across him, as if acid had touched him and decided to write a signature. Smoke curled from the edges of the wound. His body slammed into the black marble hard enough to crack the arena beneath him in a spiderweb pattern. Silver markings shattered outward, then flickered as the dimensional repair-light struggled to keep up.
The pressure of the art knocked the air, fight, and consciousness out of Gaijin. The arena cracked beneath him.
Then Gaijin went still.
For the following second, no one spoke.
As I slowly descended into my landing, the silence expanded around us. One second passed. Then two. Then three. The crowd waited, trapped in that strange space between awe and fear, where applause felt too early, and panic felt too late.
Queen Sayaka gripped her own wrist hard enough to mark the skin.
I walked over to Gaijin, calm but exhaling a little deeper than before with enjoyment. My boots clicked softly against the cracked marble. The smell of burnt air, corroded cloth, and charged Electric Mana lingered in the arena like a storm had died there. The violet lines beneath my feet repaired themselves in slow pulses, smoothing away the violence I had just written into the floor.
Gaijin managed to crack his eyes open for a second.
He glanced up at me.
Not defeated in spirit, but defeated in body.
I looked down at him and kept my voice lower than before.
"Even when you're not the strongest, it doesn't stop you from being the most valuable thing to someone. Your father proved that when he gave his life for yours. He saw your value before you earned a damn thing. You should honor his wishes by learning your self-worth, my nigga."
He looked like he wanted to say something.
His lips parted slightly.
Maybe he wanted to argue. Maybe thank me. Maybe curse me. Maybe deny the truth because it hurts worse than the ass whippin' I just gave him. But he didn't have the vitality to give any of that shape.
His eyes closed as he passed out.
Omnia took that moment to stand up and make an announcement.
My goddess rose with royal calm, dress catching the ballroom light as her cyan cat-slit eyes swept across the crowd. She didn't need to shout. Her voice carried through the barrier and over the ballroom with effortless authority.
"With Prince Gaijin Kurozumi unable to continue the match, the duel's victory goes to my beloved, Demon Lord Xiro Mikazuki."
With those words, the entire Ballroom erupted.
Many nobles in the crowd cheered. Some stared before glancing around at others, trying to decide if cheering was politically wise before their bodies chose for them. A few were frightened by the showcase, looking at me with unbridled fear. Those ones understood enough to know I had been gentle until I decided not to be.
The Aylin sisters looked like I had rewritten their understanding of strength. Ceyda stared like I was a divine blueprint. Niomi looked like politics had left her body and taken decency with it. The Nox women were completely compromised.
But the worst of them was the madam herself.
Jennifer's previous view of me was now stamped with a man who checked all her boxes. Strong. Protective. Beautiful. Dangerous. Hometown-made. Politically valuable. Built like temptation and apparently capable of turning a royal duel into a sermon with violence. She looked like House Nox had found its dream investment and wanted to secure stock before the market opened.
"I knew it. The men of House Mikazuki are a public health risk and an absolute must-have."
Azumi leaned closer to Omnia, eyes still fixed on me.
"He's kinda sexy when he fights."
Omnia smiled without looking surprised.
"I was wondering when you would finally notice."
Kimmi looked like she didn't expect anything else from the fight.
My little sister's face held that calm sibling certainty, like everyone else had just wasted time discovering water was wet. She folded her arms and watched me with pride that warmed something in my chest, even from across the barrier.
"I can't believe he thought he could beat my brother. Nobody can beat my big brother."
Uncle Charles gave a low chuckle, arms crossed as his eyes stayed on me.
"Nephew's quite the M-Cee."
Vasilisa was stunned into silence.
The Half-Celestial's mind flashed with so many ideas and thoughts of potential that she seemed visibly disassociated. Her visible eye glowed celadon, but her face had gone still, professional mask frozen halfway between awe and desire. The future of the RIAA was standing before her. Not just strength, but artistry, command, story, and charisma that she knew people would pay big money to witness.
She wasn't seeing only a fighter. She was seeing an industry event disguised as a man. A.K.A. big money without a manager.
Auburn was stuck with his mouth open.
After that display, things were different. He needed to let the others from the Bohemian Grove know, but he remembered he had come there with Beatrix. His eyes moved toward the drink table, searching for her.
He found her still near the drinks. Still chatting it up with Jojo.
Auburn's anger increased greatly, but he wore it on his face subtly as he looked at Beatrix with new disgust. Not loud disgust. Worse. Quiet, possessive, disappointed-disgust. The look men used when they believed a woman's attention belonged to them.
Jojo noticed him leering and gave his old friend a warm smile back.
That smile was criminal.
Auburn quietly made his way toward the exit for the courtyard, leaving Beatrix unaware of his sudden departure.
Beatrix herself was visibly shaken as her wine glass trembled in her hand. The ending to the duel had solidified her uncomfortable fear of me, but it also opened her eyes to a new kind of wonder as she turned her eyes from me and back to Jojo. Fear of one monster. Fascination with a Human's beard. Gaia's politics were cooked.
Cecil wore a brand-new smile, like he had found a student worth the trouble.
The Simian's golden tail flicked behind him while his eyes stayed bright with mischievous interest. Cecil wasn't afraid. He looked entertained. Curious. Like my movement had scratched a part of his old warrior brain that wanted to see whether there was more under the hood. That man was definitely going to make good on his request later, and knowing my life, it would not involve anything peaceful.
The foxy fatale, Lene Lakisha, stood next to Steez, stating that Northern Velonica would be talking about the Royal Player's Ball before sunrise. Her four black tails swayed behind her with anxious excitement, and even though she tried to keep her noble posture, her eyes sparkled with the thrill of having witnessed something worth gossiping about for years.
Over with the Wolfpak, Luda let out a low cheer.
Pride was written across his face. No surprise. Alex folded his arms, trying to look unimpressed and failing because the grin kept betraying him.
"I could have taken Gaijin. Xi should have let me run that fade."
Steez cut him down without mercy.
"Sure. After Danica gives you a good nap and a sandwich."
Raion's golden eyes stayed on the unconscious Kurozumi prince as he spoke with honest respect.
"The prince had good instincts."
Cali lifted his glass slightly, voice calm as ever.
"Good instincts are nice, but he just got taught a life lesson with violence."
On the second floor, Frost Mayonaka just watched in grim discomfort.
I didn't look like a mindless monster.
To him, I looked worse.
Controlled. Brilliant. Terrifying.
His hands tightened around the railing as shadows held around him like old judgment. His face didn't show admiration, as his mask hid any expression. But he had seen enough. Maybe more than he wanted.
"Impressive... Still, too dangerous."
Still, over all the noise, the loudest thing was a whisper by Queen Sayaka.
The Night Orchid of East Velonica stood near the front, one hand still close to the wrist she had gripped too tightly. Her red eyes stayed on me through the fading glow of the dimensional barrier. Fear, admiration, irritation, political calculation, and something much warmer all moved behind her composed expression at once.
"Mikazuki-dono... Your kind of chaos could become addictive."
[End of Chapter]
[1] May on Earth.