The air inside the battlefield rippled like molten glass. The Reverent Palace, once serene, now watched as a storm of pride, vengeance, and ambition began to gather. The three figures—Lucius, Vyralthus, and Shin—stood apart at the triangular corners of the arena Jiliana had created, their shadows twisting long across the stone.
No words. No hesitation. The air cracked once, and the fight began.
Lucius was first to move. His eyes flared crimson, pupils narrowing like those of a predator as fangs slid from his lips. With one motion, his sword gleamed out of its sheath—a long curved weapon humming with hunger, as if thirsting for the taste of flesh. "Let's not waste breath," he hissed, his voice thick with bloodlust. "Let's see who truly deserves to breathe."
Vyralthus answered with steel. His sword—a massive broadsword of darkened alloy—came alive in his grip, reflecting no light, absorbing it instead. He did not waste words either. His stance was solid, shoulders squared, his eyes heavy with a veteran's calm.
Shin opened his grimoire. Pages fluttered on their own, a thousand runes flashing at once in electric blue. His voice was cool, layered with arrogance. "Two relics of the past," he said, tone dripping with disdain. "Let me show you how a world bows to scripture." He raised his hand, and a ring of light symbols spun into being above his palm.
Then it began.
Lucius lunged forward first, faster than eyes could follow. His body blurred, sword carving a red arc through the air aimed at Shin's throat. Shin barely moved—just a flick of his finger, and the symbols exploded outward, forming a wall of condensed energy. The impact burst with a thunderous crack, sending dust and red mist across the ring.
Before the sound faded, Vyralthus was already in motion. His sword descended in a vertical slash toward Lucius, who twisted backward and kicked off the ground, fangs bared in a feral grin. The clash of steel screamed like a dying beast. Sparks scattered.
Lucius pivoted midair, his blade cutting through the residue of Shin's barrier, and landed behind Vyralthus in a crouch. He hissed, striking again with both fang and sword—one for the flesh, one for the neck.
But Vyralthus turned. With one arm he caught Lucius's blade on his gauntlet; with the other he drove the blunt end of his sword into Lucius's ribs. Bone cracked. Lucius coughed dark blood but laughed through it, fangs glinting.
"You hit harder than before," Lucius spat, stepping back. "Guess death built you stronger."
"Death doesn't build," Vyralthus growled. "It cleanses weakness."
Shin's voice echoed over them. "And yet neither of you learned from it."
From the floating grimoire, ten orbs of blue fire erupted, each inscribed with ancient script. They spun into a ring and fired downward like guided meteors. Lucius dashed aside, leaving black streaks where his feet struck the floor; Vyralthus raised his sword, channeling a wave of darkness that deflected the blasts. Still, the shockwaves tore cracks into the arena floor.
The Reverents above watched in silence. Even Amandon's expression was unreadable.
Lucius, now with one arm dripping blood, crouched low, growling. Then he vanished. The air rippled behind Shin, and a whisper followed—"Found you."
He struck. The sword cut straight through Shin's barrier, grazing his arm. Blood spilled, and Shin hissed, his calm cracking for the first time.
Vyralthus charged through the gap, his greatsword arcing horizontally. Shin leapt backward, landing on a floating platform formed from his own spell. The pages of his grimoire flipped faster and faster. Symbols coalesced into spears of solid light.
"Disappear."
The command was simple, but the result catastrophic. Dozens of spears rained down like divine punishment. Lucius rolled through the debris, avoiding two, catching a third midair and throwing it aside with sheer brute force. Vyralthus spun his blade in wide arcs, shattering several on impact—but each one exploded upon contact, driving him backward step by step.
Lucius lunged again. "I'll rip that smug face off!"
He slammed into Shin's barrier with a beast's roar, clawed hands striking the runes themselves. The barrier shattered like glass. Shin's hand shot out, pressing to Lucius's chest. A word left his mouth—a single syllable—and Lucius was thrown across the arena, slamming into the far wall hard enough to crater it.
Vyralthus took the moment. "Now." His blade swung downward, striking Shin's grimoire itself. The book screamed—not metaphorically, but literally—as its pages burst open and chains of script lashed around Vyralthus's arm. Shin twisted his hand, muttering fast incantations.
Vyralthus grunted, muscles bulging, and tore through the magical chains by sheer willpower. "You talk too much." He swung again. The sword bit into Shin's shoulder. Blood splattered across the arena floor.
Lucius reappeared behind Shin, mouth open, fangs ready to strike. He drove his sword forward—
—but Shin caught it. One hand. Bare fingers against steel. The grimoire pulsed, and the sword froze, locked in place by invisible bindings. Shin's grin returned, cold and razor-thin. "Predictable."
Energy surged from Shin's hand, and a pulse of force threw both men backward. Lucius rolled midair, landing on all fours like a beast. Vyralthus crashed into a broken stone pillar but rose instantly, panting.
The air burned with the smell of ozone and blood. The arena floor was split in dozens of jagged lines, light leaking through from the magical foundation beneath.
Lucius spat blood, laughing again. "Not bad, preacher. But I've had worse sermons."
He charged once more. His body blurred, then split—two, three, four Lucius forms emerging in streaks of crimson light, all attacking at once.
Shin spun his grimoire, countering with glyphs of light that shattered the clones one after another—but the real Lucius struck from below, bursting up from the cracked floor, sword first. Shin barely dodged, his cheek cut.
Vyralthus took the advantage. He swung from the right, a massive overhead blow that Shin blocked only by conjuring a wall of pure script midair. The wall cracked. The second swing broke it.
For the first time, Shin staggered.
Lucius and Vyralthus moved as if driven by the same pulse. One from the left, one from the right. Blades aimed for the same heart.
Shin roared, eyes flashing white. The grimoire's pages tore free from its spine, swirling around him like a cyclone. "Enough!"
Light exploded outward. The impact threw both Lucius and Vyralthus away like ragdolls. When the smoke cleared, Shin stood in the center, arms extended, breathing hard. His robe was torn, one eye bleeding—but his aura burned brighter than before, a storm made flesh.
Lucius groaned, forcing himself upright. "Still standing, huh?"
Vyralthus rose slower, his sword dragging against the floor. "Then let's keep him busy until he's not."
The next exchange was pure brutality. Lucius ducked low, slashing in savage arcs; Vyralthus struck from above, each swing shaking the arena. Shin moved like lightning between them, countering, deflecting, retaliating with explosions of runic light. Every impact tore stone and light apart.
Lucius's sword clashed with Shin's summoned barrier, sparks spraying; Vyralthus's blade met Shin's counterstrike in midair, sending waves of energy that rippled across the entire Reverent Palace.
The clash became rhythm—strike, dodge, scream, explosion. There was no pause now, only survival. The three moved beyond tactics, into raw instinct.
Lucius's fangs sank into Shin's arm—Shin screamed and retaliated with a blast that sent Lucius tumbling away, smoking. Vyralthus's greatsword slammed into Shin's ribs, breaking one—but Shin caught the blade mid-swing, twisting it with sheer magical pressure until the metal screamed and bent.
The watching Reverents remained silent. Roze leaned forward slightly, his lips curving in faint satisfaction.
At last, the three combatants broke apart, gasping, bloodied. The floor between them glowed with cracks of molten energy. None spoke. None smiled.
Lucius raised his sword again. "Round's not over."
Shin, eyes glowing like dying stars, lifted his grimoire once more. "Then burn."
And Vyralthus—his sword now slick with blood and light—stepped forward. "Let's end this."