"Okay, everyone. This will be a demonstration of the level I expect you all to reach."
Damien stood in the middle of the arena, his voice carrying across the empty stands where the new recruits sat.
"Now, do not get me wrong. I think each and every single one of you has the potential to be one of the strongest in Orario." Damien's gaze swept across them. "But today, I am here to humble you. To let you know that there are far higher levels you can all reach. So you do not let things get into your head."
He paused.
"And to be more clear, the experience we had with those attackers from yesterday should tell you all about what the high level is all about."
He turned to Riveria, who stood at the edge of the arena. "Go for it."
She nodded. Her staff rose. Ancient elven words left her lips, and a shimmering barrier of blue light spread across the arena, enclosing the battlefield in a protective dome. The stands were safe.
Damien turned to face Alcy, who waited on the opposite side of the arena.
"Well then." He drew his daggers, Nyx and Nótt gleaming in the morning light. "Are you ready?"
Alcy hefted her massive sword onto her shoulder. The blade was longer than she was tall, wider than her chest, yet she held it like it weighed nothing. Her red hair fluttered in the wind.
"I was born ready!" She grinned. "Let us go!"
....
Alcy moved first.
Her massive sword came down like a falling star. Damien sidestepped. The blade crashed into the stone where he had stood, sending cracks racing across the arena floor. She followed with a horizontal sweep—fast, faster than a blade that size had any right to be. Damien ducked under it, feeling the wind of its passage ruffle his hair.
He countered.
His daggers flashed toward her side. She twisted, her sword coming up to block. The impact sent sparks flying. Damien danced back, light on his feet, already moving for another angle.
She was stronger than him. Much stronger. Every swing of her sword carried enough force to shatter stone, to break bones, to end the fight in an instant if it connected. But Damien did not let it connect.
He flowed around her like water around a stone.
His daggers struck from every direction—high, low, left, right. Each strike was precise, calculated, aimed at the gaps in her defense. She blocked most of them, her massive blade moving with surprising speed. But not all. A cut opened on her forearm. Another on her thigh. A third across her ribs.
Alcy grinned despite the blood.
"You are fast," she admitted. "Annoyingly fast."
She leaped back and raised her free hand. Grey aura erupted from her body—not raw strength, but something sharper. More focused. The aura condensed into hundreds of feather-like daggers that spread out around her, hovering in the air like a halo of blades.
"Stymphalian Birds," she announced.
The feather daggers shot toward Damien from every direction.
He did not run. He did not retreat. He moved into the storm.
His body twisted, turned, ducked, and spun. A feather passed within a hair's breadth of his throat. Another grazed his cheek. A third sliced through the edge of his sleeve. But none touched him. He flowed through the barrage like a master assassin, his movements economical, perfect, almost lazy.
He emerged on the other side.
His dagger slashed across Alcy's side.
She gasped and stumbled back, her hand pressing against the wound. Blood dripped between her fingers, but she was still smiling.
"You really are a monster," she said.
Then her smile widened.
"But so am I."
Grey aura exploded from her again—but different this time. Thicker. Heavier. It coalesced around her body, taking the shape of a massive boar, tusks lowered, ready to charge.
"Erymanthian Boar's Charge!"
She launched forward like a battering ram.
Damien was still turning from his last strike. He could not dodge. He could not sidestep. The boar's aura filled his vision, blocking out the light, the arena, everything.
He planted his feet.
He raised his hand.
And he punched.
Not Alcy. Not the sword. The aura itself.
His fist drove into the snout of the spectral boar. The impact sent shockwaves rippling across the arena. The boar's head shattered. The aura collapsed. The force of the punch traveled through the magical construct and into Alcy, driving her into the ground.
Stone cracked beneath her. A crater formed around her body.
Damien stood over her, his fist still extended.
"I am fast and agile," he said calmly. "But I am also strong."
Alcy coughed. Blood dotted her lips. She pushed herself up, her arms trembling.
Think, she told herself. He is too fast. Too precise. Too strong. I cannot beat him in direct combat.
She looked at her sword. At the shadows pooling at Damien's feet. At the distance between them.
But I do not have to fight alone.
She raised her hand.
"Cerberus."
Her aura split. Three streams of grey energy poured from her body, each one taking shape—a copy of herself, identical in every way. Same sword. Same stance. Same expression. Even their mana signatures were perfectly matched.
Damien could not tell which was real.
He grinned. "Your ace is becoming three?"
Alcy nodded. The three Alcys raised their swords. Dark flames erupted along the blades—black fire that seemed to drink the light around it.
"Hell flames," she said. "Now... unleash hell."
The three Alcys attacked.
Damien did not move. He stood in the center of the arena, watching them close in from three directions. The dark flames cast strange shadows across his face.
"Numbers," he said. "That is smart."
He smiled.
"But facing the Monarch of Shadows with numbers is a foolish mistake."
Darkness erupted from his feet.
Two figures emerged from the shadows—Diana, her great scimitar gleaming, and Igris, his massive sword held ready. They moved without hesitation, intercepting two of the Alcys in a clash of steel and shadow.
Damien faced the third.
She swung her flame-wreathed blade. He ducked. He spun. His daggers flashed.
One cut to the chest. A second to the throat. A third that split her in half from shoulder to hip.
The copy dissolved into grey mist.
Damien turned. Diana was holding her own against her opponent, their blades ringing across the arena. But Igris was struggling. The Alcy he faced was relentless, her dark flames forcing him back step by step. He blocked, dodged, countered—but she had the advantage.
Damien moved.
He crossed the distance in an instant, his dagger carving through the air. The Alcy fighting Igris did not see him coming. Her head left her shoulders before she could react. Her body dissolved into mist.
Damien nodded at Igris. The shadow soldier dipped his head in acknowledgement.
The third Alcy—the last one—turned and ran.
Damien did not follow. Instead, he and Diana switched places. She appeared where he had been. He appeared where she had been—directly in front of the fleeing copy.
She skidded to a stop. Her eyes widened.
He dodged her desperate swing, stepped inside her guard, and slashed her hand off at the wrist. Her sword clattered to the ground. A second slash removed her head. Her body dissolved.
Damien turned.
Then he ducked.
A blade passed over his head—close enough to cut a few strands of hair. He spun on his heel, his leg sweeping low. A fourth Alcy—hidden, invisible, waiting—lost her footing and crashed to the ground.
He placed his dagger at her throat.
"So... it was four of you." He smiled. "Quite the skill."
Alcy stared up at him, shock written across her face. "How... did you...?"
"Mana." Damien shrugged. "No matter what you do, even the faintest trace of mana can be detected by someone as skillful as me."
Alcy was silent for a moment. Then she let out a long breath and relaxed beneath his blade.
"I see." She smiled. "Then I accept defeat."
Damien's dagger disappeared. He extended his hand to help her up.
"You did well."
She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. The arena erupted in applause from the stands. The new recruits were on their feet, cheering. Hestia was clapping so hard her hands were red. Loki was laughing. Freya nodded, a rare smile on her lips.
Alcy looked at Damien, at the hand still holding hers, and grinned.
"Next time," she said, "I will not lose."
Damien grinned back. "I look forward to it."
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