Null's laughter echoed across the arena. It was not quiet amusement but genuine, unrestrained joy. The sound bounced off the Great Tree's walls, rising into the sky above.
"Now, let's have some fun, Marcus!"
He vanished.
When he reappeared, his fist wasn't just moving through air—it was moving through space itself—the punch connected with Marcus's guard, and reality bent. The air rippled outward in visible waves. Where Null's knuckles had passed, small pockets of nothingness lingered, void spaces that hurt to look at.
Marcus's armor absorbed most of the impact, but the force still sent him sliding backward, his feet carving deep grooves into the arena floor.
Null laughed again and struck upward.
The uppercut didn't just hit Marcus—it carried him. The older boy rocketed skyward, pulled by a pocket of distorted gravity. Null teleported above him, fist already descending. Marcus twisted mid-air, his armor flowing to his back to absorb the blow that sent him higher still.
They rose above the arena's walls, soaring past the highest branches of the Great Tree. Below them, the ground looked like a patchwork of broken stone and roots.
Marcus recovered his balance fifty feet up. His armor had grown wings—not for flight, but for stability in the open air. He launched himself at Null with explosive force.
Null teleported behind him. "Too slow!"
His laugh rang out as he struck. Each punch left glowing trails of ether in the air. The energy didn't dissipate; it lingered, creating a web of light that marked the path of their battle. Where Null's fist had passed, the air seemed to shiver, as if it remembered the strike.
Marcus spun, catching Null's wrist. His grip could crush stone.
Null grinned wider and punched with his free hand, not at Marcus, but through the space between them. The fist emerged from a void pocket behind Marcus's head. The older boy barely dodged, releasing Null's wrist to avoid the impossible angle.
"Hah! That's it! Keep trying!" Null's voice carried genuine encouragement. He wanted Marcus at his best, fighting with everything he had.
They clashed again. Marcus's fists had become hammers, each strike carrying enough force to shatter buildings. Null weaved between them, teleporting in erratic patterns—above, below, left, right, behind, in front. Never the same position twice. Where he appeared, space warped. Where he struck, reality cracked.
Marcus adapted frantically. His armor grew thicker, denser. Spikes emerged to prevent grappling. His body became heavier as he resisted the gravitational pull. But it wasn't enough.
Null's ether-enhanced punches passed through defenses like they weren't there. Each hit created small voids in Marcus's armor that took precious seconds to repair. The distortions disrupted his balance, his breathing, his focus.
They rose higher. A hundred feet. Two hundred. The arena became a distant circle below.
Null created a cluster of black holes around Marcus—six points of crushing gravity pulling in different directions. Marcus's armor screamed under the strain. He pulsed his own ether outward, creating a brief repulsion field.
It bought him a second—no more.
Null was already there, fist glowing with condensed ether—the punch connected with Marcus's chest. Space folded. For an instant, Marcus existed in two places at once—where he was, and where the punch sent him. Then reality snapped back, and he flew backward through empty air.
"Faster! Stronger! Give me your all!" Null shouted, his laughter filling the sky. This was what he lived for. The challenge. The chaos. The beautiful violence of testing limits.
Marcus stabilized and charged again, his armor now something else—not metal, but concentrated force given form. Every inch of him radiated power.
They met in mid-air. Fist against fist. Ether against ether.
The collision created a sphere of distortion that expanded outward. Birds a mile away fell from the sky, confused by the suddenly shifting gravity. The clouds above parted in perfect circles.
Marcus threw combinations that would have killed lesser opponents. Null caught each one, redirected them through spatial folds, and sent them into void pockets where they ceased to exist.
Then Null teleported directly above Marcus. Both fists raised, glowing with ether so dense it bent light.
He brought them down.
Marcus raised his arms to block. The impact drove him straight down like a meteor. They fell together, Null's fists pressing through Marcus's guard. Ribbons of energy danced and spiraled outward from the point of impact, creating a pillar of light visible for miles.
Marcus hit the arena's upper boundary—just above the tree line—with a deafening crack. The impact sent shockwaves through the air. His armor sparked, voids humming with residual force. The ground trembled, but the Great Tree remained untouched.
Marcus tried to stand. His legs shook. His armor flickered, struggling to maintain its form.
Null landed lightly ten feet away. Ether still danced around his fists. Minor distortions rippled where he moved, as if reality itself was afraid to get too close.
"Enough," Marcus said calmly. "I yield." He lowered his arms, letting the armor dissipate into faint golden threads, his chest rising with controlled breaths.
Null's grin stretched wider. His laughter echoed one more time—satisfied, delighted, genuinely happy.
Below them, the other heirs had watched in stunned silence. Now they spoke.
"He looks like he's having so much fun," Khaos said, leaning forward, her fists tightening as her white eyes shone with battle hunger. "I wish I could join him."
A girl with silver hair shook her head in disbelief. Her hands twitched, the edge of a smirk threatening to break through her composure. "This dragon prince… he's as strong as us. As strong as the Nexus children."
Others murmured agreement. Some with respect. Some with concern. All with newfound wariness.
Elarion stood apart from them, his smile unchanged, but his eyes calculating. Watching. Planning.
Null stood victorious in the arena's center, energy still radiating from him in waves. His gaze swept across the heirs, his black-hole eyes measuring each one. Marcus had been strong, stronger than a thousand abominations.
But there were nineteen more to test. And he could hardly wait.