The second round of matches began with little ceremony. The arena, still scarred from the first cycle, pulsed with fresh formation lines. The crowd had settled into a rhythm now—less awe, more anticipation. The novelty had faded.
The war had begun.
Most matches passed without incident. The stronger cultivators continued to dominate. Those with higher realms, deeper foundations, or more refined techniques carved their way forward with brutal efficiency.
Tarin Lee of the EmberRage Sect overwhelmed Ken Verdant in a flurry of flame and pressure—his strikes relentless, his aura suffocating. Ken's beast-linked qi never found its rhythm.
Tess Ironshore clashed with Nate Verdant in a brutal contest of force versus finesse. Nate's constructs danced, but Tess's hammer-like strikes shattered them one by one. Force won.
Mira Wallis and Dain Wallis faced off in a rare sibling duel—poison against poison, rhythm against rhythm. It ended in a draw, both collapsing from backlash, their breaths shallow but steady.
Veykan Veylan was unable to fight. His opponent, Nian Korell, advanced by default.
Then came the match that silenced the arena once more.
"The next match," the announcer called, "Rana Flare of the Ember Sect… versus Jason Erupt of the Erupt Family."
A murmur swept through the stands.
Jason stepped forward, tall and broad-shouldered, his aura already flaring with heat. His flame wasn't elegant. It was violent. His qi surged in waves, each pulse like a furnace cracking open.
Rana stepped into the ring opposite him, her steps slower than before. Her body still bore the strain of her first match. Her flame flickered low—but steady.
Jason didn't hesitate.
The instant the match began, he lunged—his fist ablaze, qi erupting like a furnace.
Rana raised her arms, conjuring the Scorching Blanket—a shimmering veil of heat that cloaked her form.
His strike collided with it, and for a heartbeat, the shield held.
Then it buckled.
Cracks spidered through the veil before it shattered like glass under a hammer.
His fist drove through, slamming into her chest and hurling her across the arena.
She hit the ground hard, coughing smoke, her flame flickering dangerously low.
Jason advanced, his aura swelling—oppressive, suffocating. The air around him warped with heat and pressure, a realm above hers. But Rana didn't retreat.
She planted her feet, drew a sharp breath, and spun her fingers in a tight spiral. Ash Spiral. The ground erupted in a cyclone of embers, swirling with crushing force. Jason flinched, his vision obscured.
But it wasn't enough.
His aura surged, a tidal wave of qi that tore through the ash like wind through fog. The spiral collapsed, and Rana was forced back into defense, her flame dimming beneath the weight of his presence.
Still, she didn't fall.
Her eyes burned—not with fury, but with resolve.
He didn't let up.
Every strike detonated on contact—flaming bursts that shattered the air and scorched the arena floor. The only thing Rana could manage to do under such an overpowering assault was dodge, redirect, and counter. But barely.
Above, in the eastern pavilion, Simon and Jana Flare watched in silence. But their fists were clenched.
"She's cornered," Riven muttered.
"She's not done," Jana said, though her voice was tight.
In the arena, Rana's breath came faster. Her limbs ached. Her ribs throbbed. Jason's flames were overwhelming—raw, destructive, and relentless.
But hers were not.
They were calm.
And deadly.
Jason's next strike came like a thunderclap—his fist trailing flame, his qi erupting with brute force. Rana ducked low, her boots skidding across scorched stone. She twisted mid-motion, her fingers tracing a crescent in the air.
Dual Phoenix Flame Pulse.
Two bursts of fire shot from her palms, not outward but inward, aimed at his centerline. The flames didn't explode. They pierced, slipping past his guard and searing into his ribs.
Jason grunted, staggering half a step.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
Rana's breath came in short bursts. Her body screamed with fatigue, but her mind was sharp. She couldn't match his power—but she could outlast his recklessness.
Jason roared and charged again, his aura flaring like a wildfire.
Rana's eyes narrowed. Her fingers twitched—not in desperation, but in control.
She didn't move toward Jason.
She willed the flame into existence.
Infernal Bloom.
Fire burst into being—not from her fists, but from the air itself. Petals of flame bloomed around Jason, encircling him in a ring of heat. Each blossom hovered, pulsing with latent energy, waiting for her command.
Jason spun, trying to locate the source—but there was none. The fire didn't follow physics. It followed her.
Rana raised a single finger.
The petals ignited.
A cascade of explosions erupted around him, forcing him to shield his face. The arena lit up in a storm of color—crimson, gold, and violet—each flame a thread in her tapestry of destruction.
Jason stumbled out of the smoke, scorched and furious.
But Rana stood still.
She didn't chase him.
She summoned the next bloom—behind him this time.
Petals of fire unfurled, dancing in chaotic arcs. Jason barreled through them, his skin singed, his momentum slowed.
But then—his qi surged again.
A pulse of raw heat shattered the bloom mid-air, and Rana was thrown back by the shockwave. Her knees buckled. Her flame dimmed.
She was losing.
But she wasn't broken.
She pressed her palm to the ground, drawing heat from the arena floor. The stone hissed beneath her touch. Her flame flickered, then steadied.
She exhaled once.
And then her flame rose.
It didn't surge—it ascended.
Her body became wreathed in white-gold fire, not like a torch, but like a star. The air around her warped, light bending at the edges of her silhouette. Her hair lifted, strands glowing like threads of molten light. Her eyes shimmered with a brilliance that didn't belong to this realm.
She didn't just burn.
She radiated.