The sky had finally surrendered its violet hue to the encroaching crimson. The moon hung bloated and red over Oakhaven, casting a bloody sheen across the iron-clad village. In the heart of the Iron Petal Arena, the white sand had turned a rust-color under the moonlight. This was no longer a sporting event; it was a ritual of power.
The hum of the Siphon-Array was now a physical pressure, a low-frequency growl that made the water in the stadium's fountains dance in geometric patterns. The ground beneath Konja's boots felt hollow, as if the village was perched atop a living, breathing machine that was nearing its limit.
"Konja, do you hear me?" Mina's voice crackled in his ear, strained and hurried. "Renzo, Tali, and I have breached the sub-level. The Siphon-Array is massive—it's a forest of brass pipes and glowing crystal conduits. But the Vanes have it guarded by Steam-Sentinels. We're going to be busy. You have to keep the crowd—and the array—focused on you."
"I hear you," Konja whispered, his gaze fixed on the opposite tunnel. "Just be careful. If the Hearth activates while you're down there..."
"We won't let it," Renzo's voice cut in, punctuated by the metallic shring of his Leaf-Blight's blades. "Just don't get frozen into a popsicle, Munka. The salt-scars look better than frostbite."
The Queen of the Spire
The crowd erupted into a chilling, rhythmic chant as Kalia Frost stepped into the arena. She didn't walk; she seemed to glide, her feet never fully touching the blood-red sand. The air temperature dropped forty degrees in an instant. Her Frost-Wraith, now larger and more defined, spiraled around her like a protective blizzard.
"You've come far for a street-vendor, Konja," Kalia said. Her voice was calm, devoid of the petty malice Baron possessed. It was the voice of a natural law—inevitable and cold. "But the Third Gate is a tool of desperation. You are burning your soul to stay warm. I was born in the cold. I don't need to burn."
She raised her hand, and the moisture in the air crystallized into a long, jagged rapier of black ice.
Konja didn't waste words. He dropped into a modified Low-Tiger stance, his silver eyes glowing with a ferocity that matched the moon. Beside him, Zale let out a high-pitched bark, his indigo fur crackling with residual lightning from the fight with Sunder.
"Match start!"
A Dance of Absolutes
Kalia moved first. She didn't use a dash; she used Cryo-Transposition. One moment she was twenty paces away; the next, she was a blur of white silk and black ice in Konja's peripheral vision.
"Frost-Style: Glacial Needle!"
The rapier thrust forward with the speed of a piston. Konja used the Acid-Agility he'd learned from Tali, twisting his torso at a violent angle. The ice blade grazed his gi, instantly freezing the fabric so brittle that it shattered away, leaving a patch of frost on his skin.
"Zale! Volt-Pulse!"
The blue fox leaped into the air, releasing a spherical wave of electricity. Kalia didn't dodge. She simply raised her left hand, and the Frost-Wraith expanded into a crystalline dome. The lightning hit the ice and was refracted, scattering harmlessly into the sand.
"Is that the 'Legendary Munka' power?" Kalia asked, her eyes narrowing. "Frost-Style: Shatter-Hail!"
She slammed her blade into the ground. A wave of jagged ice pillars erupted from the sand, racing toward Konja like the teeth of a subterranean monster.
Konja realized he couldn't play defense. The Siphon-Array was feeding on the friction of their battle, and every second he spent dodging was another percent of power for the Vanes. He had to break her rhythm.
"Third Gate: Bitter Endurance—Full Release!"
The bronze aura exploded from Konja's body. He didn't jump over the ice pillars; he ran through them. Each pillar that struck his aura shattered into powder. He was a bronze meteor plunging through a frozen sea.
He reached Kalia, his palm glowing with the heat of a thousand stoves.
"Munka-Style: Searing Pressure-Palm!"
He struck the ice dome. The contact sounded like a steam-boiler exploding. White mist hissed into the air as the heat met the absolute zero of Kalia's defense. For a moment, they were locked in a stalemate—heat against cold, street against spire.
Beneath the Sands: The Sabotage
While the arena above was a spectacle of steam and light, the world below was a labyrinth of brass and blood.
Mina, Renzo, and Tali moved through the maintenance tunnels of the Siphon-Array. The walls were lined with pulsing glass tubes filled with liquid Prana, all flowing toward a central chamber.
"There it is," Tali whispered, pointing to a massive, rotating brass sphere suspended over a pit of glowing coals. "The Primary Regulator. If we jam those gears, the whole array will backfire."
"It won't be that easy," Renzo said, his Leaf-Blight clicking its scythes.
From the shadows, four Steam-Sentinels emerged—clanking automatons powered by captured spirits, their arms replaced by whirring saw-blades and flamethrowers.
"Mina, get to the console!" Renzo shouted, charging forward. "Tali and I will hold the scrap-heaps!"
Mina dived toward the brass sphere's control panel. She pulled out a handful of Spirit-Vine seeds—the same ones she'd used in the arena, but these were genetically altered by her family's apothecary secrets to thrive on raw Prana.
"Grow for me," Mina whispered, pressing her palms against the brass. She channeled her Sweet-Flow into the seeds. The vines didn't just grow; they became metallic, their roots digging into the gears of the machine, feeding on the very energy the Vanes were trying to harvest.
The Fourth Gate: The Heart of the Hearth
Back on the surface, the battle had reached a fever pitch. Kalia's composure was finally cracking. Her Frost-Wraith had been chipped away by Konja's relentless heat, but Konja was fading fast. The Third Gate was taking its toll; his muscles were trembling, and Zale was panting heavily.
"You're empty, Konja," Kalia said, her white hair whipping in the wind. "Your fire is out."
She raised both hands, and the entire arena floor began to freeze. "Secret Technique: Zero-Sum World!"
The temperature plummeted so far that the air itself began to turn into liquid. Konja felt his blood slowing. He looked at Zale, who was struggling to stay standing. He looked at the VIP box, where the Vane family watched with hungry eyes.
Then, he felt the vibration from below. The Siphon-Array was stuttering. Mina had succeeded in jamming the gears, but the back pressure was building. The energy had nowhere to go. It was flowing back into the fighters.
Konja didn't fight the backflow. He opened his spirit and invited it in.
The Fourth Gate isn't something you open, Valerius had said. It's something that consumes you.
"Zale," Konja whispered. "Let's give them the whole menu."
He reached out and grabbed the indigo lightning within his soul. He didn't just use Zale's power; he became it. The silver in his eyes turned into a blinding, iridescent white. The bronze aura of the Third Gate was consumed by a roar of blue-white flame.
"Fourth Gate: The Gate of the Eternal Hearth—OPEN!"
The ice in the arena didn't melt; it sublimated instantly into gas. A pillar of white fire erupted from Konja, reaching high into the crimson sky.
Kalia's eyes widened in genuine terror. "This is impossible! No human can contain that much raw Prana!"
Konja didn't move like a human anymore. He moved like a localized sun. He appeared in front of Kalia, and for the first time, he didn't use a palm strike or an elbow. He used the Munka-Style: Final Course.
He placed a single finger on her ice-rapier. The blade shattered into steam. He placed his hand on her Frost-Wraith, and the creature vanished into nothingness.
"This is for the Sluices," Konja said, his voice echoing with the power of a hundred ancestors.
He delivered a single, open-palm strike to Kalia's chest. It wasn't a violent hit; it was a transfer of pure, balanced energy—the Umami of combat.
Kalia was launched backward, not with a crash, but with a silent, graceful arc. She landed outside the ring, her armor gone, her white hair singed, but otherwise unharmed. She had been defeated by a force so superior it didn't even need to break her bones to prove its point.
The Overload
As Kalia fell, the Siphon-Array below reached its breaking point.
"Everyone, get out!" Mina's voice screamed in Konja's ear. "The vines can't hold it anymore! The pressure is—"
The ground of the arena buckled. Massive brass pipes burst through the sand, venting green and violet Prana into the sky. The VIP platforms began to wobble as the foundations of the village groaned.
In the chaos, Konja stood in the center of the crater, his Fourth Gate slowly closing. He was barely conscious, held upright only by the sheer force of his will. Zale had reverted to his smallest form, tucked safely inside Konja's gi.
Valerius Vane stood up in the VIP box, his face a mask of fury. "You think you've won, Munka? You've just provided the final spark!"
Valerius pulled a lever on the wall of the box. High above, the Great Spire of Oakhaven began to glow with a terrifying, blood-red light. The Great Hearth was activating, and it wasn't aiming at the arena. It was aiming at the surrounding mountains.
"If I can't have the power of the Munka," Valerius roared, "I will level this valley and build my empire on its ashes!"
Konja looked up at the Spire, his vision blurring. He had no Prana left. His friends were trapped underground. The village was on the verge of annihilation.
"Not... today," Konja whispered.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Kalia Frost. She was pale, her energy spent, but she was holding out a small, crystalline vial—the same distilled Spirit-Herb Mina had given him days ago.
"I hate being in debt," Kalia said, her voice shaking. "Drink it. Finish this. I want to see what a Munka is truly capable of."
Konja took the vial, drained it, and felt a single, cold drop of energy hit his empty core. It wasn't much, but it was a seed.
He looked at the Great Spire. He looked at the crimson moon.
"Zale," Konja said, the silver returning to his eyes one last time. "One more dish. The biggest one yet."