The dust cloud hanging over the shattered floor of the central Tournament Stadium did not merely drift away; it was violently torn apart by the tremendous heat radiating from both combatants. The sharp, acrid stench of scorched alloy plating, ionized ozone, and superheated steam hung thick in the air. Fifty thousand spectators leaned forward in their seats across the multi-tiered stands, their collective breathing suspended in total, breathless anticipation. The thick smoke parted to reveal two battered figures standing on opposite sides of a thirty-meter wide crater that had completely decimated the center of the ring.
Draz was dropped low on his right knee, his dark hair plastered against his forehead by sweat and smeared crimson. His young body was screaming with deep, agonizing pain. The battle clothes he wore were ripped into ragged strips, revealing bruised flesh, scorched skin, and numerous superficial lacerations that dripped steady lines of blood down his chest and shoulders. Across the fractured stone and melted metal, Alquimme was in no better condition. Her dark violet battle robes were torn at the sleeves, and her legs trembled beneath the immense spiritual recoil of her previous broad-scale assault. A thin trickling of blood leaked from the corner of her lip where she had bitten down hard to force her mind past the brink of exhaustion. Yet, despite her failing physical frame, her pale eyes burned with an icy, unyielding focus.
Neither of them had a single drop of spare Urja left for reckless, wide-area blasts. Every remaining thread of energy within their bodies would have to be calculated with absolute, microscopic precision.
"You're still standing, kid," Alquimme said, her raspy voice echoing through the acoustics of the vast arena as she tightened her trembling grip on her cracked staff. "Most fighters in this division would have had their neural networks pulverized into jelly by that last shockwave. You really are Mufasa's blood."
Draz wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, smearing fresh blood across his jawline. A wild, fierce grin broke across his face, revealing teeth stained pink with blood. "Save the compliments for after I knock you out of this ring, staff-girl. My father didn't raise sons who fold under a little headache."
Without another word of warning, Alquimme initiated the assault.
Her cracked staff spun in a fluid, circular arc before her chest, channeling her remaining spiritual reserves into a tightly focused point.
**Water Pulse!**
A dense, pressurized ring of high-velocity Liquid Type Urja erupted from the tip of her staff, spinning at three thousand revolutions per minute as it sliced across the fractured floor of the Tournament Stadium. The pressurized fluid did not simply aim to crush physical bone; it vibrated at a precise frequency designed to disrupt the fluid equilibrium in an opponent's inner ear, shattering their sense of balance.
Simultaneously, Alquimme thrust her left hand forward, weaving a secondary spell directly into the wake of the liquid blade.
**Psycho Ball!**
A condensed, swirling sphere of pure Mind Type Urja merged into the core of the water pulse, turning the high-pressure fluid into a dual-layered cognitive missile.
Draz's wild instincts flared with a sharp warning. He knew better than to attempt taking the combined dual-element attack with raw durability. Pushing off his back foot with explosive speed, he rotated his upper torso and swept his arms wide in a rapid, circular motion.
**Whirlwind!**
A sharp, howling gale of Wind Type Urja erupted from Draz's forearms, generating a localized vacuum tornado that intercepted the incoming pressurized water and psychic sphere. The violent wind shear tore into the outer ring of the Water Pulse, scattering the high-pressure liquid into a blinding, fine mist that instantly blanketed the central Tournament Stadium stage.
Taking immediate advantage of the obscured sightlines, Draz surged straight through the rising fog. His eyes glowed with a feral emerald luminescence, and kinetic energy gathered around his hands, shaping his fingers into razor-sharp, draconic energy talons.
**Dragon Claws!**
Draz burst through the curtain of mist like a hunting beast, driving his right claw in a downward diagonal slash aimed straight for Alquimme's shoulder! The sheer wind pressure generated by the Dragon Type attack split the floorboards beneath them before the strike even landed.
Alquimme didn't flinch. Her perception tracked Draz's exact movement through the subtle spiritual vibrations in the air. Instead of retreating, she struck the base of her staff heavily against the floor, releasing a sharp, acoustic wave that resonated through the surrounding atmosphere.
**Reflect!**
A translucent, shimmering barrier composed of dense Sound Type Urja materialized directly in front of her. The moment Draz's Dragon Claws slammed into the sonic boundary, a deafening *CLANG* echoed through the entire Tournament Stadium like a massive iron hammer striking an ancient bronze bell.
The kinetic momentum of Draz's own strike, combined with the acoustic amplification of the Sound Type energy, was instantly turned back upon him. The reflected force blasted straight into Draz's chest and ears! Blood squirted from his ear canals as his internal balance was violently shattered, sending his small body skidding backward twenty meters across the floor, his boots carving deep, smoking grooves into the metal substrate of the Tournament Stadium.
"Gah!" Draz spat out a mouthful of blood, shaking his head violently to clear the piercing ringing in his skull. His vision doubled, the geometry of the arena tilting precariously around him.
"Sound Type energy reflects kinetic impact by converting mechanical force into acoustic resonance," Alquimme explained calmly, though her own forearms trembled from the strain of holding the barrier. "You hit hard, Draz. But the harder you hit my Reflect, the more your own strength breaks your bones."
Up in the VIP viewing box, Lam stood with his hands resting lightly on the cold glass railing. His gaze was sharp, tracking every micro-adjustment in both fighters' postures.
"She's playing him like a book," Lam noted, his voice quiet yet carrying clearly to the others in the room. "She knows Draz's primary instinct is to close the distance and rely on high-grade Dragon and Brawl Type techniques. By placing Sound Type Reflect in his path, she forces him to pay a heavy tax in blood every time he tries to land a decisive blow."
King Mufasa, sitting on his grand stone throne in the central VIP tier, remained silent. His massive arms were crossed over his broad chest, his golden eyes fixed firmly on his eldest son. There was no anger in his expression—only the cold, analytical expectation of a king watching his bloodline be tested to its absolute limit.
Beside Lam, Krodh leaned forward, his fiery aura flickering slightly. "Draz isn't stupid. He knows he can't keep rushing into her sound barrier. Look at his posture."
Down in the ring, Draz pushed himself up from his crouch. His chest was heaving violently, his dark shirt soaked through with blood and sweat. He wiped his ears, his teeth bared in a gritty, stubborn smile.
"Reflecting kinetic force, huh?" Draz muttered under his breath. "Then let's see how your sound barrier handles something that doesn't rely on physical weight!"
Draz spread his legs wide, dropping into a deep, grounded stance. He raised both arms toward the high ceiling of the Tournament Stadium, his fingers twitching as electrical arcs began to crackle across his forearms. High-frequency Electro-Magnetics Type Urja surged from his core, swirling around his hands like blinding yellow serpents. The raw static electricity in the air caused the loose metallic debris across the stage to hover slightly off the floorboards.
**Electro Ball!**
With a violent roar, Draz snapped his hands forward, launching a floating, crackling orb of hyper-dense electromagnetic energy directly toward Alquimme. The ball did not travel in a straight line; guided by the magnetic currents of the Tournament Stadium floor, it zipped through the air in erratic, zig-zagging trajectories, humming with enough voltage to melt an armored tank.
Alquimme's eyes narrowed. She recognized the threat instantly—Electro-Magnetics Type energy would pass right through an acoustic Reflect barrier and shock her nervous system directly.
She planted her feet, dropping her staff and folding her arms across her chest in a tight defensive cross.
**Protect!**
A golden, spherical barrier of pure Normal Type Urja expanded around her body, forming an absolute defensive dome. The Electro Ball slammed into the golden sphere with a blinding flash!
*BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!*
A massive electromagnetic pulse exploded across the center stage! Yellow lightning bolts spider-webbed across the surface of the Protect dome, discharging millions of volts harmlessly into the ground. However, while the Normal Type barrier completely negated the electrical damage, the sheer kinetic weight of the explosion pushed Alquimme's entire barrier five meters backward, her boots burning black marks into the stage of the Tournament Stadium as she held the line.
The moment the electromagnetic smoke began to clear, Alquimme lowered her Protect barrier. Her face was deathly pale, her breathing ragged and shallow. She was pushing her spiritual channels far beyond their recommended limits, her body trembling under the weight of maintaining high-tier defensive spells consecutively.
"I need to end this now," Alquimme thought internally, her vision flickering around the edges. "He has too many energy types. If I let him cycle between Dragon, Wind, Thermal, and Electro-Magnetics, he'll eventually find a gap in my defense and tear me apart."
She looked at Draz, who was already gathering Thermal Type heat around his right leg, preparing for another explosive advance.
Alquimme bit her lip hard enough to draw fresh blood. She reached down with her left hand, wiping the blood from her chin, and then—in a move that shocked the entire Tournament Stadium—she dragged her fingers across a deep cut on her own left forearm, coating her palm in her own crimson blood.
She raised her blood-covered hand toward Draz, her spiritual aura shifting dramatically. The clear, fluid blue color of her Liquid Type Urja suddenly transformed, turning a deep, terrifying crimson.
"Liquid Type... Sub-Variant!" Alquimme spat out, her eyes burning with terrifying resolve.
**Blood Shot!**
*THWIP! THWIP! THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!*
She thrust her palm forward! Her own biological blood, fused with hyper-compressed Liquid Type Urja, transformed into hundreds of needle-thin, crimson darts that shot through the air at hyper-velocity! Because the attack was fueled by living blood acting as a natural liquid catalyst, its speed and piercing authority were ten times greater than standard water-based techniques!
Draz's eyes widened in sheer shock. He tried to raise his arm to guard his face, but the crimson needles were far too fast!
*PUKIPUKIPUKI!*
The Blood Shot needles pierced cleanly through Draz's shoulders, thighs, forearms, and torso! The impacts punched straight through his flesh, spraying arcs of blood out his back and driving him to his knees with sickening force!
"AGHHGHHH!" Draz let out a strangled scream of pain as dozens of miniature crimson needles embedded themselves into his muscles, locking his kinetic channels with high-pressure fluid shock!
The entire Tournament Stadium went dead silent.
Up in the VIP balcony, King Mufasa's golden eyes snapped wide. For the first time during the entire match, the supreme king leaned forward in his grand throne, his massive hands gripping the armrests tightly enough to crack the ancient stone.
"A Blood-type sub-variant... under the Liquid Type classification?" Mufasa muttered, his deep, baritone voice echoing through the private box with genuine surprise. "She isn't merely manipulating external water... she is using her own biological fluid as an absolute kinetic conductor. To master a sub-type variant like that at her age... extraordinary. I did not expect a Liquid Type attack to manifest in such a lethal form."
Lam looked at Mufasa, then back down at the bleeding boy in the ring. "She caught him completely off guard. Draz was expecting another water or psychic attack. He didn't account for her sacrificing her own blood to bypass his reaction time."
Down on the stage, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar of disbelief!
"Did you see that?!" a spectator in the upper stands screamed, jumping out of his seat. "She just pierced Mufasa's eldest son like a pincushion!"
"Alquimme! Alquimme! Alquimme!" thousands of voices began chanting her name across the Tournament Stadium floor!
In the ring, Alquimme swayed on her feet, her left arm dripping blood onto the floor. She was gasping for air, her vision blurring dangerously, but she forced herself to raise her violet staff once more.
"This is the end, Draz," she whispered, her voice trembling with exhaustion. "You fought well... but you're too reckless."
Draz knelt in a pool of his own blood, his head hanging low. Crimson drops dripped continuously from his chin, staining the grey metal floorboards. His arms hung limply at his sides, the Blood Shot needles having damaged the muscle fibers in his shoulders.
Slowly, painfully, a low chuckle began to rumble from Draz's chest.
"Heh... heheh... HAHAHAHAHA!"
Draz raised his head. His face was covered in blood, but his eyes were burning with a terrifying, unhinged fervor. The raw, violent pride of the G. O. D OF URJA and the 1st Son of Mufasa radiated from his small frame, shaking the very air around him!
"Incredible..." Draz growled, slowly pushing himself up to his feet. His legs wobbled, but he forced them straight through sheer, bloody stubbornness. "That Blood Shot... that actually hurt like hell! You're amazing, staff-girl! You really are!"
Alquimme's eyes widened in horror. "How are you still standing?! Those needles ruptured your kinetic muscle channels!"
"Because my father didn't teach me how to fall!" Draz roared!
*BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!*
A blinding, scorching wave of red-orange energy erupted from Draz's body! Thermal Type Urja, pushed to its absolute limit, ignited around his frame like a solar flare! The sheer heat radiating from his skin was so intense that the blood pooling on the Tournament Stadium floor instantly began to sizzle, evaporate, and turn into thick crimson steam!
The needles embedded in his flesh were melted away by his internal body heat, the wounds cauterizing themselves instantly under the intense thermal pressure!
**Flame Blast!**
Draz stomped his foot onto the stage, sending a massive, cross-shaped wave of scorching fire tearing through the floorboards directly toward Alquimme! The intense heat evaporated every trace of moisture in the air, instantly neutralizing her ability to pull atmospheric Liquid Type energy!
Alquimme grit her teeth, using the absolute last drop of her spiritual reserves to leap into the air, dodging the floor-splitting cross of fire by mere inches!
While suspended in mid-air, Alquimme knew she had only one single chance left. If she touched the ground without finishing Draz, her body would collapse from blood loss and spiritual exhaustion.
She raised her violet staff with both hands, channeling every single remaining drop of her Mind Type Urja into the tip of her weapon. The air around her head distorted violently as a massive, translucent blade of pure psychic energy materialized—a blade three times larger than her previous attacks!
**Psystrike: Final Strike!**
"TAKE THIS, DRAZ!" Alquimme screamed with the last strength in her lungs, driving her staff downward and launching the massive psychic execution blade straight toward Draz's head!
The psychic blade tore through the air, completely ignoring physical space as it locked onto Draz's consciousness!
Draz looked up at the falling psychic blade. He didn't try to dodge. He didn't try to use Whirlwind or Electro Ball. He drew upon his Brawl Type Urja, concentrating all of his raw physical strength into his right fist. His arm muscles swelled, his veins bulging against his skin as a dense, golden-red aura wrapped around his knuckles.
**Mega Punch!**
With a roar that shook the entire Tournament Stadium, Draz drove his golden-red fist upward, punching straight into the tip of the falling *Psystrike: Final Strike*!
*KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!*
The collision between raw physical Brawl energy and conceptual Mind energy created a blinding shockwave that shattered the remaining floorboards of the entire Tournament Stadium stage! The explosion blew out the localized sound barrier, sending a deafening crack across the entire city sector!
The massive psychic blade shattered into millions of purple glass-like shards, dissolving harmlessly into the air!
Alquimme dropped from the sky, landing heavily on her feet, but her staff slipped from her numb fingers, clattering onto the ground. She couldn't move her legs anymore. Her vision was pitch black, her body completely drained of every ounce of energy.
Through the clearing smoke, Draz stepped forward.
His right arm was bruised and bleeding from the recoil of the Mega Punch, but his left hand was already raised toward the sky. His eyes glowed with an ancient, terrifying dragon authority as he summoned the absolute final technique in his arsenal.
High above the open-roof Tournament Stadium, the clouds turned a deep, bruised purple. A massive, burning celestial rock forged from pure, golden Dragon Type energy descended through the atmosphere, trailing a tail of green cosmic fire as it plunged toward the ring!
**Drago Meteor!**
The celestial dragon meteor crashed directly into the center stage, detonating in a brilliant burst of draconic fire and kinetic force that completely engulfed the remaining ring!
*BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!*
The blinding flare illuminated the faces of fifty thousand spectators. When the light finally faded, a heavy, dead silence descended upon the ruined arena.
The stage of the Tournament Stadium was completely gone, reduced to a smoking, pulverized crater of liquid steel and ash.
In the center of the crater, Alquimme lay on her back, unconscious, her dark violet robes scorched, but her breathing stable. The Drago Meteor had landed precise enough to detonate its shockwave around her rather than directly on her body, sparing her life.
Standing five feet away from her was Draz.
His dark hair was dripping blood, his clothes were virtually destroyed, and dozens of wounds covered his small frame. He was bent over, his hands resting on his knees, gasping for air as if his lungs were on fire. But he was standing.
The official referee dropped down from his floating hover-platform, scanning both fighters with his diagnostic device. After confirming Alquimme's state, he raised his hand toward the sky and shouted into his microphone:
"ALQUIMME IS UNABLE TO CONTINUE! THE WINNER OF THIS MATCH, ADVANCING TO THE NEXT ROUND... DRAZ!"
The Tournament Stadium erupted into absolute, hysterical chaos!
"DRAZ! DRAZ! DRAZ! DRAZ!" fifty thousand people cheered, their voices shaking the structural pillars of the complex!
Draz slowly straightened his spine. He didn't raise his fist in arrogant victory. Instead, he walked over to Alquimme's fallen form, knelt down on one knee, and gently picked up her cracked violet staff, placing it carefully by her side.
"You were incredible..." Draz whispered softly, wiping blood from his eyes. "Thank you for the fight."
Medical personnel rushed into the crater with anti-gravity stretchers, carefully lifting Alquimme and attending to Draz's severe wounds.
Up in the VIP balcony, the atmosphere among the elite spectators was charged with profound respect. Everyone appreciated Alquimme for her excellent, breathtaking performance against the G. O. D OF URJA and the 1st SON OF KING MUFASA.
Asad looked at his tactical monitor, which was displaying the damage metrics of the match. "That was... unbelievable. Draz won, but he was pushed to absolute physical failure. If Alquimme's Blood Shot had landed two centimeters deeper into his shoulder joint, he wouldn't have been able to execute that Mega Punch."
Bayu nodded slowly, his expression solemn. "Alquimme pushed the eldest son of King Mufasa to the absolute brink. Mind Type, Liquid Type, Sound Type, Normal Type... her tactical versatility was world-class."
Shoaib, sitting near the back row, spoke up with a grin. "Everyone always thought Mufasa's kids were untouchable monsters who just steamroll everyone without taking a scratch. Today proved that wrong."
Lam turned his head from the window, looking across the VIP suite at King Mufasa.
Mufasa slowly stood up from his stone throne. His towering figure drew the eyes of everyone in the royal box. The supreme king walked to the edge of the balcony, looking down at his bleeding son being treated by medics, and then at Alquimme being carried out on a stretcher.
Mufasa raised his massive, scarred hand and began to clap.
*CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!*
The king's applause echoed across the entire Tournament Stadium via the central sound system. Following Mufasa's lead, the entire crowd stood up, giving a roaring standing ovation not just for the victor, but for Alquimme!
"Today," Mufasa's deep, authoritative voice boomed through the Tournament Stadium speakers, silencing the crowd, "we witnessed a true battle of warriors. Alquimme of the Liquid and Mind arts demonstrated supreme tactical brilliance, pushing my bloodline to the edge of defeat."
Mufasa looked down at the arena floor, his golden eyes burning with pride and respect.
"Let this match be a clear declaration to the entire world," Mufasa continued, his voice ringing with absolute truth. "My sons are not invincible gods. They are not overpowered monsters who stand above the laws of combat. They bleed! They struggle! They can be pushed, bruised, and broken by any warrior who possesses the courage, skill, and heart to challenge them!"
The crowd roared in unanimous agreement, cheering wildly for both Draz and Alquimme as the medics wheeled them toward the medical wing.
Down in the tunnel, Draz looked back one last time at the smoking crater of the Tournament Stadium stage, a tired smirk on his blood-stained face. He had won the blood lasting victory, but the lesson he learned today would stay with him forever. The tournament was far from over, and the world now knew that every single fight from here on out would be fought in blood.
---
High above the roaring crowd, perched silently on the highest arching girder overlooking the entire open-roof structure of the Tournament Stadium, a lone figure stood watching the spectacle unfold.
THE 5 ARMED MAN adjusted his Spiked Plungers at his belt and leaned back against the steel beam, overlooking the thousands of cheering mortals and the smoking crater down below. His divine red halo pulsed with a subtle, amused glow against the evening sky.
Slowly, deliberately, THE 5 ARMED MAN brought his five hands together, initiating a slow, rhythmic applause just for his own amusement.
*CLAP... CLAP... CLAP... CLAP... CLAP...*
A wide, snarky smirk broke across his face as he looked down at the chaotic arena.
"Wow, what a cinema."