The sun hung heavy over the Batangaran arena, its rays cutting through the dust-laden air like golden blades. The crowd was a roar of excitement and unease—their cheers softer now, tinged with something closer to awe. For this was not a duel between mere contestants.
It was a clash of forces that felt ancient. Primal. Unwritten.
Ari Solen stepped onto the sandstone floor, the light casting shifting glints over his neutral, nondescript cloak. Still anonymous, still not wearing any sigil. But after his previous fight, eyes were beginning to linger longer. Whispers floated through the stands.
Across him stood Hooven.
The man towered with quiet strength, his bearded face carved in solemn readiness. Bare from the waist up, his body was layered in inked Thread tattoos that danced across his skin like shifting runes. The arena quieted. The moment felt heavier.
Kaien, seated among the crowd, clenched the stone rail. "This… won't be like the others."
The gong rang.
And Hooven moved.
A deep, resonating growl thundered through the arena as Hooven's skin shifted—fur erupted across his back, his limbs thickened, his eyes glowed yellow. He leapt with inhuman speed, becoming the Grizzk, a massive bear-beast of unparalleled strength. Ari barely blinked, sliding to the side, his steps delicate like wind-kissed grass.
Hooven didn't stop.
In the next breath, his form shimmered again—fur receding, limbs thinning, wings bursting from his back. Now a hawklike creature, he soared and dove, talons threaded with piercing energy. Ari raised a hand. A glowing rune blinked into existence—circular, layered, humming. He caught the beast's dive in a moment of stilled magic, gently deflecting it to the side.
Ari's control was surgical.
But Hooven wasn't done. He snarled, threads twisting. His third beast, the Ursire—a massive feline with ethereal speed and reflex—took over. He blurred into action, claws dragging thread-ribbons of heat, each slash dancing with ancient force.
Ari's robes tore.
His eyes sharpened. His steps became more complex—like he was dancing across invisible glyphs. He weaved through attacks, not with power, but elegance.
Until—
Hooven screamed.
Threads burst from his skin, wild, unstable. The crowd gasped.
"He's—he's fusing them," Keem muttered, standing. "That's… not safe."
Indeed, the Grizzk's brute power, the Hawkra's speed, and the Ursire's predatory precision—all three beasts fused into one hybrid form.
The result?
A creature of chaos. Beautiful. Terrifying.
Hooven's body was warping, shaking—veins glowing with too much magic. But he charged anyway, a monster of strength and will. Every step cracked stone. Every swipe could end the match.
Ari stopped moving.
He closed his eyes.
The air around him slowed, threads crystallizing in midair. For a heartbeat, silence fell.
And then, he moved.
It was not a spell anyone recognized. Not even Keem.
A radiant circle appeared behind Ari—rotating, composed of eleven layers of geometric spellwork. Colors refracted unnaturally. He raised a single finger.
Syntax. Layer Eleven. Vivid Script. Spell: [End Sequence Initiation].
A wave of runes erupted like a calligraphy storm, slicing through the fused beast's claws, unraveling its threads without harming Hooven's core. It was not an attack—it was a severance, delicate and deliberate.
Hooven dropped, breathing hard, body returning to human. Threads flared wildly around him before going still.
He lost.
But he smiled.
And then—Theian was running. She leapt from the noble stands, not caring for protocol. Her bare feet slapped the stone as she dropped to her knees beside Hooven, cradling his face, whispering words only the two of them could hear.
The crowd had no words.
Even Kaien had tears in his eyes. "He didn't even use… his full power."
Keem, standing beside him, muttered, "He rewrote a spell mid-cast. I saw it. He changed magic while using it." His voice trembled. "This kid... he's not just strong. He's beyond what I thought possible."
Theian looked up from Hooven, her eyes finding Ari.
For a moment, silence held.
Then the crowd roared—not in celebration, but in disbelief.
The unseen fighter, the anonymous boy cloaked in humility, had just danced with a monster—and left poetry in his wake.
And in the eyes of Batangara…
Ari Solen had arrived.