[PLATFORM A – Jake Evernight vs Vahn Elric]
The arena trembled, as if the very earth bore the scars of each blow, the roars of the crowd, and the unleashed power clashing between the two fighters. Every step echoed, every movement a symphony of strength and resolve. Jake held his stance, eyes locked onto his opponent, sweat sliding down his brow, muscles taut like strings on the verge of snapping.
Vahn watched him with a crooked smile, his face marked by the arrogance and confidence of a seasoned warrior. But there was something in his gaze—something Jake couldn't immediately identify. A flicker that hinted this duel wasn't just physical. This wasn't about proving who was stronger. This was something far more personal.
Jake blocked a direct kick to the face with a burst of light—a stellar barrier that ignited just in time, barely deflecting the blow. Vahn's strike had been fast, calculated, and for a moment, Jake feared he had reacted too late.
Vahn chuckled under his breath—a low, venom-laced laugh, as if savoring every second.
"You're good… but you haven't seen what I've seen." His tone was heavy, dragged by the weight of disdain, as if he spoke from the summit of a mountain of experience, too high for anyone else to climb.
Jake gritted his teeth, his eyes burning with a fury he could no longer hide. He held his ground, but inside, a voice whispered that this battle was only the beginning. The sense that something far darker was brewing grew stronger with each heartbeat.
"Does that include losing?" Jake snapped back, lifting his hand and firing a surge of white light that shot out in a blinding flare. The blast tore into Vahn's shoulder, shattering part of his armor, which fell to the ground with a sharp metallic clang.
Vahn didn't scream. Instead, his laugh deepened—more twisted, more unhinged. A laugh that no longer belonged to a man, but to something deeper. Something darker. The laugh of someone who had already met defeat and yet still felt fully in control.
[PLATFORM B – Lyra Vex vs Kael Riven]
On the opposite platform, the spectacle continued. Lyra danced between shards of shattered crystal, each step a flash of beauty and violence. Her movements were swift, almost impossible to follow, as if the wind itself guided her. The razor-sharp fragments cracked beneath her, but she never slowed down, her eyes glowing with fierce determination.
Kael, in contrast, was encased in elemental armor that seemed to live and breathe. Every blow he took fractured the shell around him, yet Kael stood his ground, his steel-like body unyielding despite the blood pouring from the wounds across his face. Every word that escaped his lips was drenched in pain and defiance.
"I won't be the next to fall," Lyra panted, fighting to keep her focus as exhaustion began to take its toll.
"We're all falling already," Kael replied, spitting blood onto the arena floor, casting a dark glance around them. "You just haven't realized it yet."
The tension could've been sliced with a blade. The platforms were on the verge of collapse, tilting dangerously toward an abyss that stretched beyond the Coliseum walls. The crowd roared, thousands of voices uniting in a single cry. Every second was a promise of tragedy.
And then, something changed. Something that made time itself stop.
The roar of the Coliseum went silent, as if the very arena had forgotten how to breathe.
The sky split in two.
A jagged crack, as bright as lightning, tore across the atmosphere above the central arena. From it descended a figure—a floating shadow seemingly made of the very darkness of the cosmos. Its cloak flowed like heavy smoke, and the mask it wore was reminiscent of Zephyr's, only far more grotesque. Rougher. Jagged orange lines pulsed across it like glowing veins.
It wasn't Zephyr. But it didn't matter.
The presence of the figure was undeniable. Reality itself seemed to fear its existence.
In its left hand, it held a lifeless body—Lucian. Or what remained of him. Sliced with a precision only a supernatural being could possess. Blood dripped in thick strands, suspended midair, as if time had fractured. Lucian's intestines flailed in the wind like macabre banners.
In its other hand, the figure moved its fingers, tracing an arc through the air.
A dark line—lethal and absolute—erupted from its fingers. No light. No sound. No warning. Just movement—faster than a blink—and in that exact second, Vahn, Kael, and Lyra fell. No explosion. No screams. Just the stillness of death by a strike straight to the heart.
They dropped to the ground like broken dolls, their lifeless bodies echoing across the arena. All eyes were empty now, lost in an abyss that no longer made sense.
Jake stood frozen—the only one still upright. The air was thick, the weight of the moment crushing his chest. He knew the battle had changed… but not how, or why.
The figure drifted toward him, gliding like a shadow over the Coliseum floor. Its eyes—hidden behind the mask—locked onto him with such intense focus it felt like it could read every corner of his soul.
"Jake Evernight..." the figure spoke, its voice deep and laced with a tone that might have been mocking, but was soaked in a sinister calm, like something speaking from the void.
"It's nothing personal. I just… needed your attention." The figure didn't rush. Each word was deliberate, like it was savoring the reaction its presence stirred in the young man.
Without warning, it hurled Lucian's mutilated body toward Jake. The corpse flew through the air like a broken puppet, crashing toward him with terrifying weight.
Jake tried to move, but his body wouldn't obey. The gruesome image of Lucian in his hands locked him in place, as if the weight of tragedy itself had paralyzed him.
But just as he braced for the blow—just as the horror of it all was about to crush him—something happened.
The figure raised its hand, closing its fingers with disdain.
A flicker of orange light sparked in the air, and in the next instant, Lucian vanished. No flesh, no bone, no blood. Only a warm cloud of dust that scattered into the air, as though the world had erased him entirely.
Jake trembled, his legs nearly buckling. Horror gripped him like iron. And yet, the figure remained still—watching him with terrifying serenity.