At the same time, in another arena, Valtos stood perfectly still.
His opponent, however… wasn’t so fortunate.
If you could even call what had happened a duel.
The man’s legs were all that remained, trembling as if in protest before collapsing into the dust. His upper body was simply… gone, blasted away as though erased by some unseen force.
Above the arena, glowing runes swirled and formed a single word:
> WINNER: VALTOS.
Valtos didn’t look up. He simply adjusted his trousers, rolling his shoulders once before turning his eyes toward the distant fights.
“Pathetic,” he muttered softly.
---
Mist Valley
The vampire roared, blood trailing from his lips as Juvian clapped his hands together and muttered a guttural incantation, mana exploding from his palms.
“Terra Basilisk.”
The ground erupted in an explosion of stone and soil.
SSSSHHHHHKKKK!
Several massive serpents of rock and dirt tore their way from the battlefield, each one thirty meters long, their eyes glowing faint amber.
Their scaled bodies coiled and uncoiled with fluid precision, each wrapped in a faint shimmer of mana shields. They moved like bullets, launching forward in perfect synchronization, slamming toward the vampire with crushing force.
The vampire hissed, twisting his massive axe to parry. “You think this will stop me?”
He spun, blade flashing in crimson arcs, cutting two serpents clean in half —
CRRRSHHHH!
— but for each one he destroyed, two more erupted from the ground, chasing him relentlessly.
---
One serpent whipped its colossal tail, catching the vampire across the chest.
BOOOOM.
He slammed into the ground, carving a long trench as blood sprayed from his mouth.
Another serpent dove from above, smashing him into the dirt with an impact that cracked the battlefield.
Two more coiled around him like pythons, squeezing with impossible force. The vampire snarled, claws digging into their rocky hides as they crushed his ribs.
“You dare—?” he growled through gritted teeth, his voice breaking into an unholy roar.
---
The Giant Basilisk
Juvian raised his hands, shaking from the strain, nosebleed dripping down his chin.
“Merge.”
The serpents trembled — then combined.
In a blinding flash of mana, the stone bodies fused into one colossal serpent, easily the size of a cathedral, its hide plated in jagged diamond-like scales.
SSSKKKKRRRHHHHKK!
On its head and tail, razor-sharp diamond blades shimmered, glowing faintly as if heated in a forge. Its body sprouted four titanic legs, claws digging into the earth for balance.
It opened its jagged maw, exhaling a low rumble that shook the battlefield.
The vampire’s crimson eyes widened — then narrowed in fury.
“IMPUDENT WORM!”
---
The Wings of Blood
ROOOOAAAAARRRRR!
In a burst of grotesque magic, the vampire’s back split open and bladed wings of hardened blood erupted outward, jagged and cruel.
With one powerful flap, he broke free of the serpent’s coils, flying upward with blinding speed.
The giant serpent lunged —
SSSKKKRRRAAAASHHH!
— only to be met by the vampire’s axe, now glowing blood-red, slicing through its massive body. Stone and diamond shattered like splintered glass, raining debris across the arena.
But the ground moved again.
BOOOOM.
BOOOOM.
More serpents erupted.
Five. Ten. A dozen.
They launched themselves toward him like a living tidal wave.
---
Juvian staggered, his mana reserves screaming as blood trickled from his nose and eyes.
Just a little more, he thought. Just a little more and he’ll die from mana strain.
---
Blood and Stone Collide
The vampire descended like a comet, his bladed wings slicing serpents apart, every swing of his axe carving massive trenches in the ground.
BOOOOM. BOOOM. BOOOM.
Each clash of stone and blood shook the arena, the mist shattering from the shockwaves.
Yet even as he slaughtered them, the serpents did not stop.
CRRRAAACKKK.
One serpent’s tail impaled him through the abdomen mid-flight, sending him hurtling back into the ground, his roar of pain shaking the arena.
“GGGHHHHAAAGHHH!”
He slammed into the dirt, a crater blooming where he landed, blood spraying from the wound.
---
Juvian’s All-Out Assault
Juvian’s hands shook violently as he raised them high.
“Diamond Rain!”
The mist above shimmered — then solidified into hundreds of diamond spears, each the size of a tree trunk.
They plummeted like divine judgment.
SSSSSSHHHHHHHKKKKKTTTTTTTT!!!
The vampire roared, raising a blood shield — but dozens still pierced his flesh, pinning him momentarily to the ground as his blood poured out.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
---
The ground rumbled again.
“Terra Colossus!” Juvian roared.
A gigantic stone hand — as big as a house — burst from beneath the ground, gripping a titanic stone sword.
In a single fluid motion, it swung.
KRRRAAAAASSSSHHHH!!!
The sword smashed into the vampire, flattening him into the crater.
---
Vampire’s Counterattack
“YOU THINK YOU CAN BEAT ME, AURELLIAN?!” the vampire screamed, his voice raw with hate as his magic erupted, shattering the stone hand.
“YOU ARE BENEATH ME!”
Crimson needles of blood burst from his body in all directions, piercing Juvian’s legs and belly in quick succession.
Juvian gasped, falling to one knee, his vision blurring from the sudden pain.
“You… are… INFERIOR!” the vampire spat.
With a flick of his wrist, the vampire hurled his massive axe into the air — but it wasn’t just a throw.
In the same motion, he leapt after it, twisting his body mid-flight.
His foot snapped out in a vicious kick, striking the flat of the weapon.
FWOOOOOOOM!!!
The axe became a crimson missile, spinning end over end with blinding speed, the air itself shrieking as it hurtled toward Juvian like a blood-soaked guillotine.
“DIE!” the vampire roared, fangs bared in unholy rage.
Juvian raised layer after layer of stone and mana shields in desperation—
CRRRRRAAAACKKKK!!!
The axe tore through them all.
It hit him dead-on.
---
Impact
BOOOOOOOOM!!!
Juvian’s body was flung back like a broken doll, carving a trench hundreds of meters long before smashing into the jagged edge of the battlefield.
Blood sprayed from his mouth as he gasped, vision fading in and out.
The axe returned to its master’s hand like a loyal hound.
---
The vampire leapt, wings flaring as he raised the weapon above his head.
“THIS ENDS—”
But before he could finish —
FWWOOOOOMMM!!!
A monstrous diamond spear, easily as wide as his torso, wrapped in glowing mana shields, fell from the heavens like a divine executioner.
SSSSHHHHHHKKKKKKKTTTT!!!
It pierced straight through his back, driving him into the earth with such force that the impact formed a crater 60 meters wide.
The spear didn’t just pierce — it annihilated, shredding his organs as blood gushed from his mouth.
---
The vampire coughed, his voice a wet, broken rasp.
“Y-you… Aurellian…”
Blood dripped from his lips as he tried — and failed — to lift himself.
He lay there, barely alive, his once terrifying presence reduced to a trembling, blood-soaked heap.
---
Juvian, panting, wiped blood from his mouth.
His voice was hoarse but sharp as steel:
“Inferior, huh?” He staggered forward, one hand clutching his wound.
“Well this Inferior race just beat you.”
> WINNER: JUVIAN OF ZITRY
“Ughhh!” Balling’s voice echoed across the Crucible like a petulant child. “I MISSED it! I was watching those other sweaty little darlings rip each other apart and completely missed this one! Shame on me. SHAME!”
Down in the Mist Valley, Juvian exhaled, wiping blood from his mouth, his chest rising and falling. His thoughts were sharp, bitter:
Would Eryndor have struggled against him? No… he wouldn’t have. I need to get stronger. I’m still far from catching up to him.
---
The Lava Zone
In another arena, Eryndor stood. Majestic. Untouchable.
His opponent was a Dragoon—an 11-foot-tall wall of scaled muscle with both eyes milky and sightless. And yet, his stance spoke volumes. This was no blind fool. This was a predator. A Bravo wielder.
Eryndor walked forward slowly, every step deliberate.
“I discern no trace of mana within you,” Eryndor remarked, his tone cool and deliberate. “That would suggest you are a wielder of Bravo. Am I in error?”
The Dragoon’s head tilted, his scarred lips curling faintly. “You know about Bravo?”
“Somewhat.”
Eryndor halted a mere few paces away, his gaze unwavering. “I have long desired to assay the true measure of a Bravo wielder’s strength. It would seem God has seen fit to grant my petition.”
The Dragoon smirked, voice deep and gravelly. “Which one?”
Eryndor’s lips curved into a refined, sardonic smirk. “You devotees of false divinities persist in your delusions… yet there is, and has only ever been, but one.”
The Dragoon’s jaw tightened, his blind gaze unblinking.
---
Eryndor unfastened his coat with slow, practiced grace.
A metal coat rack erupted from the ground—a polished, ornate thing of silver—and water splashed across it in a cleansing wave.
He carefully hung his coat.
“Practicality before performance,” he said lightly.
Then, as though proclaiming to an audience, his voice sharpened:
“Apart from Pungence, none have succeeded in wounding me for over two years. I am most eager to discern the newfound extent of my capabilities.”
He rolled his sleeves up elegantly, exposing his forearms, and began walking forward again. The coat rack floated upward, levitating until it hovered high above, out of sight.
Mana erupted from him like an ocean storm.
Even the blind Dragoon felt it. His breath caught. Overwhelming…
Each of Eryndor’s steps cracked the ground, deep fissures racing outward like lightning bolts.
He stood still, put one hand behind his back, extended the other toward his opponent, and said in his regal tone:
“Shall we?”
The Dragoon’s nostrils flared. “Are you looking down on me?”
Eryndor’s smile widened, utterly unbothered.
“Well, of course.”
---
The Dragoon growled, launching forward with Bravo-enhanced speed.
The ground cratered beneath his feet as he swung.
Eryndor blocked the blow with the back of his hand.
BOOOOOM.
A hundred-meter-wide crater bloomed under their feet.
The Dragoon didn’t stop—strike after strike, blow after blow. The earth shuddered with each impact.
But Eryndor blocked every attack with one hand behind his back, his expression composed, almost bored.
The crater widened. Deepened. The air quaked.
The Dragoon’s voice rumbled with disbelief. “What… how can a mage contend with me? A Bravo wielder!”
Eryndor’s reply was ice:
“I am no mere practitioner of the arcane, my friend. I am a Combat Mage.”
---
In an instant, he caught the Dragoon’s forearm mid-blow.
His fingers dug in with unshakable force.
“If this is the extent of Bravo’s vaunted power, I find myself… underwhelmed,” Eryndor said coolly. “Yet, in my magnanimity, I shall condescend to meet you with unadulterated strength, bereft of sorcery. You have my word — no offensive spell shall touch you.”
And then, without warning—
WHAM!
Eryndor pulled the Dragoon in and struck him with the palm of his hand.
The force was apocalyptic.
Ribs shattered. The blow ripped through his chest like a thunderclap, and the shockwave propagated outward, tearing a long, deep trench behind the Dragoon.
Blood sprayed from his mouth as his body was hurled at blinding speed, tumbling violently for 8 kilometers before skidding to a halt. He tore the arena of other challengers in two.
---
The Dragoon struggled to his feet, coughing blood. “This… this isn’t right. This shouldn’t be possible.”
Eryndor’s voice echoed in his mind.
“Oh, but it is.”
The Dragoon’s eyes widened. He’s… speaking into my mind?
“You—how can you hear me from there?!”
“I have exceptional hearing,” Eryndor’s voice rang again, smooth and patronizing.
The Dragoon blinked, trembling as Eryndor’s words slithered inside his head:
“Now… may we continue?”
---
A radius of 8 kilometers infront of Eryndor began to shake.
The ground beneath the Dragoon’s feet moved with terrifying speed, carrying him toward Eryndor as if the world itself conspired against him.
The Dragoon froze in shock. “You said you wouldn’t use magic!”
Eryndor crouched slightly, bringing his tall frame down to the Dragoon’s eye level, his smirk still in place.
“I pledged that no offensive spell would be cast upon you directly,” Eryndor intoned, his voice like silk over steel. “I never stipulated that I would abstain from manipulating the very environs around you.”
The Dragoon roared, swinging upward in a desperate uppercut—
But Eryndor saw it coming.
He slapped the Dragoon’s head mid-strike slamming it into the ground.
KRRRRAAAASSSSHHHH!
The impact created a crater larger than the arena itself.
Every tooth in the Dragoon’s mouth shattered. He screamed, choking on his own blood.
---
“Frailty,” Eryndor murmured, crouching beside the fallen warrior. “A most vexatious affliction, is it not? I, too, have found myself in such a lamentable station on more than one occasion.”
His mind flashed to Pungence, to the endless training, to the days he could barely breathe under his teacher’s hand.
Eryndor laced his fingers together, resting his elbows on his knees.
“You may wield Bravo,” Eryndor said, his voice measured yet edged with quiet authority, “but today you stand before one who has mastered the circulation of mana in a manner akin to it. I was once informed that such a transformation was impossible.”
His emerald eyes glimmered with restrained pride.
“And yet… it would appear I am an exception.”
---
A small bottle of elixir appeared between his fingers.
He uncorked it and poured it into the Dragoon’s mouth.
“I desire to witness the full breadth of Bravo’s capabilities,” Eryndor stated, his voice composed yet intent. “To comprehend why Mother deemed it the preeminent art of our lineage.”
Then Eryndor gently touched his opponent’s forehead with one finger.
The Dragoon’s wounds healed instantly.
His eyes flared with rage.
“Excellent,” Eryndor said, ascending to his full, imposing height. “Now… demonstrate it to me.”
The Dragoon launched forward with a roar, punching upward—
The blow smashed into Eryndor’s chin, sending him flipping through the air.
Eryndor landed on his feet with perfect grace, brushing dust from his sleeve.
“Ah,” he said, smiling faintly. “Let us continue.”
---
To Be Continued…
