Then, as the applause began to fade, the announcer’s voice returned with more theatrical.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, behold! The sky has blessed us with light and now, from the frozen north where even gods dare not tread, comes a legend made flesh!”

  The ten sorcerers raised small vials from their belts, glowing bottles of swirling gray-blue fluid and hurled them onto the arena sands.

  When the vials shattered, a wave of frost mist surged outward, curling through the air and coating the arena in a thin layer of ice. The temperature dropped instantly; the audience gasped as their breath turned to fog.

  “A myth handed down through ages beyond counting, the great titan of the northern peaks, the Abominable Snowman!”

  The announcer’s voice thundered with excitement.

  “He stands among us now, a legend who walks, a soul of mercy and of strength, a Regal Vanguard known for his compassion toward humankind!”

  The lights dimmed to a cold blue. The frost mist parted slowly—

  “All Realm, raise your voice for the one and only… Gruk!”

  A colossal shape emerged from the mist.

  The aurora above still danced, flowing like rivers of molten silk across the night sky. The temperature plunged so sharply that even the iron railings began to frost.

  The crowd gasped as the mists thickened, rolling like breath from the maw of winter itself.

  From within the fog stepped Gruk, the Abominable Snowman with sorcery skills.

  He wore only coarse battle trousers woven from ice-thread hide, and in one massive hand he held his frost axe-spear — a weapon equal parts staff, halberd, and conduit of spellcraft. The blade gleamed with inner frostlight, thin veins of blue magic dancing along its edge.

  When he entered the arena, the crowd fell half silent, half entranced. Even the fiery Abyss supporters quieted for a moment.

  As he circled the arena like Raidbones before him, he plucked something from the fur along his belt — a single white flower, miraculously unwithering in the cold.

  He approached the stands where Starlax sat and extended the bloom upward with a smile that somehow radiated peace amid the chaos.

  The audience melted.

  Starlax hesitated, then took the flower shyly. “He’s… sweet,” she said softly.

  Up in the council balcony, Bjorn snorted through his nose. “A flower? Really?”

  Cygnus, amused, merely tapped his temple with one finger. “Strategy, Bjorn. The sharpest blade begins with calm.”

  Bjorn rolled his eyes, muttering something about “showmanship,” but the sorcerer supreme’s grin only widened.

  When Gruk reached the center of the frozen arena, he turned to face his opponent.

  Figar Raidbones stood like a burning fortress amid the frost, his armor steaming, the red glow of his warhammer bright against the snow’s pale light.

  A streak of light and then the ringing sound of reality being cleaved.

  The duel had begun.

  Raidbones lifted his hammer, the red glow intensifying until it looked molten.

  His voice rumbled across the arena. “Tell me, brother, shall we end this quick, or make them remember our names?”

  Gruk chuckled, the sound like distant thunder rolling through snow-capped canyons. “You talk too much for a warmonger,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Speed or slowness doesn’t matter. What counts is—”

  Gruk opens his spell book and snow comes out of it.

  The air itself screamed as ice crystals formed instantly on every surface. Within seconds, the Colosseum was a polar wasteland, snow swirling from nowhere.

  “—how long you can stand against the cold.”

  The audience nearest the arena’s edge flinched as the chill struck them, frost crawling up the barriers like a living thing.

  Cygnus Spellbane rose swiftly, his expression sharpening. With a flick of his wrist, he began weaving his own sigils — his lips murmuring a mantra so ancient the words seemed to predate air itself.

  A pulse of light flowed outward from his hand, tracing an invisible circle around the arena.

  Ten seconds of pure spellwork.

  And then a dome appeared.

  The Colosseum was alive — shaking, glowing, and roaring with sound.

  Thousands of voices rose together in awe of the Sorcerer Supreme’s masterpiece.

  The Dome of Deterrence shimmered like a living aurora, sealing the duel in beauty and terror.

  To the commonfolk, it was divine.

  To the young superhumans, it was legend made visible.

  Starlax and Morrigan could hardly breathe from excitement, their eyes wide as stars.

  Even the great Houses’ heirs leaned forward in their seats, for few living souls had ever seen Cygnus Spellbane truly wield his craft.

  Inside the dome, the storm raged on.

  Raidbones squinted through the snow, steam rising off his armor.

  “Not bad,” he said, slamming the head of his hammer into the ice. “Snow teleport from the northern Abyss yeah.”

  He swung his weapon in a wide arc.

  The hammer’s ignited and a wave of molten crimson tore through the frozen floor.

  The frost exploded into vapor. Ice turned to mist; snow turned to steam.

  The clash of fire and frost cracked through the air like thunder, painting the dome in light — red, white, and blue flashing across the night sky like the heartbeat of a god.

  In the crowd, the Abyss supporters roared louder, chanting his name:

  “WAR! WAR! WAR!”

  Inside the dome, the clash of hammer and frost-spear echoed like war drums.

  Raidbones lunged first. The sound of metal striking ice rang sharp and clean, sparks and snowflakes mingling midair.

  Gruk blocked with the haft of his weapon, ice cracking under pressure, and countered with an upward sweep that unleashed shards of glacial energy.

  Raidbones merely grinned, frost gathering on his tusks.

  He charged through the storm, his hammer blazing.

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  Amaterasu smirked behind her fan. “Leroy, start preparing the funds for rebuilding the lower tunnels.”

  Leroy sighed. “Not a chance. King Darkon can handle his own collateral damage this time.”

  Their laughter carried faintly over the roar of the crowd, but inside the dome, it was chaos.

  Raidbones struck the ground — once, twice, again — each blow causing the entire arena to quake.

  The frost shattered beneath him, dust and ice spraying into the air.

  Each time the hammer struck, it grew larger, the metal expanding, pulsing as if feeding on the tremors it created.

  Gruk steadied himself, his fur whipping in the storm, his breath misting like smoke. He launched spells — bursts of freezing wind, needles of ice, snares of frost — but the heat radiating from Raidbones burned through them.

  The Abyss General roared, hammering again until the very dome above rippled.

  With every strike, the air shook harder.

  With every vibration, the hammer grew.

  Soon it was nearly half the size of his body, a monstrous weapon glowing like a newborn star.

  Raidbones exhaled, his breath visible even in the heat of his own aura. He planted his feet firmly, both hands gripping the weapon.

  “You feel that, brother?” he growled. “That’s fear. I can smell it from here.”

  Gruk narrowed his eyes, though his expression stayed calm. “Careful, Figar,” he said, his deep voice steady. “Arrogance is the first step toward cracking your own skull.”

  He flipped open his spellbook — the pages fluttering wildly in the wind and runes began to circle around him, glowing faintly blue.

  The crowd went silent.

  The arena trembled.

  And then—

  Something went wrong.

  A second light appeared not blue, but violet, swirling at the center of the battlefield.

  The snow melted around it instantly, turning to steam. The air crackled, the Dome’s magic distorting.

  The shape grew, lines etching themselves across the ground in spirals of energy until the entire center of the arena glowed with a giant pentagram of dark runes.

  Even Sorcerer like Cygnus and Remini confused.

  “What?” Gruk stumbled backward, eyes wide. “That’s not my spell!”

  Raidbones hesitated, his hammer raised. “Don’t play dumb — turned it off!?”

  “I swear, that’s not me!” Gruk shouted, panic slicing through his calm for the first time.

  The Vanguards immediately rose from their seats, but the commonfolk still believed this was all part of the show.

  In the Council’s chamber, Starmist shot to her feet, rushing to the balcony. Panic sharpened her voice as she pointed toward the glowing sigil below.

  “That symbol, I’ve seen it before!” she cried toward Cygnus. The moment those words left her lips, every Council member stood up in alarm.

  In the arena, both Gruk and Raidbones, curious and unaware, moved closer to the pulsating pentagram etched into the ground.

  Up in the stands, Samartian’s eyes flared violet, her soul-sight awakening. “You two, get out of here now!” she shouted to Starlax and Morrigan, but the two children froze, refusing to move.

  A crackling surge of purple lightning erupted from the sigil, striking both Gruk and Raidbones at once, sending them hurtling into opposite sides of the arena wall.

  DHertz strumming his guitar and screaming.

  “Everyone, evacuate immediately!”

  Meanwhile, Elysius’ eyes began to shimmer, threads of golden light spiraling into his pupils as he forced a glimpse into the near future.

  “Amaterasu! Hit it—upward, now!” he shouted.

  The pentagram pulsed violently again, releasing another volley of purple lightning—faster, wider, and aimed directly at the Council’s balcony.

  Amaterasu tore the pins from her fiery hair and soared upward, her arms igniting as she unleashed twin pillars of flame to intercept the strike. But she didn’t stop there—her wrath demanded annihilation.

  “Three Pillars of Fire!”

  From her mouth erupted a torrent of dragonfire, colliding with the storm of purple lightning. The air itself screamed as the two forces met, flame consuming thunder in a blinding inferno that shook the entire Colosseum.

  Above the chaos, Lucretius and Leroy leapt from the Council’s tower balcony, landing hard at the entrance to the Vanguard chambers.

  “Evacuate the spectators! Secure the outer perimeter!” barked Lucretius, his voice echoing like an order from the abyss.

  None dared question him. The Vanguards moved instantly.

  Amaterasu descended gracefully, smoke curling from her lips as she wiped a scorch mark from her face with her thumb. Without hesitation, she approached the center of the fading sigil, whose violet glow was beginning to dim.

  Behind her, Leroy wrapped both arms in emerald energy, while Lucretius unsheathed the Dark Adamsword, following close behind the fire goddess.

  Meanwhile, Cygnus opened a shimmering portal, pulling Starmist, Bjorn, and Elysius into the arena.

  The arena was chaos incarnate.

  Starmist sprinted toward Raidbones, while Elysius rushed to Gruk, both warriors still struggling to rise.

  “Amaterasu, fall back—now!” roared Cygnus from behind.

  The Fire Goddess ignored the command, her crimson eyes burning through the smoke. “I want to know,” she began, her voice sharp as steel, “are you foolish or utterly insane—to attack—”

  She never finished.

  From within the rolling fog came a massive fist, moving faster than thought—an explosion of muscle and shadow.

  Amaterasu didn’t have time to dodge. But Elysius, eyes already flickering with golden foresight, saw it coming half a heartbeat earlier. He transformed his staff into a luminous tower shield, throwing himself between the blow and the goddess.

  The strike landed.

  The impact thundered like a falling star, sending Elysius and Amaterasu flying to the edge of the arena, the boys unable to withstand the mighty blow without being knocked flying. Dust and embers flew in all directions.

  Out of the smoke emerged a creature, a monstrous hybrid of man and beast. Two massive arms corded with muscle, four clawed legs, and curling horns that scraped the ceiling lights. Each exhale came out as a guttural, steaming snarl.

  Starmist’s pulse quickened. “Gruk! Raidbones! Move—get to the Vanguard line!” she ordered.

  The yeti responded immediately, opening a portal of frost that flared to life before the Colosseum gates. Both him and Raidbones vanished through it.

  Then, realization hit her like ice—this was the same monster the villagers described.

  She scream to Cygnus, voice trembling but clear. “It’s him. The one they saw. The one from the eastern ruins!”

  The creature lunged.

  Leroy met it head-on. His fists glowed with emerald light, colliding with the monster’s strikes in a clash that cracked the floor.

  Their blows echoed like thunder, raw strength against unrelenting fury—until Leroy shattered one of the beast’s horns with a final uppercut that sent the creature staggering.

  At the same time, Lucretius moved like a phantom, the Dark Adamsword slicing through air and bone. With two precise arcs, he severed both front legs of the beast, sending it crashing into the ground.

  But before the Council could breathe, Cygnus’s gaze snapped into the smoke.

  Through the smoke behind the creature stood a cloaked sorcerer, staff glowing with the same cursed violet hue as the pentagram.

  The figure was motionless—face hidden, aura ancient and venomous.

  Cygnus recognized the pattern of his casting immediately. The energy signature—archaic, unrefined, a mirror of the one Starmist had reported from the villages.

  “So you’re the one,” he whispered.

  The dark mage struck first, hurling a spiral of corrupted mana. Cygnus countered with a shield of shimmering wards, the two forces colliding in midair like twin meteors.

  The shockwave shattered pillars and hurled fragments of the arena skyward.

  To Cygnus’s astonishment, the sorcerer held firm. His mana pressure was nearly equal—something unseen in past few years.

  The duel between the two masters of arcana lit the Colosseum in spectral brilliance—emerald versus violet, light against decay.

  Meanwhile, the beast below howled as its limbs regenerated, flesh and bone knitting together unnaturally fast. Dark runes crawled across its hide—proof of sustained magical support from its master. Luckily, many of the audience had already left, leaving only a few, waiting in line to exit the gate.

  Starmist knelt beside Amaterasu and Elysius, healing their minor wounds with soft, glowing threads of celestial light.

  The dark mage raised his staff again, firing blasts not at the Council—but at random audience still trapped in the stands. The beams tore through stone and flame alike.

  “He’s targeting anyone left alive,” Starmist hissed.

  Amaterasu stood, one hand blazing. “Then we’ll make sure no one else dies tonight.”

  Samartian, busy shepherding the Abyssal supporters toward safety, didn’t notice the attack aimed at her. But her reflexes are high, she readied her jade sword to intercept, but Elysius, who had seen the strike before it arrived, moved with impossible speed. In a blur of motion he was between them, his staff shifting into a shining shield and deflecting the blow away.

  “Your welcome,” Elysius said coolly as he turned and vanished, sprinting through the smoke.

  “I don’t need your help, insolent brat!” Samartian snapped, fury raw in her voice. She watched him streak away, each breath ragged as she fought to keep her temper under control.

  “Princess, we must go now!” one of the Abyssal guards insisted, pulling her toward the gate. Even as she was escorted out, Samartian’s violet eyes kept flicking back to follow Elysius until the gate swallowed the crowd and she could no longer see him.

  Unseen by most, Morrigan and Starlax were still inside the arena, huddled behind the front-row seats. The two children had hidden there to watch the Council fight; curiosity outpaced caution. It was rare almost sacrilegious to see every Council member gathered and trading blows in one place, and the temptation to spy was stronger than common sense.

  Amaterasu poured relentless fire at the cloaked sorcerer, a continuous jet from her palms. Pure flame met corrupted mana; heat clashed with rot. The dark mage was overwhelmed. He staggered, then fell—consumed by the goddess’s fury.

  Cygnus moved forward calmly, taking first strike as the sorcerer collapsed. Amaterasu pulled back, no longer showy.

  At the same time, Leroy, Lucretius, and Bjorn fought the monstrous centaur-bull. Bjorn’s small pistol was useless; every time they severed a limb the creature’s flesh knit back together as if stitched by dark will. The beast’s regeneration was unnerving.

  “Find a weak point—this is wasting energy. My ammo’s nearly gone,” Bjorn called from behind broken pillars, firing when he could while remaining hidden.

  “Your shots do nothing. Analyze,” Leroy shouted between blows, adrenaline sharpening his voice as the two exchanged bone-crushing strikes.

  Lucretius was kicked clear across the sand. Starmist sprang to him, hands glowing, and healed the Fallen Knight back together with rapid.

  “The monster isn’t the real problem, we must kill the sorcerer,” Cygnus observed, eyes narrowing as he scanned the energy signatures crawling across the arena.

  “I’ll take the beast skyward to take them apart,” Leroy answered, muscles tensing as he prepared to hoist the creature.

  “Get back, Cygnus—I'll burn this filthy thing away,” Amaterasu warned, fire already coalescing in both palms, a pair of living suns.

  “Do not destroy the body,” Cygnus snapped. “I must study it.” He needed the creature intact to understand the runes that made it regenerate. He ordered Amaterasu not to incinerate the corpse.

  That moment’s hesitation was all the dark sorcerer needed. He staggered to his knees, then lunged: a grab for Cygnus’s arm, a muttered syllable, a cursed phrase spat like venom. The sorcerer’s fingers clamped, and blackness snaked from where their hands met—dark veins crawling across Cygnus’s skin. The Sorcerer Supreme collapsed with a howl, clutching his blighted limb as the corruption spread.