Unlike the other champions, Midas remained unscathed, having already identified the flaws in his approach. However, mastering the enigmatic Gambler's Book proved to be an arduous task. Among its countless capabilities, it could replicate thousands of weapons, with its potential only expanding over time. Midas had heard whispers of the formidable Death Scythe's power but remained oblivious to the steep price it demanded, leading to his initial failure during the trial. He recognized the need to amass further knowledge about these weapons and dedicate himself to mastering them when the opportunity arose.
Conversely, Sephir had achieved mastery over one more combination of the Soul Tempests. The following day, she would strive to unlock the final combination, thus harnessing the full potential of the Tempest Vase. Sraptor marveled at Sephir's swift progress and unwavering diligence. While Sephir demonstrated an unyielding commitment to learning, she remained untempted by the allure of power. Sraptor had come to admire this quality during their time together in the past few days. A person who embodied both gentleness and kindness, alongside great power and diligence, was deserving of the title of the Wind Goddess, even if the thought tugged at his heartstrings.
Meanwhile, Arzoth and Liath remained deeply engrossed in their training. Arzoth had chosen to wield shadow chains, weapons capable of engulfing and constricting opponents. In contrast, Liath had opted for lightning chakrams, swift instruments capable of paralyzing and binding adversaries with their electrifying strikes. As the day drew to a close, the time for the impending battle had arrived.
Arzoth, the champion of Shadow and a potential future god of darkness, is enshrouded in an eerie, spectral armor that exudes an aura of foreboding. Crafted from an otherworldly obsidian-like material, the armor seems to drink in the surrounding light, making Arzoth appear as if he's a living silhouette. His breastplate is etched with sinister runes that pulse with a malevolent energy, symbolizing his mastery over darkness. The helm is a fearsome visage, with elongated, shadowy horns that give him a haunting presence. The gauntlets of his armor are designed with claw-like appendages, enabling him to channel the power of shadows with every gesture. Arzoth's boots leave no trace as he moves stealthily through the shadows, embodying the enigmatic nature of his domain. This haunting armor not only offers formidable protection but also reinforces his status as a harbinger of the night.
Liath, the champion of Lightning and a prospective future god of thunder, is adorned in a resplendent suit of armor that crackles with electric energy. Forged from enchanted metals, the armor shimmers with a bluish-white radiance, reminiscent of a thunderstorm's fury. His breastplate is emblazoned with intricate lightning bolt motifs, symbolizing his mastery over the elemental forces of lightning. Liath's helm features a dynamic crest resembling a thundercloud, from which sparks and arcs of lightning occasionally leap, showcasing his divine connection to storms. The gauntlets of his armor are lined with conductive materials, enabling him to harness and project lightning with precision. Liath's boots generate small electrical discharges as he strides, underscoring his electrifying presence. This electrifying armor not only safeguards him but also amplifies his dominion over the thunderous power of lightning.
The feather gracefully brushed the arena's floor, a hushed prelude to the impending clash. The anticipation in the air was palpable as Arzoth, a sinister figure draped in shadow, seized the initiative.
"Prepare yourself, Liath," Arzoth hissed, his voice dripping with malice as his shadow chains, sinuous and malevolent, darted towards Liath like serpents striking their prey.
Liath, however, was not to be vanquished so easily. With a flourish of his wrists, he summoned his Lightning Chakrams, each gleaming like a shard of a thunderstorm. "You'll need more than shadows to defeat me," he retorted. Spinning the electrified discs with virtuosic precision, he cleaved through the shadowy tendrils that threatened to shroud him in darkness. "Try harder!"
In a dazzling display of dexterity, he flung the second chakram towards Arzoth. It whirred through the air, creating a dazzling cascade of sparks before binding Arzoth in a web of crackling energy, a testament to Liath's mastery over lightning. "Feel the power of the storm!" Liath declared.
Arzoth, feeling the grip of defeat tightening around him, resorted to his dark arts once more. He cloaked himself in a swirling vortex of shadow chains, a spectral shield against Liath's relentless onslaught. Unbeknownst to him, Liath had anticipated this gambit and sent his second chakram on a covert trajectory. It found its mark, latching onto Arzoth and intensifying the torment he endured.
The arena reverberated with Arzoth's anguished cries as the second chakram spiraled back to Liath's waiting hand. "You've lost," Liath declared, his voice firm and unwavering. "Surrender now, before you meet your end."
Arzoth, battered and broken, finally conceded, gasping, "I surrender." The arena erupted in a tumultuous chorus of cheers and applause as Liath emerged as the undisputed victor, his Lightning Chakrams crackling with pent-up energy. The battle had reached its climactic conclusion, a testament to the prowess of these formidable champions.
The deafening roars of the crowd filled the arena, their adulation washing over Liath as he stood victorious over his vanquished opponent. The clash of elements, the crackling of lightning, and the sinister whispers of the shadows all subsided, leaving behind an atmosphere tinged with the electricity of triumph.
In the wake of the battle, the champions retreated to their respective corners of the arena. Sephir, the epitome of grace and determination, wore a subtle smile, acknowledging Liath's victory with a nod of respect. Each of the champions knew that these battles was but one step in their arduous journey toward godhood. Each victory and defeat served as a lesson, a steppingstone towards their ultimate destinies. Midas, though unscathed physically, carried the weight of knowledge, understanding that his path was not solely paved with victory but also with the wisdom gleaned from failure.
Sephir's eyes shimmered with determination as she vowed silently to herself, a promise to unlock the final secrets of the Tempest Vase, to become the embodiment of the wind's might. Liath, the thunder's champion, stood tall, his victory serving as a testament to his unwavering resolve. In his eyes glinted the fierce determination to harness his power further, to command lightning with unmatched mastery.
The arena, once a battleground, now stood silent, basking in the echoes of the champions' struggles and triumphs. The tale of their fierce clash would reverberate through the realms. The gods they aspired to become were still distant, lofty goals, shimmering like stars in the night sky, urging them onward, toward greater challenges and even grander victories. And so, they prepared, their hearts alight with the fire of ambition, ready to face whatever trials the future might bring.