The roar of the crowd intensified as the announcer boomed, "The next match! Dante Crimson from the Sunfire Dominion versus Magnus from Arcana Academia!"
A collective gasp rippled through the audience. All eyes turned towards the entrance on the left, where a lone figure emerged. Dante Crimson. His fiery red hair, styled in a carefree mess, revealing a face etched with nervous determination. He sported a simple, yet striking, attire of flame-red robes that shimmered with a faint internal heat.
Elian nudged the figure next to him playfully. "Showtime, man!"
The figure, Drake,his bestfriend, threw his head back and roared with laughter. "That's my big bro out there! Go get 'em, D!"
Elian's eyes widened in surprise. He'd never known Dante and Drake were brothers? He stole a glance at Dante, who seemed oblivious to the commotion, his gaze fixed intently on his opponent across the arena.
Magnus from Arcana Academia stood in stark contrast to Dante. A mountain of a man with steely blue eyes and a shaved head, he radiated raw power. He wore his signature simple black uniform, the tight fabric straining across his impressive physique.
The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Elian could practically feel Dante's nervous energy crackling.
Across the arena, Magnus met Dante's gaze. A flicker of something akin to respect passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the challenge each posed. The announcer raised his hand for silence.
"FIGHT!"
The crowd held its breath, waiting for the first move. Both combatants remained rooted in place, their eyes locked in a silent dialogue. Dante's hands twitched, a flicker of flame dancing around his fingertips. Magnus, unfazed, took a deep breath, his muscles coiling with anticipation. The dance was about to begin.
The air crackled with a tension hotter than the summer sun. Dante's fiery red robes shimmered, a beacon against the dusty arena floor. Across from him, Magnus, the mountain of a man from Arcana Academia, stood like an immovable object. Their gazes locked, a silent battle of wills unfolding before the roaring crowd.
Suddenly, Dante broke the stalemate. With a guttural yell, a torrent of fire erupted from his outstretched palms. The flames weren't the vibrant orange typically associated with Sunfire magic, but a swirling inferno of crimson and gold. It roared towards Magnus, a living beast with a hunger for destruction.
The crowd gasped – this wasn't Sunfire magic, this was something else entirely. Magnus, however, didn't flinch. He met the inferno head-on, a wall of pure muscle magic crackling with raw power. The flames collided with an earth-shattering boom, sending a shockwave that ruffled feathers in the distant stands.
Dante, his hair singed but his eyes blazing with an unnatural intensity, laughed – a sound that sent shivers down Elian's spine. "Surprised, aren't you, muscle-head?" he bellowed over the roar of the flames. "This isn't Sunfire. This is the hellfire of Ignitor himself!"
Magnus, momentarily stunned by the sheer power of the attack, furrowed his brow. "Ignitor? You mean the demon sealed within the Sunfire Dominion?"
"The very one," Dante smirked, a dark glint flashing in his eyes. "And guess what? I made a deal."
He snapped his fingers, and the flames surrounding Magnus intensified, coiling around him like a malevolent serpent. Magnus roared in defiance, his muscles bulging as he pushed back against the inferno. But the flames, fueled by a power beyond his comprehension, seemed to sap his strength with every passing second.
Across the arena, Drake watched in horror. Dante, the cheerful, passionate brother he knew, was gone. This was someone else, someone consumed by a dark power. Worry gnawed at him. Was this pact the reason Dante never used this kind of magic before? Was it… corrupting him?
As if sensing his doubt, Dante glanced towards Drake, a flicker of something akin to regret crossing his fiery gaze. But it was quickly extinguished, replaced by a steely determination.
"Don't worry, Drake," he called out, his voice strained yet oddly powerful. "This is the only way to win. For you, for the kingdom, for everyone!"
With a final, earth-shattering roar, Dante unleashed the full fury of his infernal magic. The flames coalesced into a colossal fiery skull, the unmistakable form of the demon Ignitor. It roared soundlessly, its molten eyes fixated on the struggling Magnus.
Magnus, his face contorted in a mixture of pain and defiance, could only raise his arms in a futile attempt to shield himself. The Ignitor skull plunged towards him, a harbinger of fiery oblivion.
The crowd held its breath, the silence broken only by the crackle of flames. Then, with a deafening boom that shook the very foundations of the arena, the Ignitor skull engulfed Magnus. A blinding light filled the arena, followed by a wave of searing heat. When the light subsided, all that remained of Magnus was a smoldering crater on the arena floor.
Dante stood panting, the inferno around him slowly dissipating. His face was pale, his eyes flickering with exhaustion. The dark power that had coursed through him moments ago seemed to be receding, leaving behind a shell of his former self.
The silence stretched, broken only by Elian's horrified gasp. "Dante… what have you done?"
The silence after Dante's inferno erupted was thick enough to choke on. Dust motes hung suspended in the air, illuminated by the harsh afternoon sun filtering through the arena's roof. The crowd, a moment ago a roaring beast, held its breath, a collective gasp finally escaping as the flames died down.
Elian didn't breathe. He couldn't. His gaze was locked on the crater in the center of the arena, a smoldering pit where Magnus had been. The stench of burnt hair and singed flesh was already acrid in the hot air, a sickening prelude to what he knew awaited him.
Then, a cough. A wet, ragged cough that shattered the silence and sent a jolt of adrenaline through Elian. From the edge of the crater, a figure emerged, a grotesque parody of a human being. Magnus. His clothes hung in blackened tatters, revealing raw, weeping burns that glistened with a sheen of sweat and tears. His once-steely blue eyes were milky and glazed, the edges of his vision singed and blurred.
A primal scream ripped from his throat, the sound of raw, primal pain. Not a battle cry, but a desperate gasp for air, a sound that spoke of a body pushed beyond its limits. He stumbled towards Dante, not with the grace of a warrior, but with the lurching gait of a man on the verge of collapse.
Dante, his face ashen, stood frozen in the center of the arena. His fiery red robes, usually billowing and vibrant, hung limply around him, singed at the edges. His eyes, devoid of their earlier fiery intensity, were wide with a horrifying mixture of terror and exhaustion. The infernal magic, the power he had unleashed, had left him drained, a puppet with its strings cut.
Elian lunged forward, a strangled cry escaping his lips. He couldn't just sit there and watch! But before he could reach the aisle, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, a surprisingly strong grip that held him back. He twisted in his seat to see Drake, his face etched with a mixture of emotions Elian couldn't decipher.
"No!" Drake roared, his voice hoarse. "He's done."
Elian fought against Drake's grip, his eyes fixed on the horrifying scene unfolding below. Magnus, a hair's breadth away from Dante, reached out a singed, blistered hand. It wasn't a fighter's attack, but a desperate attempt to grab hold of anything, to pull himself closer.
Just then, a medic materialized beside Dante, a white blur against the dusty floor. He shoved himself between Dante and Magnus, his face grim. With practiced efficiency, he pushed Magnus back, his voice calm but firm. "Stay back! You'll only make it worse."
Magnus, fueled by a primal urge for survival, ignored him. He lunged again, a pitiful attempt at offense that ended with him collapsing onto the arena floor in a heap. His ragged breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle against the burning agony that consumed him.
The fight was over. Not with a triumphant roar, but with a whimper. Dante stumbled back, collapsing onto his knees beside the medic. His entire body trembled, his face contorted in a silent scream of exhaustion and remorse.
The crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers and boos. Some, enthralled by the raw display of power, cheered Dante's victory. Others, horrified by the brutality of the fight, booed his ruthless display. But for Elian, the cheers and jeers were a distant echo. All he saw was the devastation in the arena, the price of victory laid bare.
As the medics rushed to Magnus' side, Elian finally met Dante's gaze. The haunted look in the fiery red eyes sent a shiver down his spine. Dante, the boy with a cocky grin and a passion for fire magic, was gone. In his place was a hollow shell, a boy burdened by a power he barely controlled and a darkness he couldn't escape.