The Forge of Immortality stretched out around them, merging with the buildings nearby. The glowing floor hummed beneath Elias's boots, and the shimmering walls cast an ethereal light. Ancient trees and distant mountains flickered into view, like fragments of a dream slipping into reality, melding with the world around them. This wasn't just the memory of Astravell anymore—it was alive, breathing, and waiting. It carried both the hum of hope and the weight of ruin.
Elias stood at the center of the arena, the sword resting easily in his grip despite the thunder of his heartbeat. It was strange—despite the moment's weight, he felt steady, as if fear had burned away in the light of what he needed to do.
Behind him, Naomi, Dan, and Ava lingered at the arena's edge, shrouded by the golden mist of Manna. They were spectators now. This fight was his alone.
Ava's voice crackled softly in his earpiece. "You ready, Elias?"
He gave the faintest of smiles. "No."
Naomi shifted uneasily by the barrier, her hands clenched. "You can still call it off. We could find another way."
"There isn't another way," Elias replied gently. "This is what it was always leading to."
Dan exhaled sharply, shooting Elias a salute. "Then go get him, champ."
Lucius stepped closer, his face unreadable but his eyes intent. "Remember: you are strong, you are wise, you are loved."
Elias nodded, tightening his grip as he turned back toward the arena's heart. The hum of Manna pulsed through the air, synchronizing with his heartbeat. This wasn't just another fight—this was where everything would end, one way or another.
At the far end of the arena, the mist darkened, swirling. A low hum vibrated through the air as Asmodeus emerged from the shadows, his form elegant and terrifying. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement, and a wicked smile curved as if he'd already won.
"So," Asmodeus purred, his voice carrying effortlessly through the arena. "You really think this is your victory to claim?"
Elias lifted his sword slightly, letting the blade catch the light. "I think this is where you lose."
Asmodeus chuckled, the sound cold and rich. "Bold words. Will you cling to them when you're kneeling at my feet?"
Elias said nothing. Words didn't matter now—only action.
Asmodeus's smile sharpened, and his sword—a long, dark blade of icy energy—appeared in his hand. He gestured for Elias to begin. "Let's finish this."
Elias lunged forward, the hum of Manna propelling him. Their swords met with a deafening clash, sparks flying as steel met shadow.
The impact sent a tremor through the arena, but Elias held his ground, flowing into the next strike. Every movement was deliberate, each swing sharp and focused. He could feel Victor's lessons in every motion—control, clarity, and patience.
For a moment, they fought as equals. Blow after blow, they danced across the arena, their swords slicing through the air with deadly precision. Asmodeus's grin faltered, a tiny crack in his confidence.
"You've been practicing," Asmodeus murmured, parrying a strike with ease. "But what about this?" He stomped, summoning dark ice spikes all around him.
Elias moved instinctively, letting the rhythm of the fight guide him out of harm's way. The sword felt like an extension of his body—alive, thrumming with purpose.
Asmodeus's grin returned, sharper than before. "Good reflexes. Let's see how long you can keep this up."
With each exchange, Elias felt the pressure mount. Asmodeus was faster, stronger, and far more experienced, but brute strength alone wouldn't win this fight. It would take flow, something beyond power to balance Asmodeus's relentless ice.
Asmodeus rained down slashes and spears of ice, and soon the arena was a scene of winter calamity.
"You will never win," Asmodeus's voice echoed, smooth and vile. "You're only delaying the inevitable."
Elias faltered, his sword dropping a fraction too low, and Asmodeus seized the opening. With a vicious grin, he lashed out, his blade slicing across Elias's side. Pain shot through him as he stumbled back, blood seeping through his shirt.
Asmodeus smirked. "You're already faltering. Just like the one before you. Kairo fought, and he failed. You will do the same."
Elias's resolve wavered, memories threatening to drown him, pulling him into the despair that had consumed Kairo. Was this fight doomed?
Then—a voice cut through the haze, steady and familiar.
"Get up, Elias."
Ava's voice crackled over the comms, calm and sure. "We're not done yet. You've got this."
Dan's voice followed, light but firm. "Hey, listen to your girlfriend, buddy. Don't blow it in front of her."
Naomi's voice joined, warm and unwavering. "We believe in you, WardensBlade. Finish this."
Elias exhaled slowly, the sword steadying in his hand. The hum of Manna surged through him again, stronger, clearer.
"That's right… you're different than me," Kairo's voice whispered within. "Manna was Astravell's wasted gift. Its people forsook it for the Devourers' Asherah. Now, it is yours to accept."
He rose, the pain fading to background noise.
Asmodeus's grin faltered, a flicker of uncertainty in his golden eyes. Elias wasn't alone anymore.
"You think you can stop me?" Asmodeus hissed, fury tainting his voice.
Elias lifted the sword, its glow blinding. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I do."