The arena buzzed with the raw energy of combat. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, every spectator on the edge of their seat as the massive fight raged before them. The ground trembled with each heavy strike from Draven's fists, and the air crackled with heat as Rowan unleashed his searing fire. I stood just beyond the battle's epicenter, my eyes darting between the two combatants, studying every movement, every opening.
Draven and Rowan were locked in a brutal exchange. The hulking figure of Draven, with his massive arms and relentless fury, swung his fists like a battering ram, crushing the ground beneath him with each swing. He roared in frustration as his wild strikes were met by Rowan's agility. Rowan's body seemed to flicker with every step as he danced around Draven's attacks, his flaming strikes streaking through the air like arrows of molten death.
I knew this fight was a matter of time. One of them would make a mistake, leave an opening, and I would take advantage of it. My eyes flickered to Rowan. His fire magic was impressive, but it was also reckless—he threw it around without thinking about how it might backfire. Draven, on the other hand, was a force of nature, but his movements were too predictable, too rigid. His fury clouded his judgment.
I flexed my fingers around the hilt of my blade, narrowing my focus. I needed to decide which one to take down first.
Rowan's fire crackled, its intensity growing with every passing second. He had the advantage in range, but his movements were too controlled—he had to be getting tired. His magic was powerful, but it required concentration, and that wasn't something he could maintain forever. I could see his energy beginning to fade, his breathing becoming heavier as each flame he cast drained more from him.
But Draven... Draven was pure chaos in human form. His raw strength was impressive, but he lacked finesse. I could tell from the way he swung his fists blindly at Rowan that he wasn't thinking clearly. His face was locked in an expression of fury, his instincts pushing him to overpower his opponent without the restraint of strategy. He was a wrecking ball—big, strong, and dangerous—but without the tactical thinking to back it up.
As much as I wanted to take down the bloodthirsty giant, I couldn't ignore the immediate threat that Rowan posed. His magic was becoming more unpredictable with each passing moment. If I didn't do something now, I could be facing both of them in a few minutes—and I wasn't ready for that.
I made my decision.
The opening came when Rowan overreached. He hurled a massive fireball toward Draven, hoping to catch him off guard, but in his desperation, his balance faltered. His footing slipped for just a second, and that was all I needed. My gravity manipulation flared to life, and in the blink of an eye, I surged forward.
The air shifted around me, gravity warping in a way that propelled me faster than the eye could follow. I moved with deadly precision, my blade crackling with lightning as I closed the distance between myself and Rowan.
He didn't even have time to react.
I was already there before he realized his mistake. With a single, fluid motion, I brought my blade down, the crackling energy singing as it cleaved through the air. My strike was precise, aimed at his side, where his defenses were weakest. Rowan's eyes widened in shock as the lightning-infused blade made contact, sending a jolt of energy through his body. His fiery aura flickered as if in shock, and then, just like that, he crumpled to the ground.
The crowd roared with disbelief. Rowan, the skilled and dangerous fire mage, had been taken out in one clean strike.
I didn't wait for him to hit the ground. I knew there was no time to waste. Draven was already turning, his rage building, and I could feel his anger radiating toward me like a tangible force. But as his eyes locked on me, his confusion quickly morphed into a dark scowl.
Draven let out a grunt, his fists tightening around the air like he was trying to crush the very space between us. "Can't even wait your turn, huh?" he bellowed, his voice deep and thunderous, echoing across the arena. "You just had to butt in like that?"
I stood tall, my grip tightening on my blade, my eyes never leaving his massive frame. "This is a free-for-all, not a 1 on 1 after all," I said coolly, shrugging as if his question didn't even matter.
Draven's eyes narrowed. For a moment, I thought he might charge me right then and there, but he hesitated, his gaze flickering toward Rowan's fallen form. He was clearly furious—at me, at the situation, at everything—but that anger made him predictable. He wasn't thinking clearly, just consumed with the desire for battle. I knew I could use that.
He let out a low growl, and then he charged.
I didn't flinch. In fact, I welcomed it.
Draven moved like a freight train, his steps shaking the earth beneath him. His fists came crashing toward me, one after another, each swing an attempt to crush me into the ground. I could see the power in his strikes, the raw strength he was putting behind them. But there was no finesse, no subtlety. Just brute force.
I sidestepped the first strike easily, using my manipulation of gravity to shift the ground beneath my feet, letting me move out of the way just in time. Draven's fist collided with the ground with such force that it sent a shockwave through the arena, causing the spectators to flinch.
But I was already on the move again, fluid and quick. Draven swung again, but this time, I ducked low, my body weaving around his massive fist like a shadow. The air around me twisted, and I was already behind him, striking at his unprotected back.
My blade, infused with crackling energy, sliced through the air. Draven grunted, his thick skin absorbing some of the blow, but the force of it still sent him stumbling forward.
He spun around, his eyes blazing with fury. "You think you can dodge me?" he roared, his voice booming like thunder.
"Doesn't matter what I think," I said, my tone calm as ever. "It only matters what I can do."
I pressed my attack, slashing and feinting, keeping him on his toes. Every time he thought he had me, I was already gone—my Lightning magic giving me the edge I needed to stay one step ahead of him. He was starting to tire, his movements slower, his anger clouding his judgment.
I shifted gravity once more, pulling the air around him, causing his next punch to miss by a mile. He stumbled, his massive frame losing balance for just a second. It was all I needed.
I surged forward with lightning speed, my blade aimed for his side. Draven's eyes widened, but there was no way he could stop it. The energy coursing through me fueled my strike, and with a swift, clean motion, I drove my blade into his ribs.
The impact sent a shock through both of us. Draven grunted in pain, staggering back, but I could feel the resistance of his massive body beginning to falter. The force of the blow had done its damage.
For a moment, Draven stood there, breathing heavily, his face twisted in disbelief. He hadn't expected it. He hadn't expected me to move this fast, this strategically. He was still clinging to the idea that he could outfight me with sheer power, but that wasn't enough anymore.
He looked at me with a mix of shock and anger. "You... little... brat," he snarled, struggling to keep his balance.
I didn't respond. I didn't need to.
I was already preparing for the final strike.
Draven took a step toward me, but he was slow now, his body battered and worn from the assault. His swings were wild, desperate, but it didn't matter anymore. I had him.
With a final surge of gravity, I lifted myself into the air, landing a few feet behind him. He turned just in time to see my blade coming down, a surge of lightning crackling through the air as I struck.
The blade met its mark, cutting through his defenses with ease. Draven's roar echoed through the arena as he collapsed to the ground, unable to rise again.
The crowd went wild, their cheers reverberating off the walls of the arena.
Nox stood in the middle of the arena, emotionless, his face unreadable.
"This feels similar to my last life—fight after fight. How I always pulled through in the end."
The Patriarch, his presence overwhelming, stood from his seat. The change in the arena was immediate—almost suffocating. The crowd fell silent as the force of his aura filled every corner of the space. Even the strongest fighters shrank back, unable to resist the weight of his power. The very air seemed to grow thick, as if it could hardly support his presence.
His eyes locked onto Nox, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The Patriarch's voice, when it finally came, was rich with authority, like thunder rolling across a darkened sky.
"Nox, you are the winner of this tournament, meaning you will be attending the academy when you turn 12 years old. Also, as the winner of this Tournament, you have the power to choose the fates of the other contenders here. The strong rule. You are strong today. What is your judgment?"
Nox stood there, sweat trickling down his forehead, still feeling the weight of the Patriarch's aura. But there was no fear in his eyes. His expression remained calm, controlled. He knew what had to be done.
"I would like all contestants to be removed from their right to the throne," Nox declared, his voice steady, the words sharp and decisive.
The arena seemed to hold its breath. The crowd murmured, shocked by the boldness of his choice. But Nox didn't flinch. His gaze remained fixed on the Patriarch, confident in the calculation behind his words.
This wasn't about the throne. This was about survival. The only way to ensure that no one could challenge him, no one could rise up against him, was to eliminate any claim to power. No one would be left with the strength to defy him.
It was ruthless. But it was necessary.
The Patriarch's eyes narrowed as he studied his son, the slightest hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "So be it."