For a heartbeat no one moved.
Then they stepped through.
Hoods over their faces, weapons in their hands, an aura around them that made the air colder.
It pressed on every chest in the arena like a weight.
Screams broke the silence.
The stands erupted in panic as people shoved one another, climbing, pushing, trampling whoever was in the way.
Down on the arena floor, students reacted in their own ways.
Some froze where they stood.
Others shook, too scared to move.
But a few the ones who always talked about becoming heroes stepped forward.
"For the academy!" a third-year shouted. His sword shook in his hand, his voice cracked but he charged.
He never reached them.
A shadow moved faster than his eyes could track.
A blade of pure black cut through his chest.
He looked down at it with wide eyes, confusion plain on his face, then collapsed. His sword fell beside him. He didn't rise again.
More students still ran forward. Their fear mixed with pride and desperation. They threw fire, lightning, ice anything they could muster.
One follower raised a single hand then the ground under a group of second-years turned soft and black.
The students screamed as their boots sank.
Tar pulled them down, and from that tar came long arms that dragged them under.
Another follower laughed, a sound too high, too broken.
A student hurled a fireball at him. The flames hit his robe and went out like a candle in the wind.
The student blinked, stunned then clutched his throat.
Purple light burned under his skin. His own Aether tore him apart from the inside. His body dropped twitching to the sand.
The professors tried to fight. Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on NoveIꜰire.net
They rushed out forming a line. Spells flew. Fire roared, stone walls rose, light cut across the sand. For a second, hope flickered.
But the followers' magic wasn't normal. It bent, twisted and turned spells against their owners.
An earth mage raised walls to shield students.
The walls curved back on him. His own stone crushed him in seconds.
An illusionist tried to blind a follower with her trick, but her own scream tore across the field as her mind shattered.
She dropped to the ground, eyes empty, drool running down her chin.
Blood poured into the sand. The smell of iron spread, heavy and thick.
In the stands, Orion and Lyra stayed close. Both were pale, eyes wide.
"We can't just sit here!" Lyra cried.
"Stay with me," Orion snapped. The grin he always wore was gone. His tone was sharp.
A huge follower spotted them. His body was like a mountain, fists glowing with dark energy. He roared and charged.
"I'll take point!" Orion shouted. Lightning sparked across his arms, his legs. He darted forward fast.
He struck with speed, each blow a blur of crackling light. Lyra threw fire from behind, her flames hitting the brute's back again and again.
But the giant didn't stop.
The flames burned but didn't bite. His skin smoked but held.
He swung his fists, each punch making the ground quake.
Orion dodged, but even speed had limits.
One fist broke through. The hit caught him full in the guard, sending him rolling back, his arm numb.
"Orion!" Lyra screamed. She threw fire wildly now, panic breaking her aim.
The brute ignored her. He went after Orion again, fists raised.
Elsewhere, Seraphina faced a nightmare of her own.
A thin woman stood in front of her, smiling too wide. She hadn't moved her feet once. But the sand at her feet wasn't sand anymore.
The blood of the fallen.
It rose, twisting into spears, whips, and blades.
"You have such pretty eyes," the woman said, her voice calm, almost sweet. "I think I'll keep them."
She flicked her wrist. A dozen blood spears shot forward.
Seraphina raised a wall of crystal. For a second, relief hit her chest.
The spears didn't shatter. They flowed around the crystal like liquid, then reformed behind it, aimed straight for her.
She dove aside, rolling across the sand as the spears stabbed where she'd stood.
Her chest heaved. Fear pounded through her veins.
Every drop of blood spilled in this arena was another weapon for this woman.
Elvara was fighting too. She had been beside Isolde when a brute with a massive club charged them.
But then Isolde was gone. A rush of wind, and she vanished, leaving Elvara alone.
The brute swung. The jagged club slammed into her shield of white light. The impact rattled through her bones. The shield cracked, almost breaking.
She staggered back, teeth clenched. Her hands shook on her staff.
She knew she couldn't take another hit like that.
In the center of the arena, Azrael watched.
His left shoulder still throbbed, useless. His body ached. But his eyes took everything in.
Students screaming. Professors dying. Friends being torn apart.
His gaze slid to Kaelen.
The so-called hero dragged himself to his feet, blood pouring from his face, pride forcing him up. His hands shook, but his eyes burned with rage and disbelief.
It was the man from Selvara's room.
He walked into the arena like none of this mattered. Dust swirled, students died, spells tore the ground apart and he walked as if it was a quiet stroll.
Straight toward Kaelen.
Kaelen raised his head, his beaten face still defiant.
The man stopped in front of him, his smile was calm almost gentle.
"Well, well. The prince of Valerius," he said, voice smooth, mocking. "I have to admit… I'm disappointed."
He clicked his tongue.
"You're in no shape to fight me. That makes this simple. Easier to take you as you are."
Dark energy swirled in his hand. It grew, black and hungry, a vortex of raw power.
Azrael's chest tightened.
His thoughts raced, pages of the manga flashing in his head.
'It's him,' Azrael thought. 'The minor villain. The one Kaelen was supposed to face. The test that unlocked his real strength.'
His fists clenched. He wanted to move. He wanted to step in.
'This isn't mine,' he thought, the taste bitter in his mouth. 'This page belongs to him. This is his fight. Let's see, hero. Let's see if you can still play your part.'
Dust swirled in the arena.
And Kaelen's moment arrived.