The dueling center buzzed with anticipation as Azrael silently surveyed the packed viewing platforms. The sheer number of spectators didn't surprise him, Master Lucian had consulted him about this arrangement days ago. If Azrael hadn't agreed to such a public spectacle, his teacher would never have orchestrated this grand display.
But honestly, Azrael thought with a slight smile, making this a major event will be far more entertaining.
A swarm of reporters immediately descended upon him, their cameras and microphones thrust forward like weapons in their own right.
"Student Azrael, can you tell us why you've agreed to this duel with Student Crowley?" one reporter called out eagerly, her voice cutting through the general clamor.
Azrael's smile widened mysteriously as he kept his cards close to his chest. "You'll understand everything once the battle concludes."
The reporters exchanged confused glances. They'd attempted to interview Crowley moments earlier, only to be forcefully blocked by the Mizuno family's security detail. Now they'd successfully reached Azrael, but he was deliberately maintaining an air of mystery.
Several Shadowkhan materialized beside Azrael, their imposing forms creating a protective barrier between him and the increasingly aggressive press corps.
Feeling the malevolent aura radiating from the spectral warriors, the reporters displayed remarkable wisdom by backing away without further questions. Their journalistic instincts, however, screamed that this was far more than a simple exhibition match between students.
As Azrael approached the battlefield's edge, Crowley greeted him with his signature false smile, a expression that fooled no one present. "Thank you, Azrael, for granting me this opportunity."
His voice dripped with barely concealed venom as he added, "I promise not to make your defeat too humiliating."
Despite the overwhelming resentment burning in his chest like molten lead, Crowley maintained his facade of civility. Master Lucian's presence in the stands demanded at least a pretense of proper behavior, no matter how much he yearned to drop all pretenses.
Ottarl observed from the sidelines with cautious optimism. His son had finally shown some growth after recent events, no longer merely maintaining superficial courtesy while harboring transparent malice. The improvement was marginal, but it represented progress nonetheless.
A massive barrier began rising around the combat arena, its emerald-level construction shimmering with concentrated power. Given that both Azrael and Crowley possessed abilities that exceeded normal Silver-level parameters, standard protections would prove woefully inadequate. Master Lucian had personally sponsored this enhanced containment field to prevent the kind of catastrophic damage that had occurred at Riverstone University.
Standing at his designated position, Azrael revealed his complete Silver-level arsenal to the public for the first time.
[Captain of the Fourth Division·Unohana Retsu] materialized first, her serene smile masking devastating potential.
[Pure White Knight·Artoria] appeared next, her invisible blade held with practiced ease.
[Hell Blizzard·Fubuki] took her position with confident grace, psychic energy rippling around her form.
[Young Antelope·Nel] emerged last, immediately hiding behind the other three women with an adorably confused expression.
The arena fell into stunned silence.
Every spectator present knew something about Azrael, Master Lucian's newly accepted disciple who'd been a mere high school student six months ago. The theoretical understanding that he'd achieved Silver-level status was one thing; witnessing four distinct Silver-level cards of obvious quality was something else entirely.
The collective assumption had been that Azrael's accumulation would be respectable but limited by his brief advancement period. The reality proved far more terrifying than anyone had anticipated.
Across the battlefield, Crowley's frown deepened as he studied Azrael's summoned entities. "This many?"
During the recent secret realm invasion, Azrael had only displayed three Silver-level biological cards during their support mission encounter. The appearance of a fourth caught him off guard.
However, when Crowley's gaze fell upon Nel, the small girl cowering behind her more imposing companions, his concern evaporated into dismissive contempt. "Just filler for bond effects, obviously."
His mental perception couldn't detect any significant power emanating from the child-like figure. In his assessment, Azrael must have created this weak card purely to activate synergistic effects with his other summons.
"Somewhat troublesome," Crowley muttered, his confidence quickly reasserting itself, "but the final victor will still be me!"
His imagination had already begun painting vivid pictures of Azrael's shocked disbelief and Master Lucian's crushing regret after his inevitable triumph. The fantasy was intoxicating enough to make him struggle against premature gloating.
Suppressing his darker impulses with visible effort, Crowley released his own cards onto the battlefield.
Meng Po appeared first, her presence familiar to Azrael from their previous encounters. The ancient ferryman of souls regarded the arena with detached interest, blood-yellow mist beginning to coalesce around her weathered form.
The second figure made Azrael's eyebrows rise with genuine interest, a strange woman draped in yellow veils, her skin divided perfectly between alabaster white and midnight black.
Melinoë, Azrael recognized immediately. An Olympian/Chthonic goddess of the underworld.
"I wonder which aspects of her authority he's emphasized," Azrael mused quietly, knowing that Melinoë's domains included concepts like vengeful spirits and nightmares.
Crowley's remaining two cards materialized as men wielding a fan and hammer respectively. Though Azrael couldn't identify them specifically, their spiritual signatures strongly suggested connections to underworld mythology, likely judges or punishers from Chinese death pantheons.
"What a conceptual mess," Azrael thought with mild amusement. He'd expected Crowley to maintain thematic consistency within Chinese underworld mythology, yet here was an Olympian deity disrupting the pattern.
Then again, examining his own eclectic collection, a Bleach captain, an Arthurian knight, a One Punch Man esper, and a Bleach arrancar, he had little room to criticize anyone's thematic choices.
If an uninformed observer saw this matchup, Azrael reflected with dark humor, they'd probably assume Crowley was Master Lucian's true disciple.
The irony wasn't lost on him that Crowley's death-themed cards aligned more obviously with Master Lucian's known preferences, while his own Unohana and Nel only tangentially connected to such concepts.
Far away in Velkairos, Gabi leaned forward anxiously as she watched the broadcast. "Dad, do you think Azrael can win?"
Gustav remained silent for a long moment, his analytical mind processing the available information. "I can't properly assess the strength of Azrael's cards without being present to sense their spiritual pressure directly."
"However, I can identify his opponent's lineup: Meng Po, Melinoë, Liu Yuanda, and Shi Wenye. All death-system deities with established mythological weight."
The implications were clear in his tone, Crowley's cards represented genuinely formidable power. Gustav privately acknowledged that he couldn't have matched such a roster during his own Silver-level days.
"Azrael's cards appear to be original creations as always," he continued thoughtfully. "Without witnessing their actual combat performance, determining the stronger party is impossible."
In a luxuriously appointed cave whose electrical connections defied logical explanation, a massive television displayed the same broadcast to very different observers.
"Memphis, who do you predict will emerge victorious?" The hoarse voice carried amusement like a cat playing with prey.
The suited man addressed as Memphis responded with careful deference. "Sir, despite Crowley's longer tenure at Silver-level, I believe Azrael will triumph."
The speakers were naturally Jin and Memphis of the Crimson Oath Society, watching their investment with keen interest.
"Oh? Explain your reasoning," Jin commanded, genuinely intrigued by his subordinate's assessment.
From any logical perspective, Crowley's experience and established reputation should guarantee victory. The young Mizuno heir wasn't some unknown entity, his combat record spoke for itself.
"If Azrael cannot defeat someone like Crowley," Memphis explained with cold pragmatism, "then I must question whether our organization's cultivation efforts are worthwhile the investments."
Jin's laugh rumbled through the cave like distant thunder. "Then let us discover whether young Azrael has exhausted his bag of tricks."
On the battlefield, the referee's whistle pierced the air like a blade, and both sides erupted into motion simultaneously.
Fubuki seized the initiative, generating howling winds from nothing that immediately swept toward Crowley's four cards with devastating force.
The fan-wielding man snorted contemptuously, summoning his own gale-force winds to collide with Fubuki's assault. The meeting of opposing forces created a maelstrom of conflicting air currents that carved deep furrows across the arena floor.
A nauseating stench spread throughout the venue as the winds carried the corruption of the underworld, decay, rot, and death made tangible in the air itself.
Fubuki calmly expanded her telekinetic barrier, excluding the offensive odor while maintaining her assault. The psychological warfare element of the attack proved completely ineffective against her disciplined mind.
As the two cyclones continued their violent dance, a petite figure burst from within the chaos itself.
Fubuki's wind assault had never been intended as a primary attack, it served perfectly as cover for Artoria's approach. The knight emerged from the swirling tempest like divine judgment given form, her invisible blade already descending toward the fan-wielder with crushing force.
"CLANG!"
The sound of clashing metal rang across the arena with enough intensity to make spectators wince. The hammer-wielding man had intercepted Artoria's strike at the last possible moment, his weapon groaning under the tremendous impact.
Simultaneously, blood-yellow water surged toward Artoria's exposed flank like a living tide of corruption. Having fought the knight before, Crowley understood her danger perfectly, the moment she achieved close combat range, overwhelming force became the only viable response.
"Bakudō #81: Dankū!"
Unohana Retsu's intervention came with perfect timing. A transparent barrier materialized beside Artoria, deflecting the worst of Meng Po's assault while Fubuki added her own defensive layers to ensure complete protection.
"Excellent coordination," Azrael murmured approvingly from his position. Creating Fubuki had proven to be an inspired decision, her versatility was exceeding even his optimistic projections.
His gaze shifted to Crowley, whose deepening frown betrayed growing frustration. "So what will you do now?" Azrael wondered with anticipation. "If you can't breach our defenses, I'll simply grind you down through attrition."
The battle had only just begun, but already the fundamental dynamic was becoming clear. Crowley possessed raw power, but Azrael's cards demonstrated superior synergy and tactical flexibility.
In a contest between brute force and refined technique, the outcome was far from certain, but Azrael liked his odds.