"I don't need to break your bones," Blaise said quietly, voice trembling not with fear, but with purpose. "Just your rhythm."
Siwa rose, her movement jagged, unnatural — like a puppet pulled by cruel strings. Bones snapped and twisted back into place with wet, grinding sounds. Her monstrous grin widened, lips curling over diamond-hard teeth.
"Then try," she hissed.
Before he could take a step, her tail — yes, a tail now, scaled, spined, and wickedly sharp — shot from behind her, coiling around his torso.
The next instant, Blaise was airborne.
He hit the caged wall with a thunderous clang, metal bending under the force. Blood sprayed from his lips as his body slumped to the floor. The audience roared — some in awe, others in horror. The noise swelled and faded like the sea, echoing in his skull.
For a heartbeat, everything dimmed.
The world tilted.
Then — her shadow. Long, monstrous. Stretching toward him.
She's coming again.
Think, Blaise. Think—or you're going to die for real this time!
His lungs burned. His ribs screamed. But somewhere within that pain, a spark ignited. He pressed the tip of his silver rod into the cracked floor, using it to drag himself up. His lips curved just slightly—almost a smile.
"Alright then," he whispered. "Let's test something new."
He had read of it only days ago — the Rios Belum Werea incantation — in the dusty pages of a forbidden text the mages called The Second Breath. A technique said to blur the line between man and weapon. It was power beyond rank — so unstable, most who attempted it had shattered their own bodies trying.
He had failed it countless times.
But failure didn't matter anymore.
Not when death was already running toward him.
Siwa barreled forward, her mutated form blurring, claws tearing grooves into the arena floor. Her tail cracked like a whip. The air trembled around her, a storm of brute force.
Blaise closed his eyes.
He inhaled deeply, letting go of everything — fear, pain, heartbeat, even thought itself. Only the memory of the ancient words remained.
"∆Rios Belum Werea∆." (meaning 'you are the weapon' in common tongue).
The rod quivered, emitting a flash of light and a faint hum that made the tiles underfoot to reflect the flash of light and vibrate in response. A thread of silver light bled from the tip, coiling like smoke.
Again, louder now — "Rios Belum Werea!"
The glow flared, racing up the rod, then into his arms, wrapping him in pulsing light. His heartbeat steadied, syncing perfectly with the rhythm of the weapon. The barrier between flesh and metal blurred.
And then — she was upon him.
Siwa's claws descended like scythes, her tail swinging low. The crowd leaned forward, bracing for the end.
Blaise's eyes snapped open.
He moved — not like a boy — but like something forged. His strike came not from muscle, but from resonance. The rod wasn't swung; it sang.
A shockwave exploded from the impact point as his weapon collided with Siwa's chest. The sound rang like a bell struck by lightning.
Her grin vanished. The force sent her crashing backward, the ground fracturing beneath her.
For the first time, her diamond bones didn't hold.
Cracks webbed across her skin, glowing faintly where his light had touched her. She looked down, disbelief flooding her monstrous eyes.
Blaise stood, his rod still humming with energy, his expression unreadable.
The glow around him dimmed, but his stance was steady, alive.
He exhaled slowly. "You were right, Siwa."
He raised his weapon. "Let's see how your rhythm handles mine."
Blaise didn't stop. He ran with the surge of momentum coursing through him, the light from his rod pulsing brighter with every heartbeat. His voice, low but resonant, carried through the arena.
"Rios Belum Werea!"
The rod flared, illuminating the whole stage in a silver blaze as he brought it down in a furious strike. The sound cracked through the air like thunder, shaking the tiles beneath their feet.
Siwa Loma staggered backward, shielding her face from the glare. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed her eyes.
He's still standing… after that hit?
Her jaw clenched. She could feel the humiliation boiling inside her — the crowd's gasps, the murmurs, the thought that this orphan boy might actually best her.
No. She wouldn't allow it.
"Ultimate Change… Phase Five—Gengen Morphing!" she roared, her voice echoing through the entire coliseum.
A ripple of dread swept over the stands.
The change began immediately. Her skin started to harden and split, scales forming over flesh like molten glass cooling into armor. Her body elongated; claws extended into blades, veins pulsing with a dark violet light. Her eyes turned completely black, her hair burning into embers that floated around her like ash.
The mages from the Oradonian Order's teaching bench exchanged frantic glances.
"Does she want to kill that boy?!" shouted Herold, gripping the edge of the barrier. "Phase Five is the deadliest form — she could actually kill him!"
Garry, another teacher, turned sharply. "Herold, you told us she hadn't even mastered Phase Four yet! What am I seeing here?"
Herold's throat tightened. "I—I didn't think she'd risk it! She's reckless, too proud for her own good. If she wasn't so hot-headed, we could've nurtured her properly! But this—this is madness. She might actually murder that boy… in front of the Emperor, no less!"
Balie, seated beside them, gave a bitter scoff. "Madness? This is Siwa. You act surprised. She's been trouble since she joined the academy."
But before anyone could respond, Ryan, the senior instructor, slammed his hand on the table.
"Don't speak like fools! You think this is just entertainment?" His eyes flashed. "If she loses, it's more than pride at stake. Our school's record, our funding, even our influence within the Emperor's circle — all of it could collapse! If the martial arts division wins all five duels, they gain priority for next year's Imperial sponsorships. You think Siwa doesn't know that?"
The others fell silent. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.
A heavy voice broke it.
"Who," said Anders Zitt, the Regional Vice President of the Oradonian Order, appearing behind them, "is her trainer?"
The teachers froze. No one moved. Slowly, they all turned — and the space around Herold cleared as if pushed by an invisible wind.
Herold's hands trembled as he stepped forward. "I… I am, sir."
Anders Zitt's expression remained unreadable. He spoke with quiet finality.
"Report to the Vice Dean of the Oradonian Order — the Scarlet Raven, Uriel Commes."
Then he turned to leave, his crimson cloak sweeping behind him.
Herold's face drained of color. The name Scarlet Raven hung in the air like a curse.
Every mage in the stands knew that name. Uriel Commes — the Vice Dean of all sixty-eight regional branches — the second most powerful mage in the entire Oradonian hierarchy. A being so feared that even the governors of regions tread carefully around him.
While the Archmage, Amber Nois, was known as the Hand of Light…
Uriel Commes was the Wing of Retribution.
Herold swallowed hard, staring at the stage below — where Siwa's transformation completed, her monstrous form casting a shadow that swallowed the light of Blaise's glowing rod.
The match was no longer a contest.
It was the edge between survival and annihilation.