The battle raged like a storm given form.
Eryon and Vaen moved in a blur, their swords flashing through the air with such force that each clash sent shockwaves across the arena. Blood painted the ground in lines and droplets, neither willing to relent.
Vaen struck with cold precision, while Eryon met each blow with wild, burning defiance. Cuts appeared along Eryon's arms, his shoulder, his side—yet he did not yield. Vaen, too, bore signs of the conflict: a gash across his forearm, a bruised rib, and the remnants of fire scorched across his outer coat.
Then, for the first time, Vaen's blade shimmered unnaturally.
From the steel erupted an ethereal, blinding wave of elemental force—golden lightning, crackling like divine fury.
He slashed across Eryon's chest.
The impact was deafening.
Eryon flew backward, crashing to the stone floor. His body arched in pain, his chest scorched and bleeding.
Gasps rang out across the arena. Professor Kaelen stepped forward, hand rising to declare—
"Victory—"
But he stopped.
Because Eryon stood up.
His feet trembled, blood poured from his mouth, but his eyes—his eyes blazed.
They were no longer golden.
They burned.
Twin infernos locked onto Vaen, who blinked in disbelief.
Eryon didn't speak.
He charged.
Vaen parried, effortlessly—at first.
But then, fire exploded from Eryon's hands, engulfing his blade in living flame.
He roared, swung with a fury unlike before—and struck Vaen's sword.
There was a crack, a flash.
Vaen's blade shattered.
The force threw him backward, skidding, stunned.
Kaelen appeared between them, arms outstretched.
"Enough!"
The arena was silent.
"Victory: Eryon Solaris!"
The declaration echoed through the coliseum as Eryon collapsed, unconscious, the flames flickering out around him.