And then… another figure emerged from the mist beyond the ring.
Finnick Dawnspark — a holy knight clad in gleaming armor that shimmered like dawnlight, each step measured, each breath calm. But behind the polished steel and gallant poise, there was something darker in his eyes. A weight. A history.
He tossed a small vial toward Rikuya.
"Drink it," he said flatly. "I don't want a half-assed fight."
Rikuya caught the potion without looking, eyes narrowed. He didn't move to drink it yet.
"You think strength is about starting a fight at your peak," he said quietly. "But a real warrior knows—it's when you're nearly broken that your spirit is truly tested."
Finnick stared for a moment… then smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth barely twitching.
"The blade shines brightest after the fire's kiss," he said. "I know the weight of your words. Let's see if you carry their truth in your fists."
"Then let me show you," Rikuya said, his voice low but charged with promise.
The enemy swung with brutal force—Rikuya raised his right arm, absorbing the hit with a tight elbow block that barely shifted him. He leaned in immediately, his left hook slamming toward the ribs, but Finnick twisted just in time, his armor absorbing the brunt with a resonant clang.
Another strike came—Rikuya rolled under it smoothly, his body a blur of motion, pivoting into a precise right straight aimed at Finnick's chin. This time it landed, snapping the knight's head back, but he gritted through it, one knee hitting the ground as he tried to recover.
Rikuya didn't stop. A lightning-fast liver shot cracked against the side of Finnick's plated waist, followed by a brutal left hook. Finnick brought up both arms just in time, blocking—but the force pushed him off balance.
The uppercut came last—a clean, rising arc that slipped past the knight's guard and caught him under the chin. Finnick's body lifted an inch off the ground before he collapsed, gasping, eyes wide but blazing with a fighter's fire even as he fell.
Still conscious. Still alive. But shaken.
Finnick's smile faded. He slowly raised his sword upright before his heart, light pulsing along the blade's edge.
"Radiant Cross Form."
His feet planted firm. His eyes narrowed. The calm before a divine storm.
"Heaven's Step!"
With a flash, Finnick dashed forward, his boots gliding over light itself. Rikuya squinted, momentarily blinded by the shimmer beneath his opponent's feet—but his instincts roared louder than sight. He dropped low, the first slash barely grazing his shoulder.
"Sanctified Slash!"
Finnick's blade swept upward in a radiant arc. Rikuya leaned back, the holy flame trailing just past his chest—he countered with a sharp mana-imbued jab that Finnick parried, light and mana clashing in sparks.
"Judgment Arc!"
Finnick whirled the sword overhead and brought it down in a sweeping arc. Rikuya braced, crossing his arms to block the impact—the shockwave pushed him back, boots skidding, but he stayed on his feet.
With a grunt, Rikuya rushed in, exchanging a flurry of strikes—his mana blade slashing, blocking, weaving through the golden blur of Finnick's swordplay.
"Divine Pierce!"
A roar of light burst from Finnick's lunge. Rikuya sidestepped, slamming his forearm into the knight's wrist to redirect the thrust—he twisted, driving a low strike toward Finnick's ribs. The knight grunted, his armor denting from the force.
"Crossfall Finisher!"
Finnick leapt high into the air—his sword gleaming with holy fire. "Fall before the light!" he bellowed, bringing the blade down in an "X" formation.
Rikuya met it with his own roar—his mana blade humming violently, arms crossed as he caught the blow with sheer grit. Light exploded around them in a wave of radiance and force.
Dust rose. The crowd fell silent.
Two silhouettes stood locked at the center—swords pressed against each other, neither willing to fall.
Rikuya's muscles surged with force—he stepped in with a sharp left kick to Finnick's ribs, the clang of armor echoing across the ring.
Before the knight could recover, Rikuya leapt up—double knees crashed into Finnick's jaw, snapping his head back with brutal precision. Landing smoothly, Rikuya spun—his hands slicing down in a double chop across Finnick's shoulders.
The knight staggered—then raised a single glowing hand.
"Radiant Guard."
A dome of light erupted from Finnick's chest, blasting Rikuya backwards like a cannon shot. He flipped midair, sliding across the dirt but landing on one knee.
Finnick stood tall again—his breathing slow, his voice calm.
"Oathbearer's Stand."
He planted his feet shoulder-width apart, sword lowered.
One hand rose in solemn prayer.
The other slowly drew the blade outward—light whispering along its edge like a sacred hymn. The battlefield went still.
In a single, fluid motion, Finnick slashed horizontally.
The air didn't scream—it fell silent.
A golden arc surged across the ring, clean and divine. It swept through Rikuya like wind through wheat—not wounding him, but freezing him mid-motion.
His breath caught.
His arms trembled.
The force didn't pierce flesh—it struck deeper.
Curses. Rage. The thirst to dominate—all washed away in a heartbeat of holy clarity.
Rikuya dropped to one knee, his hand trembling as he steadied himself.
The crowd was silent.
Finnick stood like a monument of light.
Rikuya gritted his teeth, a smirk twitching at the edge of his lips.
"Not bad, paladin... but that blade didn't cut my will."
Finnick's gaze sharpened, golden light dancing across his armor.
"We'll see."
He slowly raised his sword upright, its tip pointing to the sky. His eyes slid shut as he inhaled—calm, centered. A soft golden veil bloomed around his form, wrapping him in sacred radiance.
The glow intensified, bathing the arena in a divine warmth. Dust stilled. Breath caught.
Then—
With a single, perfect upward slash, a pillar of light erupted skyward, blinding and absolute. The ground cracked beneath its divine force, and Rikuya was lifted off his feet—caught in the shockwave of holy energy.
The air trembled like a trumpet blast echoing across the heavens.
Rikuya landed hard, sliding back, the ground scorched beneath him. He gritted his teeth, smoke curling off his skin, but he stood—burned, breathless… smiling.
"Tch… damn, that almost felt like a blessing."
The knight stood amid the fading light, untouched, blade lowered—his eyes burning with calm, righteous fire.
Rikuya charged forward, his body moving faster than the eye could follow. With the momentum of a hurricane, he slammed his shoulder into Finnick's midsection, knocking the wind from his lungs. The holy knight staggered, forced back by the sheer force of the impact.
Without hesitation, Rikuya swiftly grabbed Finnick's waist, using his opponent's own momentum against him. In one fluid motion, he lifted the knight off his feet, spinning him in mid-air before slamming him head-first into the ground. The sickening thud echoed through the arena as the earth trembled beneath them.
Rikuya stood over him, his eyes cold and calculating, watching as Finnick struggled to rise. He was ready for the next move, his breath steady, his focus unbroken.
Rikuya dropped into a stance—right arm low, coiled like a spring. His breath was slow, deliberate. Every muscle in his body was taut, ready to unleash something primal. His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating.
With a deep, commanding breath, his voice sliced through the air like a blade:
"Rikuya Original One…"
The words were heavy, laden with power. His legs twisted, shifting his weight as his aura tightened—each breath becoming a force unto itself. And then, with a primal roar:
"—BYAKKO!!"
The name hit like a thunderclap—feral, ancient, unstoppable.
Rikuya lunged forward like a predator. His right forearm slammed into Finnick's gut with the force of a battering ram, not knocking him back but embedding pain deep in his core. There was no room for recovery.
His open palm shot upward into Finnick's ribs, twisting his body mid-air with a sickening crack. The knight gasped, struggling to regain his composure.
Rikuya took a swift backstep, eyes locked on his prey. He knew patience—waiting for the perfect opening.
The next moment came in the form of a barrage: five punches, each one landing with a precise impact, each strike resonating deep into the knight's body.
Jab. Hook. Uppercut. Cross. Hammer.
Each punch attacked not just the body, but the nerves, the very foundation of Finnick's defenses.
Rikuya leaned in, a quick headbutt sending Finnick's head snapping back, like a broken tree in a storm.
Then, with a low growl, Rikuya drove a final palm-fist into the knight's chest. The shockwave hit not with blood, but with raw, paralyzing agony that sank deep into his organs.
Finnick collapsed forward, breathless, defeated.
Rikuya stood still, his body a tower of strength. Not a word. Not a smile. Just the cold silence after the strike of the White Tiger.
As the light from Finnick's fall faded, the crowd fell silent, anticipating what would come next. Rikuya stood firm, the ground beneath his feet trembling from the force of the battle. His eyes remained sharp, watching for any sign of the next challenge.
From the shadows, Lyra Faelwyn, the rogue-mage, emerged. Her movements were fluid, silent as a whisper, yet dangerous. Her eyes gleamed with mischief, and the daggers at her sides seemed to hum with hidden magic. The crowd, still buzzing from Finnick's defeat, held its breath once again as Lyra stepped into the fray.
With a swift flick of her wrist, Lyra raised her hands, weaving an intricate series of movements. In an instant, illusions began to swirl around her, creating multiple images of herself, each one more confusing than the last. But Rikuya stood unmoved, his senses sharpening to pierce through her tricks.
"You're too late," Rikuya muttered, his voice low but unwavering.
As the illusions began to close in on him, Rikuya didn't hesitate. He channeled his energy, the sword in his hand humming with crackling blue mana. The air around him seemed to thrum with power as he gathered his focus. His blade glowed fiercely as he swung it in one swift horizontal arc, sending a wave of pure mana hurtling towards the mage.
Lyra's eyes narrowed, sensing the incoming attack. With speed born of magic, she danced to the side, the illusion of her form shifting as she vanished, only to reappear a moment later in a different spot. But Rikuya wasn't fooled. His senses guided him, and with no more hesitation, he dashed forward, closing the distance between them in an instant.
With a fluid, practiced movement, Rikuya executed a vertical strike that slammed down with the force of a thunderclap, sending a shockwave of mana that surged through Lyra's defenses. The rogue-mage staggered, momentarily thrown off balance as the energy coursed through her. But she was quick to recover, launching herself back to regain her footing.
Seeing an opening, Rikuya leapt high into the air. The arena gasped, watching as he rose above the battle, sword raised. He brought it down with one last, earth-shattering overhead strike. The energy burst from his blade in a massive explosion, blasting the rogue-mage backward with incredible force, knocking her off her feet.
For a moment, the arena was dead silent, then the crowd erupted into a roar of approval. They were witnessing a spectacle beyond anything they could have expected. The referee, in awe, raised his hand, signaling the end of the fight as the crowd's cheers grew louder.
Rikuya stood tall, his expression cold but triumphant. Even in the face of illusions and powerful magic, he had proven his strength. The arena was alive with the sound of excited voices, buzzing with the energy of the battle they had just witnessed.
The arena fell silent once more, the atmosphere thick with tension as a new figure slowly strode into the center. The crowd, which had been roaring with excitement, hushed at the presence of the man. He was a dark figure, his features hidden beneath a black cloak, only his eyes visible—a pair of cold, merciless orbs that seemed to drink in the very light around him.
Elgar the Spell-Eater.
A cursed man, a monster in human skin. His aura was suffocating, his every step sending chills through the spectators. There was a twisted pleasure in the way he moved, as though he thrived on the suffering of others. He glanced at the fallen Finnick and Lyra, a cruel grin spreading across his face as if they were nothing but warm-up rounds.
But then, his gaze shifted to Rikuya.
"Another fighter... How quaint," Elgar sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "But none of you matter. I only live for the pain... the agony. Magic and death are but my pleasures. You, Rikuya... you'll feel it too."
As if to prove his point, Elgar raised his hand, and the air around him rippled with dark magic. A heavy, suffocating energy filled the arena.
"You see," Elgar continued, his grin widening as he began to speak in a low, cold voice, "I've tasted the screams of the innocent. I've torn apart families. Children begging for mercy before I crushed them... The sound of their dying breaths, it's almost... pleasurable."
Rikuya's eyes widened, a flash of fury igniting within him. The mention of children—the most innocent and defenseless—stirred a deep, primal rage inside him. His body trembled as the energy around him crackled, sparking violently as if his fury itself was becoming a storm.
His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the power radiating off him. He could feel the heat of his anger burn through his veins, the fury threatening to explode.
Elgar's mocking laugh echoed through the arena, but it only fueled Rikuya's wrath further. The very air around him seemed to ignite as the sparks of energy danced across his body, crackling and roaring like the fury of a thunderstorm.
And then, with a voice cold as ice but sharp as a blade, Rikuya spoke, each word heavy with the promise of violence.
"You will die... and I will make sure you suffer. You will feel every ounce of the pain you've caused, tenfold. I'll break you in ways you can't even fathom. You will know the meaning of agony before I end you."
The crowd watched in stunned silence, their eyes wide as Rikuya's aura flared, an unstoppable force of rage and power. His words cut through the stillness like a blade, and for the first time, even Elgar's confidence faltered.
Elgar's smirk never wavered, but his eyes flickered with something—something close to fear.
"You think you can kill me, boy?" Elgar sneered. "I consume magic. Every spell... every attack. You cannot defeat me with your anger alone."
Rikuya's body tensed, his fists still crackling with energy. His eyes burned with unrelenting fury.
"Then I will make you regret every life you've stolen... with pain you've never imagined."