The arena reacted to blood.
The moment the Berserker roared and lunged forward, the lava surged upward in a spiraling geyser behind him—heat chasing rage like a divine applause. His steps were like thunder on stone, leaving scorched footprints in his wake.
Kael dropped flat behind a fallen obelisk, pressing his back to the hot stone as molten heat licked the edges of the arena. The Knife's voice was cool and clinical.
"Target one—Berserker—is ignoring visibility. Predicts direct paths. Will charge whatever looks weakest."
"So, me," Kael muttered.
"And Drake. Her wings are a liability. Can't maneuver in mid-combat. Use her."
Above the roar of magma and crowd, a shriek cut the air—half-woman, half-beast. The Hybrid lashed out with a whip of burning breath, her entire body shimmering with internal fire. The Berserker took the hit full-on and kept coming, skin boiling, healing faster than it burned.
Perfect.
Kael dashed low, keeping to heat shadows, avoiding the direct lava line. He pulled a copper coin-shaped relic from his pouch—a former arena charm. He didn't expect it to help.
He expected it to remember.
**"Show me," he whispered.
"Ninth Trial. She turned too late. Breath only arcs sixty degrees. Blind spot—right lateral step, two meters out."
Kael's lips curled into a tight smile.
He sprinted up the obsidian spine near the Drake, just as the Berserker barreled toward her again, fists raised, already roaring.
She turned—
Too late.
Kael slid under her wing as she launched another blast of scalding vapor. It missed him by inches and hit the Berserker full in the face. This time, he staggered—caught off balance, blinded.
Kael didn't hesitate.
He yanked a cracked pressure seal from his bag and flung it toward the Berserker's exposed leg. The relic shrieked as it detonated, not from explosion but vacuum collapse—a tiny burst of atmospheric drag that crumpled flesh inward.
The Berserker screamed.
The Drake reared back, off balance, smoke clouding her face.
Kael dove into the blind spot again—this time with the Knife drawn.
"Aim low. Slice the tendon. Rupture the second joint—"
Kael's blade found scale, then softer meat beneath.
The Drake shrieked again—this time in pain.
Kael landed, rolled, and came up gasping. The Berserker was down, twitching, skull exposed. The Hybrid was limping, disoriented.
Two down.
One left.
Kael turned his gaze toward the far side of the arena—toward the Cloaked One, still unmoving.
Still watching.