Chella's sword pierced through Sora's defenses, striking with deadly precision. The blade slid smoothly—almost effortlessly—through Sora's flesh, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake.
The crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers, gasps, and applause, emotions spilling over like a dam bursting. Decades of watching battles had not prepared them for this spectacle. Every strike, parry, and counterattack pushed the limits of human potential. As Chella stood victorious—at least for the moment—the audience's collective energy surged, echoing through the arena like a storm.
But Sora refused to fall.
With a fierce cry, she summoned every last ounce of strength, her body glowing with an intense golden light. She rose, not through strength alone, but through sheer willpower—transcending her limits before their eyes.
The air rippled around her, as though reality itself bent in reverence to her unyielding resolve. Chella's eyes narrowed, sensing a shift in Sora's energy. The battle was far from over.
Sora's voice rang out: "Water God Form One: Water God Arrow!"
Her body glowed with a serene, aquatic light as she summoned a devastating strike. Watery tendrils coalesced into a sharp, piercing arrow that hurtled toward Chella with deadly precision. Chella's eyes widened in awe at the majesty of Sora's transformation. Her confidence wavered, a creeping sense of helplessness washing over her.
The Water God Arrow surged forward, and Chella's reactions slowed. She raised her sword, but it felt like a futile gesture—too little, too late—against the overwhelming force aimed at her.
Yet in the end, the arrow never struck.
Sora's body, already pushed beyond its limits, could not withstand the divine power she had unleashed. The attack collapsed mid-flight, its energy fading into mist.
And with it, Sora fell in defeat—her strength spent, her body giving out.
Chella stood victorious.
Standing in the pool of victory, Chella whispered to herself, "If only she had aimed that attack a little lower—through the heart of my defenses—there would've been no way for me to stop her."
Far away, Yamato sat quietly within his own world, eyes fixed on the aftermath of the match.
"What was that final attack just now?" he murmured.
"If I were to face that... I wouldn't even think of winning. I'd have to find a way—no, learn a way—to victory."
That night, under a blanket of stars, Yamato and Lumei made their way to the ward where Sora was recovering. She lay in silence, her breathing slow but steady.
Lumei gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "You weren't ready to use Hatabi," he said softly, "and yet... you still did."
Yamato, who had been listening in quiet contemplation, suddenly stood up, frustration flaring in his voice. "Oh no, you guys. Don't start with your god talk again. You know how I feel when you bring that up."
He turned sharply to Lumei. "What was it about that god you mentioned earlier?" he asked, his tone more cautious now.
Lumei looked away, troubled. "It's not my place to tell you," he said. "It's not that I don't want to... I just can't. You'll have to find out for yourself."
Yamato frowned, confusion knitting his brow. "Isn't it about some random god?"
At those words, Sora's entire demeanor shifted. Her expression changed from weary to fearful, haunted by shadows of something she didn't fully understand.
"Don't," she said, voice trembling. "Do not—get it out of your head. Give in to anything else... but not him."
Yamato took a step back, startled. "Guys... what's the fuss all about?"
Sora was like she was then back to her original self. She then noticed that all she had been thinking was just a flashback.