The battlefield still smoldered in eerie silence.
Where once chaos had reigned—blades clashing, spells detonating in luminous arcs—the Grand Arena now lay blanketed in a thin layer of silvery ash. The last gusts of arcane wind had long faded, and the battlefield's magical currents—so volatile mere moments ago—had stilled into cold, breathless quiet. The blackened ground beneath their feet, scorched and cratered by impact spells and skyborn strikes, seemed to inhale and exhale slowly, like the field itself was recovering from the trauma of battle.
The cheers from the stands had died. No victory fanfare. No projection of rankings in the sky. Even the announcer crystal—usually projecting post-match stats and status updates—remained blank. Dead.
A growing unease began to coil through the chest of every Mythral Dawn warrior left standing.
Selene stood at the vanguard line—where she'd been since the final push. Her silver-draconic armor, still aglow with residual traces of Solar Sovereign, pulsed faintly in the gloom. Her right hand hovered just above her waist, near the hilt of her blade, fingers twitching once. She narrowed her eyes against the veil of dust still hanging midair, unmoving, suspended like frozen smoke.
Something's wrong. She could feel it—not with her mind, but with something older. Something that stirred when sunlight didn't reach far enough to chase the dark.
Her senses had been tuned through hundreds of battles. But this… this silence was wrong.
Behind her, Veyna adjusted the orientation of her floating crystal tablet. The device flickered blue, lines of arcane script scrolling downward as it attempted to sync with the arena system. Her brows furrowed.
"No bracket advancement," she muttered. "No declaration. No team ejection protocol. System's not refreshing. It's as if the match never ended."
Revyn Mistclaw exhaled through his nose. His black coat stirred slightly with the residual wind. His feline eyes flicked toward the far edge of the arena—toward the dust wall still lazily drifting along the north quadrant.
"Feels like a trap," he murmured, voice low. The last few syllables almost lost in the static buzz that still lingered at the back of their ears.
Every warrior here had felt it—that final spell's magnitude, the moment Mythral Dawn had unleashed their full coordinated burst to annihilate the Red Talon Vanguard in a blinding wall of force. They should have heard the system callout then. Or at least, seen the bodies. But—
There were no bodies.
Only the smear of scorched ash where enemies had once stood. And yet… the shadows remained. Not of foes. But of something else.
A pulse rippled through the dust.
It wasn't light.
It wasn't sound.
It was presence.
Then—movement.
Not many.
Just one.
The fine curtain of ash and silence parted slowly as the footsteps approached—soft, deliberate, each one stirring tendrils of soot into tiny cyclones beneath their heel. From the gray fog, a solitary silhouette emerged.
The cloak they wore was deep black—not the crafted obsidian of ceremonial battle-wear, but something more… frayed. Weathered by time, lined with silken runes that shimmered faintly with forgotten magic. The mantle dragged behind the figure, hissing softly as it drew a trail through the ash like a seam being stitched into the world.
His hood was drawn low. A shadow within shadow. No face visible.
But the weight he carried—raw, intangible—sank into their chests like a slowly turning blade.
Selene didn't move. But her breath tightened.
Veyna's tablet flickered. Error. Refresh. Blank again.
Darius Coalbrand shifted forward, one hand resting on the haft of his shield, which still crackled faintly with the echo of the last engagement.
"That..." he began, voice tensing, "...wasn't one of the enemy roster."
Even his usual certainty—unshakable as a mountain—now trembled.
Blazebloom's nostrils flared. A low, simmering growl rose from the back of his throat, curling out in flame-tinged wisps that licked the rim of his fangs. His mane bristled.
"I would've sensed something like that," the fire-lion rumbled. But the note in his voice betrayed something between warning… and disbelief.
And then—another voice.
Cool, restrained, laced with tension.
"He wasn't on the field. He wasn't registered."
Sorei Windshaper.
She stepped slightly forward, the twin hilts across her back already tilted forward in preparation. Her right foot slid into place, weight balanced, stance poised for either retreat or kill.
The dust hadn't finished settling.
And yet every heartbeat on the field already felt like the last one before a blade sang free.
Ashes of Victory, Shadows in Dust
The air was wrong.
No cheers. No music. No victory horn.
Just dust—low and whispering, curling along the cracked coliseum floor in thin, lazy spirals like smoke searching for fire.
The Grand Arena of Dawnlight Rise, carved into the sacred earth outside Aetherreach, felt frozen in breathless suspension. Every elevated ward-platform had dimmed. Spectators, gods and mortals alike, leaned forward—but said nothing. The battlefield was supposed to roar with celebration.
Instead, it pulsed with something else.
Something hollow.
Selene stood at the very tip of the vanguard line, armor scorched and gleaming with fractured runes. Her argent cloak fluttered behind her like a banner unwilling to rest. Solar Sovereign still shimmered at her back, casting a soft radiance—like a dying star refusing to go quietly.
Her grip tightened on Regal Dawnsunder.
"Why…" she whispered.
Beside her, Veyna Lux knelt in a half-crouch, the glow from her crystal tablet flickering blue and green as it ran scan cycles again and again.
"Still nothing," she muttered. "No victory seal. No end-call. System's stalled. Or overridden."
Revyn Mistclaw, crouched nearby, his hands half-dipped in the shadows of his own making. His tail flicked once, then again.
"This isn't post-match delay," he said, voice edged like a blade unsheathed. "This feels like a warning."
The others were already fanning outward—checking formations, scanning magical pressure, marking terrain.
But the weight in the air didn't shift.
It deepened.
Garran Flamecoil planted his halberd in the ground with a quiet clang. "So where's the enemy? I thought we blew the last of 'em outta the ring."
He was trying to sound amused.
He didn't succeed.
No one replied.
The arena floor—once scorched, carved, and cratered by spells—looked… too clean. No bodies. No echoes. No debris. Just that creeping mist of unsettled dust.
Arinelle Dawnwhisper stepped forward. Her flowing silver robes trailed behind her like comet tails. Her eyes were half-closed, head tilted just slightly.
"They haven't left," she murmured. "The spirits. They're waiting."
Waiting for what?
Even Blazebloom seemed agitated now. The massive ember-furred bear stalked in a slow, uneasy circle, his claws lightly dragging across stone. The flames on his back had dulled to a deep orange—low burn mode. Controlled. Alert.
"I don't like this," he grunted. "Something's off. Smells like—"
A pulse.
Not a sound.
Not a force.
Just pressure. Silent. Sudden. Weight without mass.
The kind that made your lungs hesitate.
Finn Whiteshadow's foot slid subtly, instinctively shifting into a stance that put Mira between him and the arena edge. His eyes locked to the far end of the field.
Mira's mouth parted slightly.
"...Do you feel that?"
Caelum Dray's storm mantle flickered and glitched for half a second—an anomaly he hadn't seen since the Leyline Collapse Trial.
"The leyline here isn't settling," he muttered, one hand extended into the air, tracing invisible threads. "It's vibrating. No—not vibrating. Resonating. Something's using it."
Revyn's eyes narrowed.
"That's not residual spell tension."
Blazebloom stopped pacing.
His nostrils flared.
"Footsteps."
The entire Command Line shifted—each in their own way.
Selene didn't speak. She didn't have to.
The silence itself bent around the soundless steps.
One.
Two.
Three.
They came from the far end of the coliseum—south gate, where the shattered debris of the Red Talon team's earlier retreat still lingered. But now, something moved through it.
A single figure.
Not striding. Not sprinting.
Walking.
With intention.
Not a trace of magical surge. No divine aura. No signal registration.
Just ash curling behind each step of his cloak.
Each step pressed gently on the world—as if the arena itself recognized the weight.
The wind dared not touch him.
He was draped in grey, cloak hanging from his shoulders like dusk's final breath. The hem of the mantle was ragged, and yet each thread gleamed faintly with warded stitching. His hood obscured his face, casting a deep shadow where light should have revealed.
He passed through the veil of dust like a blade through still water—parting air, space, and silence with equal ease.
Darius Coalbrand took two steps forward, his crystalline kite shield drawn and angled defensively. The runes across its surface shimmered once—reactive to foreign pressure.
"That… wasn't one of the enemy team's roster."
"No," Mira said quietly. "He wasn't even registered on the bracket list."
Blazebloom's growl came low and sharp.
"I would've sensed something like that."
Sorei Windshaper unslung both twin sabers in a fluid, silent motion. Her eyes locked onto the figure's approach. Her stance changed—not aggression, but readiness. Her pupils dilated just slightly.
"He wasn't on the field," she whispered. "And yet…"
She drew both hilts into full guard.
"…he walked through the aftermath like it was his home."
The figure stopped—ten paces from the front line.
He didn't raise a hand.
He didn't speak.
He just… waited.
And the world, for that breathless moment, waited with him.
The battlefield had stilled—but silence did not mean peace.
The broken air still hung thick with haze. Ash drifted like snow that had forgotten how to fall. The magical wards above the coliseum—fractured but still faintly humming—pulsed irregularly, as though unsure if the match had truly ended.
And from that veil of dust and shattered tension… he emerged.
A lone figure stepped forward with soundless certainty. His cloak dragged behind him like the torn banner of a war already won. Each step disrupted the dust in gentle eddies, but the wind did not resist. No lightning cracked. No divine heralds cried out. And yet—
Everyone felt it.
He walked with no urgency.
As though time bowed to him, not the other way around.
Stone groaned beneath his footfalls—not from weight, but reverence. A presence so deliberate, so carved from purpose, it made the divine seem ornamental.
Then—without sound, without threat, without explanation—he stopped.
Just paces from the center of the battlefield, directly across from the heart of Mythral Dawn.
They were still locked in formation, a war-forged wedge of armor, blades, and breathless anticipation. The dust had begun to clear around them, but clarity only deepened the unease.
The man raised his right arm.
Not in aggression.
Not to cast.
Simply… to reveal.
His fingers opened, fluid and slow, as if every gesture had been rehearsed in the stillness between worlds. Then—without warning—he seized the front of his cloak with one practiced flick, and flung it skyward.
The fabric snapped like a war flag catching storm wind.
And as it arced overhead, caught the dying light of the sun, and disintegrated into fine black dust—what remained was not mystery.
It was revelation.
What stood beneath the veil made the very air catch.
A man. Unmistakably alive. Undeniably real. And yet—impossibly refined.
As if the world had carved him from silence.
His lower face was masked in darksteel weave—an elegant battle shroud etched with unspoken sigils. The metal didn't shine. It drank the light.
But what was visible…
Hair: Midnight-black, tied in a loose martial ponytail. Strands hung forward to frame a jaw carved like sculpture—lean, angled, with the softness of youth long since chiseled away.
Eyes: Silver-threaded steel. Not glowing. Not glowing… but watching. Calm. Unshaken. Piercing, as if measuring not what you were—but what you could become.
Build: Warrior-lean. Every inch a discipline of movement. No excess, no slack. Shoulders relaxed but centered, spine straight, breathing so even it was unnerving.
Height: Just above average—but he stood as if the world adjusted around him, not the other way around.
Clothing: A deep indigo martial gi, its threading laced with golden embroidery in old dialects—symbols of sects that had vanished from historical record. Sleeves rolled to the elbows. Bandaged forearms layered in arcane restraint seals, like chains wrapped not to bind—but to remind.
Feet: Tabi sandals, muted, silent. Not a grain of dust stuck to them.
No divine aura flared. No violent ki exploded.
And yet—
The air changed.
The wind reversed.
A breathless pause swept the field as if nature itself drew back, observing the return of a predator that had gone quiet for too long.
The ground did not crack.
It listened.
Even the leyline beneath the arena—a tangled web of mana veins—throbbed once. The pulse wasn't magical.
It was intent.
Darius Coalbrand, no stranger to the front lines of divine combat, took half a step back without realizing it.
"…That pressure," he muttered. "I remember that pressure."
Blazebloom froze, his claws half-sunk into the earth. Flames stuttered along his shoulders. His maw opened, but his voice came quiet.
"I… I know that step."
Sorei's breath caught. Her twin sabers lowered just a hair, her eyes darting over the gi, the bandages, the hair.
"That uniform… That stance—no. It can't be—"
Finn's hands moved in instinct. One dagger slid halfway free. His eyes were wide, uncertain. Training clashed with disbelief.
Mira took a step forward, her lips parting as if to speak. No sound came out.
And Selene—
Selene inhaled sharply.
That gait. That breath. That silence.
She knew it better than anyone.
"…No."
The man's left hand lowered to his hip. Then slowly—like a curtain rising before the final act—he lifted the edge of his darksteel mask.
Only enough.
Enough to reveal a faint smirk.
The expression said nothing.
And said everything.
That smirk had once silenced entire squadrons.
Had once dared the impossible.
And it was only ever worn by one man.
All at once—the Twelve Commanders spoke in unison.
"TAKAYOSHI?!"
The disciples echoed behind them in overlapping voices.
Their shock collided across the field like ripples from a thousand stones dropped in the same lake.
He had disappeared.
Vanished without a trace.
No message.
No body.
No explanation.
And now—
Here he stood.
Draped in stillness. Commanding the world with breath alone.
Takayoshi.
The Master of the 14 Commanders.
The silent sword of Mythral Dawn.
Selene took two slow steps forward, Regal Dawnsunder slack in her hand. Her voice cracked from something deeper than surprise.
"You… You've been watching us. This whole time."
Takayoshi nodded once.
Only once.
And in that nod, the storm remembered how to breathe again.
The air was thin.
Not from altitude—but from disbelief.
Takayoshi stood alone at the edge of the battlefield, framed by drifting dust and dying embers. His cloak was gone. His name revealed. There was no tension in his stance, no readiness for attack. He simply stood—calm, unshaken, and in command of the moment.
And then he spoke.
"You have two minutes."
The words came without weight or anger, but cut sharper than steel. His voice was clean and final, and as he raised one finger toward the assembled army of Mythral Dawn, the world seemed to freeze.
"Strategize. Prepare yourselves."
It wasn't a suggestion. It wasn't even a threat. It was a certainty—delivered not by a challenger, but by an arbiter. The silence that followed wasn't stunned; it was arrested.
Around the world, the ripple began.
In the capital square of Aetherreach, citizens watching through projection crystals froze mid-cheer. In distant citadels, guild masters leaned forward in their seats. Nobles dropped their wine goblets. Scribes stared wide-eyed as their crystal tablets confirmed the match was still live.
One man. Versus Mythral Dawn. Three hundred against one.
A faint breeze stirred the edges of the coliseum—ash fluttering like burnt parchment across the floor. The silence on the field cracked first as whispers broke through the front ranks.
"Wait… is he serious?"
"What the hell does he mean by two minutes?"
"He's alone! Is this a joke?"
Boots shifted nervously. Fingers clenched around hilts. A few stepped backward without meaning to. The mass of Mythral Dawn, despite their training, despite their victories, had never faced this before—not just an opponent, but an unknown absolute.
And then—movement.
Twelve broke from the formation.
And two more followed.
Selene, Darius, Revyn, Veyna, Garran, Caelum, Sorei, Mira, Finn—all moved as one. Not toward the threat, but toward each other. Coordination without speech. Instinct without hesitation.
"Circle formation! Now!" Selene barked, her armor flaring with divine light as she slid into place.
"Don't wait for confirmation—MOVE!" Darius shouted, already forming the inner wall.
Blades rang free. Feet stamped into position. The 12 Commanders gathered into a tight, defensive shell at the heart of the field. Shoulder to shoulder. Breath to breath. A circle not of fear—but of calculation.
Finn landed beside Mira, his face grim. "He's giving us time. That means we'll need it."
Mira's eyes glowed faintly as she extended her fingers toward the outer ranks. "Barrier lines forming. But this feels... wrong."
Blazebloom's claws gouged the dirt as he reared up behind them, flames leaking from his jaws. "It's him. I can feel it in my bones. But… it isn't him."
They didn't argue. They didn't need to.
Behind them, the army of Mythral Dawn slowly reformed—watching their leaders, mimicking their movements, trying to find clarity in chaos. The fear didn't vanish, but it narrowed—channeled into readiness.
Because what stood before them was not just Takayoshi.
It was something else. Something more refined. Sharper.
Not a teacher.
Not a commander.
An executioner.
Selene narrowed her eyes, sparks coiling from the solar plates across her armor.
"If he's here to test us… we'll answer."
A soft tremor ran beneath the arena floor as the countdown appeared—holographic digits rising over the battlefield, suspended in shimmering light.
1:59
1:58
And across every viewing crystal, every broadcast feed, the match updated in real time.
"Takayoshi vs. Mythral Dawn"
No one spoke.
No one dared to breathe too loudly.
Because they all knew now—
This wasn't a duel.
This was a reckoning.
The wind whispered across the vast battlefield as if sensing what was coming.
At the far edge, Takayoshi stood unmoving—like a monument carved from stillness. His indigo gi flared gently in the wind, bandaged forearms glowing faintly with internal energy. He didn't need to say another word.
He simply waited.
Arms at his sides.
Eyes half-closed.
A master letting time tick down to chaos.
Meanwhile, just meters away, the inner circle of Mythral Dawn leadership was in full-blown damage control.
A tightly packed huddle of fifteen people—Twelve Commanders, Finn, Mira, and Blazebloom—argued over one another in rapid, overlapping panic.
"Okay, okay, hear me out—what if we just dig underground! Like moles!" Garran offered.
"We're not worms, you molten hedgehog!" snapped Mira Snowveil, frost flaring at her fingertips.
"Decoys! Illusions! Fake armies!" Revyn hissed. "We have illusion casters, right?"
"He sees through lies like they're made of glass," Mira Whiteshadow sighed, slumping against Blazebloom's flank.
Mira drew a diagram in the dirt. "Long-range suppressive fire from mages, layered barriers, triple-line fallback—"
Selene just shook her head.
"No use," she muttered grimly. "He doesn't strike outward—he strikes inward. His fists bypass armor, magic, even blood itself. He ruptures muscle with a touch."
Everyone froze.
"…So, we're fighting a man who makes organs explode?" Cidros asked dryly.
"Exactly. Blocking is suicide," Ilyra confirmed, her face pale.
"Then we don't block. We zone him out. Pin him down," said Sorei.
"With what?" Finn groaned. "He's faster than arrows."
"Imagine Alter—just without the mercy," Selene added.
A visible chill passed through the group.
00:30
Blazebloom began humming a funeral dirge under his breath.
"…This is fine," Mira muttered.
They turned as one and faced the ranks of their assembled army—three hundred strong, all of whom looked like they were waiting for divine salvation.
And then, with the air growing ever stiller, Thorne Ironstride stepped forward.
The great dwarven warrior, stern and scarred, cupped both hands to his mouth—
And yelled.
"ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP!"
Everyone snapped to attention.
"SPREAD OUT!"
"USE LONG-RANGE MAGIC!"
"PROTECT THE HEALERS!"
"DO. NOT. BLOCK. ANYTHING."
"IF HE TOUCHES YOU, YOU'RE DEAD."
"IF YOU SEE HIM, RUN. OR YOU'LL DIE."
"THAT'S IT!"
A beat of silence.
"…May we all prevail through this depressing fight."
Every single viewer in the world—nobles, peasants, scholars, kings, gods—
Black lines formed on their foreheads in perfect unison.
What kind of motivational speech was THAT?!
Even the divine broadcasters hesitated to comment.
Back on the field, the 300 fighters of Mythral Dawn blinked rapidly. Some started preparing spells. Others simply accepted their fate.
The timer ticked.
3… 2… 1…
0:00
A pulse passed through the world.
Then came the silence.Not the quiet kind.But the kind that empties the air.
Clouds overhead froze. The warmth of the battlefield evaporated like the gods themselves had inhaled. Every bird stopped mid-wing. Every flame dimmed. Even mana—wild, restless, chaotic mana—held still.
At the far end of the field, Takayoshi moved.
Or rather—
He ceased being there.
A shattering crack ripped across the plain—KRRRAA–THWOOOM!!
Wind and earth exploded backward from where he'd stood. A crater bloomed in the soil, deep and smoking, and the once-still grass around it was sucked downward like it bowed to something sovereign. Pebbles levitated—then scattered like frightened insects.
He didn't blur.
He snapped through space.
The sound of his first step—if it could be called a step—created an aftershock that echoed across the ridgeline like a whip of thunder. Leaves were torn from trees a hundred meters away. Loose gravel vibrated. Shields rattled.
A scream erupted.
"LEFT FLANK—HE'S COMING—!"
Dozens of Mythral Dawn mages reacted in unison. Training kicked in like instinct. Hands flew through formations. Arcane circuits surged.
Then—
"FIRE!!"
A hundred spells launched at once.
FLRRRAAAKKKKOOMMM!!!
Flame halos exploded outward. Crystalline lances of ice howled through the air. Arcs of violet lightning leapt between sigils. Entire sections of the battlefield were reduced to swirling clouds of frostfire and burning ether.
The sky—once bright and blue—twisted into a storm of unnatural color.Red. Violet. Silver. Black.The aurora of war.
But in the center of it all—
There was no impact.
The spells missed.
Or rather—They were bent away.
Takayoshi's internal energy had formed a translucent dome around his body, so focused and perfectly dense that it repelled even divine-element spells. As he moved through the storm, the world distorted around him like a mirage refusing reality.
"IS IT A DEFENSE FIELD?!" Caelum shouted from his perch above.
"No!" Mira Whiteshadow screamed, eyes wide. "He's… redirecting everything with pure chi compression!"
Behind her, Ilyra was already casting a wide-range healing ward. "He's not even bracing! He's walking through spellfire like it's rain!"
From the central slope, Finn could feel each of Takayoshi's footsteps thumping through the soles of his boots.Boom… boom… BOOM. Each step closer, faster, deeper.
Thorne Ironstride's booming voice roared again:
"PROTECT THE DAMN HEALERS!! GET TO COVER! HE'S THROUGH THE FIRST RANK!"
It was already too late.
Takayoshi had breached the first seventy meters of open ground. The grass behind him was incinerated in his wake—not by fire, but by sheer friction from his passing. Even the sky above him tore faint lines into the clouds, like space disliked being near him.
A young elf healer stood frozen near the rear.
She braced her staff, her voice cracking as she formed a triple-layered barrier—golden rings spun outward and locked around her.
"D-Don't… please…"
She never finished.
Takayoshi appeared before her—not like a figure approaching, but like a snap of fate manifesting.
He dropped into a low stance. One foot back. One fist drawn. Dust and debris curved around his frame like he was the eye of a spiritual typhoon.
He whispered without anger.
Just truth.
"The first one."
CRRRRAAAACK–THOOOOOOMMM!!!
His punch detonated the triple barrier instantly. It didn't shatter—it imploded, sucking inward like glass under a black hole before it dissolved in a burst of radiant fragments.
But he didn't stop.
A nearby shield warrior threw himself in between.
"OVER MY DEAD—"
KRRRSHH–BOOOOM!
Takayoshi's punch struck the shield.
The impact sent a shockwave roaring in all directions—flattening the grass, splintering a nearby stone, and flinging two archers off their feet.
The shield dented inward like it had been hit by a collapsing star.
The warrior's arms shattered. Not broken. Not fractured. Shattered. A heartbeat later, a second wave of invisible internal energy rippled through his chest like a heartbeat from hell.
The man arched—then flew backward—
WHUPH!!
Slamming into the elf healer behind him. The force of impact folded them both backward in mid-air before—
FLASH!
Both vanished in streaks of teleportation light.
Two gone. One breath. One punch.
The watching world collectively recoiled.
From the outer ridges of Terravane to the spirit temples of Seraveth, from divine sanctums to pirate dens, everyone watching the broadcast said the same thing.
"That's impossible."
Selene gripped her sword, jaw clenched. "No… it's not."
Finn's thoughts raced: Where did he accelerate from? How do we read his entry vectors?
Mira whispered, "We can't track him. We can't track him."
Then—eight shadows blinked onto the field.
Mythral Dawn's elite assassin corps.
Positioned in perfect triangulation. A pincer net of death. Each one moved in unison, blades glinting, feet silent, aiming for simultaneous neck and tendon strikes.
Their approach?
Unseen.
Unheard.
But behind each of them…
A figure moved.
Eight Takayoshi clones shimmered into existence. Not illusions. Not projections. Real—their movements rippled with impact force, kicking up dust and creating micro-pressure shifts.
Shhht—POW!KRKK—!THWAK—CRRSH!
Each assassin was met by a mirrored form.
Intercepted. Crushed. Dismissed.
None landed a strike.
FLASH. FLASH. FLASH. FLASH.
Eight flares of white light.
Eight gone.
Takayoshi rose slowly, his breath unchanged.
Dust curled around his figure as if nature bowed to him. His aura—serene, surgical, absolute.
He looked toward the army.
He spoke calmly. Quietly.
"That makes ten."
The battlefield… stopped breathing.
Even the rain clouds that had begun to gather above dared not fall.
Even the wind paused.
Because the world was now watching a man. Who could kill all of them.
The smoke from the last explosion still clung to the battlefield like a shroud, curling around shattered stone and seared banners. The heat hadn't faded—it hung thick and suffocating, as if the air itself recoiled from the violence that had just transpired. The earth, gouged and blackened from internal shockwaves, pulsed faintly beneath their boots with each aftershock.
Then he moved again.
Takayoshi's form blurred—one breath, one blink—and he was gone.
A CRACK of displaced air split the stillness.
The next moment, three Dragoon mages on the far left flank screamed as their bodies jolted skyward—bones bending at impossible angles, their cries cut short. They never even saw him. Their forms flickered with teleportation light and vanished before they hit the ground.
Another sonic thump.
He reappeared halfway across the field.
Three more fell—instantly.
Gone.
Again.
A pulse of pressure. Another footstep like a thunderclap.
The field became a blur of panic, spellfire, and vanishing lives.
A line of archers drew back in desperation. Their arrows ignited mid-air as they fired, filling the sky with glowing streaks. But they never reached him. He curved around them like wind over glass—stepping between falling shafts with the grace of water slipping between fingers.
"Stop—STOP HIM!" someone screamed.
But the storm did not pause.
He vanished again—and landed directly in front of a trio of clerics. They barely managed to summon shimmering barriers of pale gold. A heartbeat later—
SHRACKK—
The barriers shattered on contact like crystal struck by a hammer. The clerics disappeared in flashes of white-blue light, eyes wide with disbelief.
The wind howled as Takayoshi stood in the aftermath, untouched, arms loose at his sides. His footsteps left indentations not from weight—but from force.
From across the ruined field, Mira Snowveil watched him move, frost forming unconsciously around her boots.
"That… that's not martial arts," she whispered. "That's—"
"—a massacre," Cidros Vane finished grimly.
And yet through the carnage—there came resistance.
A clash of divine steel shattered the moment.
BOOOOMM—!
A radiant shockwave surged outward as a wall of golden light slammed into Takayoshi's path, halting his advance. Flaming embers spiraled in the air like burning feathers.
"That's enough!!"
Selene Virellia stood firm, her silver-white armor glinting like starlight under the ruptured sky. Her cloak rippled with residual light, and on her left arm—the Aegis of the Dawnstar flared with divine resonance. In her right, her radiant longsword thrummed with restrained fury.
Her voice was steady—but her pulse raged.
Takayoshi halted mere inches from her.
Palm raised.
Strike withheld.
Selene advanced first, her sword a gleaming arc of fury. He met her with a casual palm—redirecting, turning, weaving through her movements with perfect economy. The clang of steel rang against the wind. Each strike missed—but barely. Her shield lashed forward. He pivoted behind it. Her sword whirled again—he ducked under the path like silk slipping from a blade.
Not once did he strike back.
He didn't need to.
He moved like a shadow that refused to be grasped.
"Fight me!" Selene shouted, her breath laced with firelight, divine power trailing behind her blade like ribbons of dawn.
But Takayoshi only stepped back—once, twice—
And was gone again.
Back into the formation.
Selene froze.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Her gaze tracked his trail of devastation—and realization hit her like a slap.
"He's… avoiding us," she murmured aloud, eyes wide. "He's not after the leaders. He's targeting the army. He's—"
She turned and shouted with full command authority:
"He's culling the unranked! The non-commanders! All Commanders—ENGAGE NOW!!"
But—
No one moved.
Not at first.
Veyna Lux, her crystalline staff trembling faintly, looked away.
Darius Coalbrand took one step forward—then stepped back, eyes dim with dread.
Revyn Mistclaw muttered something inaudible—possibly a curse. He didn't budge.
Even Thorne Ironstride's fists trembled slightly on the handle of his waraxe, unmoving.
Selene's breath stilled.
The army—her army—stood frozen by one man.
All of them, except two.
"Mira—now!" Finn barked.
"Already moving!" came the reply.
A burst of wind exploded above the battlefield.
Two streaks tore through the air—white and black. Finn and Mira Whiteshadow descended from the skies like twin daggers of judgment. No hesitation. No fear.
Finn hit the ground sliding, daggers already drawn in his reverse grip. Mira followed, spinning mid-air as her blade shimmered in a spiral of elemental force. Their movements were blurs—two dancers in perfect synchrony.
Takayoshi turned—and raised one hand.
CLANG!
Finn's blade struck from the right, deflected by Takayoshi's palm.
Mira swept in from behind, her white dagger curving upward in a perfect arc. He ducked low, only to face Finn again—now flipping overhead with twin blades drawn in an X.
Takayoshi exhaled.
A burst of internal chi flared—barely visible—but enough to stall both of them. A shockwave rolled through the dirt beneath their feet.
But the twins adapted.
Mira kicked off a rising wind spiral and redirected mid-air. Finn used the recoil to slide left and lunge again. Dust kicked up. Blades flashed.
Then—
A thunderous roar cracked across the field.
"I'M IN TOO, DAMN IT!"
Blazebloom came barreling in like a living firestorm—his massive form glowing with molten energy. Lava steam hissed from his claws as he slammed into the fray, creating a burst of impact that caused several bystanders to fall back instinctively.
Takayoshi actually smiled beneath his half-mask.
What followed was not a slaughter.
It was a fight.
Daggers. Claws. Palms. Flame.
Takayoshi spun, parried, ducked. He struck with his palm—but only lightly, redirecting instead of killing. For the first time, the sound of battle did not come from screams—but from the ringing of steel, the roar of bearfire, and the grunts of exertion.
Selene stepped forward again, blade crackling—but Revyn grabbed her wrist.
"Wait," he said softly. "You don't have synergy with them. If you enter now—you'll just disrupt the flow."
Selene stopped. Her knuckles tightened.
Her radiant blade dimmed slightly.
Out on the battlefield—Finn darted left, Mira twirled into his shadow, and Blazebloom roared in perfect rhythm.
Three hearts. One rhythm.
A pack.
And Takayoshi—was no longer unstoppable.
Not yet defeated.
But contained.
And for the first time, the world watching from beyond the broadcast realized:
The Trial of One… would not be a clean sweep. Not anymore.
The Storm Multiplies
The battlefield burned.
Scorched divots steamed across the soil where Takayoshi's footfalls had passed. Every breath the fighters took came laced with grit, ash, and something worse—doubt. It curled like smoke in their lungs, heavy and bitter, threatening to unravel them from the inside out.
Takayoshi stood motionless at the storm's center. Dust clung to his cloak in a flowing arc. His left boot hovered just above a crackled stone, his frame calm, untouched. Opposite him, the trio of fighters—Finn, Mira, Blazebloom—gathered their breath in ragged gasps.
Finn lowered into a crouch, daggers poised, his hands trembling faintly. Mira wiped a smear of blood from her lip, her shoulders heaving but eyes never leaving the target. Blazebloom growled low, flames coursing along his forearms like a forge on the verge of eruption.
Takayoshi's voice cut through the air like frost sliding across glass.
"Your synergy is impressive," he said, not unkindly. "Your master has taught you well."
Then—his hand rose.
A shockwave exploded from his palm with no wind-up, no aura flare—just an immediate, concussive BLAST of raw internal force.
Finn was launched back ten meters, his boots carving two parallel lines in the earth before he rolled to his feet.
Mira twisted mid-air, flipping thrice before landing in a three-point slide that scattered pebbles like shrapnel.
Blazebloom roared as he skidded backward, claws digging trenches into the ground, tail whipping like a molten hammer behind him to stop his slide.
Takayoshi hadn't moved from that single gesture.
But now… he did.
Two flickers emerged to his flanks.
One to his left. One to his right.
They stepped forward—identical silhouettes, right down to the swirl of dust around their boots. Same height. Same aura. Same vacant calm.
Clones.
"Now," Takayoshi said simply, "the numbers are fair."
All three of him moved simultaneously.
And the storm began anew.
The clones were not mere echoes. They fought in concert—fluid, surgical, like extensions of a singular consciousness. Every sidestep by the left clone drew Mira's strike wide. Every backward feint by the right clone boxed Finn into a kill zone. Blazebloom tried to charge, flames erupting around his fists—but even his wild swings were read like children's choreography.
CRACK! Mira was driven back with a palm to her stomach.
SHINK! Finn's shoulder barely escaped a sweeping roundhouse aimed to slice through tendon.
BOOM! Blazebloom slammed the earth—missed—and was immediately parried backward with a gust of inner force.
"They're moving like one," Mira hissed between gritted teeth.
Finn's eyes narrowed. "They're not three fighters..."
He ducked under a sweeping heel kick, only to be caught in a cross-palm from another angle.
"…They're one will, with three bodies."
Behind them, on the rise, Thorne Ironstride's grip tightened on his axe. His knuckles whitened. His jaw locked.
"This isn't going to work," he muttered.
Another gasp as Finn was kicked into the dirt.
A shout as Mira barely deflected a slash that split the air with a keening note.
Blazebloom staggered—his flames dimming.
Thorne stepped forward.
Then sprinted.
"NOT ON MY WATCH!!"
His voice echoed across the ridge like a warhorn.
A storm of wind erupted around him as he spun his axe in a cyclone of force.
"WHIRLWIND!!"
WOOM–CRACK—WHIRRRRR!
The nearest clone pivoted to counter—but too late.
The axe struck home.
It shattered the clone into golden smoke with a detonating pulse that knocked back dust and light. The real Takayoshi's brow lifted—but only for a moment.
Then—
CLANG.
The spinning axe met resistance.
Not from the air. Not from armor.
From a hand.
Takayoshi stood midair—one leg raised, one palm gripping the spinning blade of a waraxe that should've cleaved steel in two. His cloak barely fluttered. The air around him screamed with pressure as if struggling to contain something it had no language for.
Thorne's feet ground into the dirt.
"W-Why—" he grunted, every tendon straining, "—why are you so DAMN—heavy?!"
CRACK.
The earth under Thorne's boots split into fissures, groaning under his weight as if he bore the weight of the sky.
Takayoshi's eyes never changed.
He simply tilted his arm downward.
A slow, dragging gesture—and with it, Thorne's entire body tilted. His stance broke. His balance faltered. The axe jerked in place.
"LET GO OF THE AXE!" someone screamed.
He did.
The axe flew from his hands and slammed into the ground behind him, embedding a full meter deep.
Thorne tumbled—but didn't crash.
A blur caught him just before impact.
Revyn Mistclaw, sliding in sideways, catching him by the underarm.
"Gods," he muttered. "You're heavier than you look."
Thorne coughed. "Don't… don't talk about my diet right now…"
Across the field—
A flash of gold.
Selene Virellia burst forward in a radiant arc, sword gleaming with divine resonance. Her wings of light spread wide.
"You won't run again!"
Her blade came down—CLANG!—striking Takayoshi's forearm with a burst of radiant sparks.
He shifted his weight, redirected the blow with a glance—and then vanished again.
Blink.
Dust exploded in a circle where he once stood.
"DAMN IT!" Selene roared. She kicked off the ground, chasing the afterimage deeper into the chaos.
But back near the cliff edge—
The original trio was in trouble again.
The remaining clone, still fully active, split once more.
Now there were two more Takayoshis pressing them on every front. A dozen rapid strikes forced Mira back—she took a slicing cut to the thigh and stumbled. Finn tried to cover her but was knocked into a tree with a thud, the bark cracking beneath him. Blazebloom hurled a fireball that missed, then threw himself between Mira and an incoming kick—taking it full to the ribs.
"Ghh—stay behind me!" the bear snarled.
They were losing ground.
Fast.
And beyond the chaos—
The real Takayoshi continued cutting down the army.
Line by line.
Wave by wave.
No wasted energy. No blood spilled.
Just light—and silence—and vanishing soldiers.
The battlefield, once a place of strategy and valor…
Was becoming a canvas for a storm with a name.
And the storm had only begun.
The Awakening of the Pack
The wind swept across the battlefield like a whisper from a dying god.
Ash danced through the air in lazy spirals. Scorched stone and trampled grass told the story of a war that never paused, only changed its rhythm. The lingering trails of smoke curled from shattered wardstones, and the taste of ozone clung to every breath. Here—where three hundred once stood—now remained only silence, blood, and fading aura.
Yet through the haze, he moved.
Takayoshi advanced through the carnage, his steps soft as falling feathers, his presence louder than any warcry. Each motion sent a ripple through the stillness. His clones—now reduced to two—remained locked in coordinated combat with the battered trio.
Finn's right arm twitched from strain. His twin daggers dripped with scorched aura, their glow faltering. Mira's braid was torn loose, her lip bleeding, her knees bent low in a defensive crouch. Beside them, Blazebloom's flames sputtered, a pulse of steam hissing off his shoulder where frost and fire collided earlier. He panted hard, the fur along his spine rising like spears.
Takayoshi watched. Silent. Evaluating.
But something shifted in the distance.
Up on the ridge—where no man dared yet step—they stirred.
The remaining Twelve Commanders.
Still. Untouched. Waiting.
Not out of cowardice.
Out of trust.
Their orders had been clear: hold the line, reserve strength for the final stand. But now? There was no line left. No stand to make. The army they were meant to protect had been reduced to embers.
Revyn Mistclaw was the first to speak, voice cutting through the quiet like a knife slipping through cloth.
"He's cutting through them... even with the trio fighting tooth and claw, they're hanging on by seconds."
His voice held no panic. Only calculation.
Beside him, Ilyra Faen nodded solemnly, whispering, "We can't wait anymore."
Selene's grip tightened on her sword.
Her gaze never left the storm.
Then—
A tremor passed through the earth.
Not from Takayoshi.
From Thorne Ironstride, stepping forward, his warplate clinking with that familiar, grounded weight. The dawnlight threw his shadow long across the ridge, stretching toward the broken field below.
"You know what this feels like?" he rumbled.
Eyes turned toward him.
"Grade Eleven. That ridiculous trial where we had to defend the twins from fifty illusion beasts for six straight hours."
A long beat.
Then—Veyna Lux cracked a smile.
"No one slept for three days."
A low chuckle. Garran Flamecoil exhaled through his teeth.
"I set my beard on fire," he said.
"Twice," Mira Snowveil added.
They remembered—every absurd obstacle, every broken rib, every impossible test.
All of it.
The scars. The bonds.
The man who had pushed them past the brink.
The reason they stood now.
Selene's voice rose, clear and strong.
"Then let's remind him."
Her shield flared with celestial light.
"Let's show him what Alter's disciples are made of."
She turned, her eyes fierce. "MYTHRAL DAWN—MOVE OUT!"
The ridge exploded into motion.
Twelve blurs streaked down the slope like a divine assault—light, shadow, fire, wind, steel—all converging on the storm.
The clones didn't flinch.
But they had never faced the Pack.
Revyn Mistclaw appeared behind the left clone, daggers whispering through the air. Darius slammed into its flank like a siege engine, his shield glowing with shockwave runes. Arinelle's spirits manifested—vines of silver flame ensnaring its feet. Mira Snowveil iced the escape vectors. Garran's flames rained down.
The pressure mounted.
Finn, Mira, and Blazebloom—senses still ringing—were suddenly swept backward by two swift-moving healers.
Arinelle Dawnwhisper herself knelt beside them, her hands already glowing.
"Don't move."
A potion was poured. A pulse of light surged through Mira's veins.
Finn blinked. "You... pulled us out?"
"They've got it," Arinelle said firmly, checking Blazebloom's pulse as he grunted.
"But not for long."
Back in the fray, the commanders clashed like clockwork gears sharpened by war.
Every rotation—perfect.
Every spell—precise.
Every shield, strike, sweep, and step—practiced a hundred times in brutal drills and punishing battlefields.
The clone on the left faltered.
Crack—FLASH!
It burst into golden smoke, vanishing into the breeze.
A cry tore from the line.
"YES!!"
Thorne punched the dirt so hard the ground cratered.
"One damn clone left!"
They regrouped with practiced speed.
Selene spun and deflected a counterstrike, then kicked back and called out:
"Trio—back in!"
From the healing field, the three stood—refreshed, whole, eyes blazing.
Finn cracked his neck.
Mira flexed her fingers, twin blades gleaming.
Blazebloom reared up, fire roaring from his maw.
"Let's end it," Mira said.
And they surged forward.
Now it was Fifteen versus one.
The final clone lashed out with pinpoint precision—but the Pack was faster.
They wove in and out, striking high, low, behind, and above.
Jaris blinked behind the clone's blind spot. Sorei flashed through the air like a hurricane of steel. Caelum Dray arced a bolt of wind that pinned the enemy just long enough for Mira to drive her dagger into the spine.
The clone staggered.
Mira twisted.
CRACK!
The last shadow burst into brilliant motes of light.
And then—silence.
A deep breath. A heartbeat.
And then—
CHEERS.
Thorne spun in a circle with both arms raised. "WE DID IT!!"
Sorei flipped mid-air, yelling with joy. Garran collapsed backward into the grass.
"I can't believe it!" Mira shouted, beaming. "We actually won a round against—"
A scream tore the sky.
The cheers died instantly.
Everyone turned.
A flash of light—bright, violent—on the far edge of the battlefield.
A silhouette—small, broken—was flung into the sky and vanished.
The final surviving member of the army.
Eliminated.
Silence.
A cold, shuddering, absolute silence.
Weapons dropped.
Eyes widened.
Selene turned slowly, every breath shallow.
"We were so focused on the clones…" she whispered.
Ilyra took a step forward, voice trembling. "Where… where was he?"
They all turned.
Their eyes locked on the far end of the battlefield.
There—surrounded by dust, by corpses, by the debris of a hundred fallen hopes—
stood Takayoshi.
Alone.
Unmoving.
Untouched.
He rolled his neck once—pop.
Twice—crack.
Then, his hand lowered to his waist.
His half-mask caught the rising light.
And his voice rolled across the field like a tidal wave.
"Now…"
His eyes glinted like polished steel.
"…the real fun begins."
Black despair rippled across every face.
A shiver passed through the youngest among them.
And somewhere at the back—
A very small, very honest voice said:
"…I think I just peed."
Interlude – Reverberations Across the Realms
[Capital City – Aetherreach, Terravane]
The grand viewing plaza was an ocean of humanity.
Crowds packed every stone step and balcony tier, faces turned upward toward the glowing arcane crystals floating like suspended stars above the square. Each crystal shimmered with a different angle of the battlefield—broadcast from high above the arena with spell-bound clarity.
And now—those images had just frozen.
Takayoshi, unmoving.
The battlefield, silent.
Then—those five fateful words:
"Now, the real fun begins."
Gasps erupted like cracks in stone.
A nobleman choked on his brandy, the glass shattering in his grip. Behind him, a group of university mages dropped their notebooks in disbelief. A merchant woman screamed, "THAT was him holding back?!"
Another clutched her chest. "We're doomed."
Even a trio of retired adventurers, hardened by years of demon hunting, stood pale with their mouths slightly agape.
A little girl, perched on her father's shoulders, tugged his ear.
"Daddy… is that man gonna beat the whole world?"
The father didn't speak.
He just swallowed, hard.
[Northern Spire – Celestia, Seraveth]
Within the cold, gleaming heart of Seraveth's military nerve center, the Northern Spire, a storm of silence swept through the strategy chamber.
Silver runes rotated across three-dimensional maps projected in the air—once tracking troop positions, now reduced to showing fifteen dots grouped at one end of the screen… and a single crimson pulse at the other.
Labeled simply:
TAKAYOSHI
"No movement signature like it," murmured a general.
A younger scholar adjusted her monocle. "He's chaining trajectory shifts within microframes. That's Flowstep. No—beyond it. It's something… ancient."
An elder strategist frowned, voice dry with dread. "You mean… the Primordial Flow Arts?"
Another scoffed. "Myth. Unverified, unsourced—"
"Then explain what we're seeing," snapped the general. "That man just dismantled an army… with clones."
Silence.
[Guildmaster Tower – Duskwatch]
Atop the highest spire of the Guildmaster's Hall, Archine Duskwatch stood with hands clasped behind his back. He stared into a floating screen, its image flickering faintly.
The last clone had just died. The field had gone quiet.
And then…
That phrase.
That damn phrase.
A slow smile tugged at the edge of Archine's lips.
"Connected to him," he murmured. "There's no other explanation."
One of his aides—a bright-eyed strategist—stammered behind him, "S-Sir, what did he mean by 'real fun'? What's real if that wasn't it?"
Archine's voice was low and grim.
"Death. Clean. Precise. Absolute."
[Hidden Temple – Summit of Liyuefang]
Far away from the seats of power, a hermit monk knelt beneath a roaring waterfall high atop the snow-laced summit of Liyuefang. His robes were soaked, his hair tied in an unbroken topknot. He had not opened his eyes once since the battle began.
But now—
He shivered.
Not from cold.
From knowing.
"The world trembles," he whispered. "Not from a tyrant… but from a blade unsheathed."
A tear carved a trail down the dust-caked lines of his face.
[Back to the Arena – Global Broadcast]
The arcane feed widened.
The wind swept low and slow across the battlefield, tugging at burnt banners and scorched fragments of armor.
There were only fifteen left.
The 12 Commanders.
Finn.
Mira.
Blazebloom.
Their formation was loose. Uncertain. Exhaustion painted their faces. Blood marked their armor. Even the hard-eyed among them—Selene, Darius, Revyn—had begun to show cracks.
Across from them stood one man.
Takayoshi.
Silent.
Breathing.
Waiting.
The light around him warped faintly, not from heat—but from something deeper. Intent.
A ripple spread through the dust. The earth gave a quiet tremor. His presence alone shook the field.
From every magic viewer, from every kingdom, from every stronghold, the reactions were the same.
Wide eyes.
Open mouths.
Held breath.
"He's… still calm."
"But it feels like we're the ones trapped."
No one moved.
No one dared to blink.
[Capital Throne – Seraveth – The Sovereign's Seat]
In the upper sanctum of Seraveth's crystalline palace, Queen Elenaria stood beside her court seers, her white-gold eyes fixed upon the glowing image.
Her glass of elven wine tilted in her hand, frozen mid-sip.
She didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Until—
A whisper escaped her lips, too soft for her guards to hear, but loud enough for the spirits to stir.
"He's not human."
Trial of the Vanquished – Wolves Against the StormLocation: Aetherreach Arena – Cratered Battlefield
The wind fell still.
Dust clung to the air like breath held too long. Faint embers flickered in forgotten corners. Magic scorches gleamed in winding arcs along the broken ground—remnants of spells cast, barriers shattered, blood spilled.
In that silence… the ground pulsed again.
Takayoshi shifted.
One foot angled slightly forward. His fingers flexed. His weight leaned just enough to hint—
The next storm had already begun.
The audience leaned forward across the world.
The trial wasn't over.
It had only just begun.
Across Terravane – Aetherreach Coliseum
The silence of awe had weight. The massive coliseum—once a roaring sea of fervor—now felt like a temple before a storm.
Every breath was drawn cautiously. Every spectator leaned forward. Not even the rowdy gamblers or half-drunk warriors dared speak.
Below, within the cratered heart of the battlefield, the survivors of the annihilation stood together.
The Twelve Commanders.Finn. Mira. Blazebloom.Fifteen warriors.
And across from them—Takayoshi, barefoot upon fractured stone, the wind curling around him like he commanded it.
Selene stepped forward, her shield shining like a sun forged from resolve. The Aegis of the Dawnstar hummed in tandem with her breath, her Solar Sovereign aura pulsing like a second heartbeat made of light.
Her voice carried.
"Commander formation. All units, battle ready."
Darius slammed his shield into the ground. KLANG. A ripple of force bloomed outward.Revyn blinked—and vanished, shadow drifting behind.Sorei inhaled, calm, and notched two arrows at once, her eyes sharp as blades.Garran ignited his fists.Mira Snowveil's frost breath cooled the air.Thorne grinned and hoisted his still-slightly-bent war axe, rolling his neck with the crunch of old bone and muscle.
Behind them, the trio readied.
Finn's fingers crackled with pre-channeled wind magic, eyes locked on Takayoshi's center.Mira spun her daggers into reverse grip.Blazebloom crouched low, embers building along his spine.
Thorne muttered without looking, "If we die again, I swear I'm haunting your bear."
Blazebloom snorted, sparks licking from his nostrils. "You'd look good as a charm on my collar."
Takayoshi stepped forward.
BOOM.
The stone cracked beneath his heel. A fissure split out across the dirt like a fork of lightning.
BOOM.
Another step. The dust around him lifted unnaturally, as if gravity forgot what to do.
BOOM–BOOM—SHHHHRAAAA—
Then he disappeared.
"Formation Epsilon—NOW!" Selene shouted.
CLANG—PHWOOOOSH—!
Her shield exploded with radiant energy, forming a curving dome of golden light—Divine Interception activated just in time as Takayoshi descended like a meteor, heel slamming into the radiant barrier.
The ground beneath cratered, sending rocks and force in all directions.
He didn't stop.
As if bouncing off her shield like a stepping stone, he blinked mid-air and reappeared behind Darius—driving a palm strike into his back.
CRACK—FWASH!
Bulwark Echo flared, deflecting half the damage upward into a burst of mana that shimmered like a broken mirror in the air.
"NOW!" Garran bellowed.
Spells launched from multiple angles.
Mira Snowveil: twin ice chains lashed from the ground.Arinelle: a chorus of spirit wisps flanked and harassed.Veyna: a gravity spike detonated midair, pulling Takayoshi's motion downward.
BOOM–FWOOSH–CRACKLE—ZIIING!
Takayoshi flinched.
His feet hit the ground as he redirected his posture, sliding back half a meter with a grunt. For the first time, his body showed resistance—not dominance.
Selene's voice sliced in. "NOW—Flank!"
She charged. Her blade ignited with golden light. Luminous Edge: Dawnbreak Cleave.
FLASH—!
Takayoshi tilted his body to evade, but—
SHRIP—!
A gash tore across his shoulder. Fabric split. Blood misted.
The coliseum erupted.
"THAT'S BLOOD!""THEY HIT HIM!""HE'S BLEEDING!""…I peed again."
But the battle was just beginning.
Revyn reappeared mid-flip, daggers catching glints of sun. He struck low, disrupting Takayoshi's pivot.Sorei loosed two arrows at his blind spot.Garran detonated a fire sphere to his left.Thorne, reckless as thunder, dove from the right with a spinning overhead cleave.
Takayoshi countered each—but his footwork grew tighter, more reactive.
He ducked beneath a dagger, blocked an arrow with a palm flare, backflipped away from Garran's blast—but was clipped.Thorne's axe grazed his hip—sparking against the bone-forged gi.
"NOW!" Finn roared.
The trio surged.
Mira: "Left flank! He just burned his backward dash!"Finn: "Accelerating—Phantom Reaver—engaged!"Blazebloom: "RAWWWR!"(which loosely translated to: "Combo time, let's gooo!")
BOOM–BOOM–SLASH–CRACK–RAHHHHH!
They converged, blades and claws and wind and fire and force. The entire battlefield lit with explosive bursts as the fifteen pressed the offensive.
And for a moment—
Even Takayoshi was overwhelmed.
He staggered backward, breathing heavier. One palm on the ground. His gi torn. Blood now trailed from the corner of his lip.
Then—
He laughed.
Soft.
Raspy.
Almost…proud?
"Good," he said, voice audible through the coliseum's echo-crystals. "You're ready."
The fifteen stared, panting.
And Takayoshi… took a stance.
Not flowing.Not passive.Not casual.
But a true primordial martial stance—– one foot back, arms loose, spine straight,– head tilted downward,– the air around him stilling like the eye of a hurricane.
The wind died.The dust froze midair.The entire coliseum leaned forward.
Because now…
The man was done playing.
When Heaven Bled – The True Form Unleashed
The moment Takayoshi shifted into stance, the world tightened.
Even the crowd—spread across continents—felt it. Spectators forgot how to breathe. Veterans of wars leaned forward, eyes wide. Scrying screens flickered with unstable aether—unable to perfectly capture what was about to happen.
On the battlefield…
Thorne blinked sweat from his eyes. "That stance…"
Revyn's mouth parted slightly. "No… that's not normal martial form."
Veyna whispered, "I've never seen pressure like this. Not even from Alter."
Selene narrowed her gaze. Her blade tilted in warning. "All units… do not approach carelessly."
But it was too late.
Takayoshi moved.
The world fractured in that instant.
Strike I – Fist of Ruin.
He appeared behind Garran Flamecoil—a downward, earth-cracking strike that slammed into the Commander's upper back. The air imploded around the point of contact. The ground caved.
Garran's fire shield shattered.
His mouth gaped—then darkness took him.
BOOM—! He was down.
Garran burst into a cascade of motes—his form disintegrating mid-fall, as if recalled by some unseen force.
A pause. Not of peace, but of disbelief.
"Commander down!!" someone screamed from the sidelines—too late to matter.
Selene reacted first, blade raised—but the moment she blinked, Takayoshi had already spun away.
Strike II – Heaven-Piercer Step.
He launched forward mid-air, heel glowing with chi, and struck Revyn Mistclaw as he phased back into reality. The kick bypassed his shadow cloak and crushed through his defensive field.
CRACK—! Revyn flew like a ragdoll, tumbling through a rune wall, then burst into light. Daggers spun midair before fading into nothing.
"Two down!" Sorei gasped, her drew twin arrows in one breath and loosed them.
Too slow.
Strike III – Void Fang Rend.
Takayoshi's palm struck the arrow mid-air—splitting it—and then clawed forward. The air warped. Sorei gasped. Her barrier snapped, and her body was launched backwards with a spasm, the spatial rend slicing through her inner channels.
She vanished into luminous fragments before even hitting the ground.
"This can't be—he's tearing through divine-tier Commanders like training dummies—!" Veyna yelled, backing away, glyphs igniting around her for a burst spell.
But—
Strike IV – Bloodlash Howl.
A high-frequency shockwave burst outward in a flat arc, racing across the field.
WHHHUUUMM—!!
Veyna's crystal field shattered. She flew back with a strangled cry. Her body ignited in light before she even struck the rubble.
Blazebloom, caught at the edge of it, roared in pain—his flames extinguished. He hit the ground with a hard thud, coughing smoke, unmoving.
Four. Five.
Strike V – Soulbreaker Dive.
Arinelle Dawnwhisper called upon her spirits. "Come forth! Bind him—!"
But Takayoshi dropped from above like thunder—an elbow descending from heaven. The point of contact struck her sternum—right where the soul sigil was anchored.
Her breath hitched—then stilled. Her body trembled once before she vanished in an upward flare of soft white sparks.
Six down.
Darius, Thorne, and Mira Snowveil all charged.
Darius led. "Together—NOW!"
He blocked the next palm—barely—and countered.
Strike VI – Graviton Sever.
Takayoshi didn't retreat. He stepped in. His leg lifted, glowing with crimson chi.
He brought it down with impossible weight.
A single, dense, gravity-forged stomp.
The earth beneath Darius cratered—his shield imploded. Armor bent inward.
His body dropped like a puppet cut loose, and then—gone.
Only light remained.
Thorne screamed. "DAAAARIUS!!" and surged forward in fury.
Too close.
Strike VII – Hellpulse Eruption.
Takayoshi's fist glowed with molten chi—and struck Thorne's gut.
An internal blast ignited within him.
A blast of internal chi erupted outward from Thorne's chest, lifting him off the ground.
He didn't even have time to scream.
Only steam rose from the crater he left before his body dissolved into light.
Eight down.
Nine.
Ten.
Mira Snowveil gasped, body trembling—not from fear, but the effort to restrain the storm building in her chest. She lunged with frost-charged daggers.
Takayoshi didn't move.
He turned.
And his palm touched her chest with eerie calm.
A pulse of cold, reverse-flow chi.
She didn't cry out.
She exhaled.
And turned into light, eyes closing mid-fade.
Nine lights rose.
One by one, the defeated had become motes—retrieved by divine recall, teleported beyond the arena's boundary to some sanctuary unknown.
And then—
Only three remained.
Garran, Revyn, Sorei, Veyna, Arinelle, Darius, Thorne, Mira Snowveil, and Blazebloom—defeated.
Selene. Mira. Finn.
Standing in the smoking wreckage of what was once an elite force.
Selene's blade lowered half an inch as she exhaled slowly. Her heart pounded.
Beside her, Finn was silent. Mira was trembling—but not with fear. With restraint.
Takayoshi stood across from them, not winded. Not gloating.
Just still.
His breath steady.
His hair untouched by the chaos.
Blood dripped from one knuckle.
He wasn't panting.
He wasn't bleeding.
Just… waiting.
Only a single drop of blood clung to one knuckle. It dripped slowly, echoing like thunder in the soul.
His voice reached them—not loud, but clear.
"Three remain. My limit is approaching. I'll end this cleanly."
Selene stepped forward. Her blade rose again, one final time. "Then we'll die trying."
Finn and Mira flanked her, shoulders squared.
They didn't see a warrior.
They saw a wall of heaven itself.
And they knew—
The storm had not yet ended. It had only just begun.