Crimson Baptism
The coliseum had become a storm.
Four shadows pressed in Selvara, Doran, Ilyra, Vaelor. Wolves tasting blood.
Selvara's sabers flashed silver, each arc aimed at old scars. Doran's hammer crashed down, the weight of mountains behind it. Ilyra's arrows sliced air so thin they whispered like ghosts. Vaelor's fists burned rage wrapped in flame, louder than thunder.
Rigorus stood in the center. Shirtless. Bleeding. Staggering beneath their fury.
Gasps. Screams. The crowd rippled.
"He's bleeding!" "They're driving him back!" "Four against one he can't hold forever!"
Even nobles leaned forward, knuckles white. Princess Sylvara's breath caught.
He's still standing. Why does that terrify me?
His ribs screamed. Every block rattled bone. Every dodge tore flesh. Sabers bit. Hammer bruised. Fire burned. Arrows cut.
His mind whispered scripture. His body screamed betrayal.
He was drowning.
Behind him, the Mourning Halo pulsed. Once mourning. Now chanting.
Not yet. My sermon isn't finished.
Selvara's blades sliced his shoulder. Crimson sprayed.
This saint dares stand like a god. I'll carve every scar. I strike for you, Father. For you, Mother.
Doran's hammer collided with his sword. Sparks exploded.
I dug my kin from rubble. Swore vengeance. If I fall now, their screams die with me.
Vaelor roared. His fists blazed. One strike Rigorus staggered. Blood sprayed.
"He's broken!" "The saint bleeds!"
Silence fell.
Rigorus's voice cut through it. Calm. Cold.
"Red… Baptism."
He dragged his blade across his palm. Blood soaked the steel. The fused sword hissed white and black veins lit crimson.
Even Kaelen Vorath Nemoran narrowed his eyes.
So… he finally unsheathes it.
Selvara lunged. Her sabers blurred.
Rigorus moved.
Clang.
One clash. Her blades shattered. She hit the sand.
Doran roared, hammer overhead.
Rigorus stepped in. Slash. Blood. Doran dropped to one knee.
Ilyra loosed three arrows.
Two deflected. One grazed his cheek.
Rigorus lunged. His blade struck her chest. She flew back. Bow splintered.
Vaelor came last. Fire. Fury. Madness.
Steel met flame. Blood met rage.
Shockwaves cracked the arena. Fire licked Rigorus's skin. His blade tore Vaelor's flesh.
They screamed.
Then
Rigorus drove his sword forward. Crimson aura exploded. Vaelor flew back. His aura shattered like glass.
Silence.
The Four lay broken. Groaning. Alive.
Rigorus stood.
Chest heaving. Blood dripping. Halo burning.
"He defeated them!" "What is he?" "Rigorus! Rigorus Draeven!"
Sylvara clutched her chest. Nobles prayed. Others cursed.
Kaelen Vorath Nemoran rose.
His aura spilled out iron chains across the coliseum.
Rigorus lifted his head. Their eyes locked.
Two left.
Saint and Protector.
The sand was broken. The arena cracked open like a battlefield carved by gods.
Selvara's sabers lay shattered. Doran's hammer bent. Vaelor coughed flame and blood. Ilyra's bow slipped from her hand, arrows scattered like fallen stars.
Rigorus stood above them.
Bare chest scarred. Silver hair soaked in sweat. Blood dripping down his ribs. The fused blade glowed faintly yin–yang veins threading red aura like living blood.
The coliseum was silent. No cheers. Just disbelief.
He had done what no one thought possible.
Four against one.
And he stood.
The halo shimmered behind him. His breath came slow. Steady. Like a sermon spoken to the dead.
Then his gaze shifted.
The crowd followed it.
Kaelen Vorath Nemoran.
Unmoving. Arms folded. Golden armor gleaming. His presence wasn't fire or storm—it was weight. It was inevitability.
"They've all fallen…" "Only he remains…"
Kaelen's voice: cold. Final.
"You wield grief like a blade. Let's see if sorrow can face judgment."
Rigorus said nothing.
He dragged the edge of his sword across his palm. Blood coated the steel. The aura hissed alive black and white swallowing red.
Gasps echoed.
"He uses his own blood… to sharpen his blade?" "That isn't power… that's madness!"
Kaelen stepped forward. The ground shook. His aura poured out a sea of golden radiance, vast enough to eclipse the sky.
Nobles shielded their eyes. Soldiers fell to their knees. Even the wounded Four stared in awe and terror.
Rigorus stood against it.
Blood trailing. Blade glowing like a fracture between light and shadow.
His halo flared. Whispers of the dead filled the air.
His voice came steady. Low. Cutting through the roar.
"I am Rigorus Draeven. Saint of the Halo. Survivor of Saint's Fall. I will step on you… to see beyond."
Kaelen raised his hand.
A blade of pure golden aura formed taller than a man. Sharp enough to split the horizon.
The crowd screamed.
Rigorus smiled.
Not joy. Not mockery.
A final sermon.
He moved.
The sand erupted.
Blood and light clashed.
The coliseum shook to its bones.