The old man's voice still lingered in Renji's mind:
"Tomorrow, we are going to see some unseen waves crushing the earth… in the arena of the Obsidians."
Renji hadn't understood it then, but now, standing among the roaring crowd, he felt the weight of those words.
The grand arena of black stone stretched before him, banners of the Hawks and the Vasto hanging heavy in the air. The obsidian walls seemed to drink the sunlight, trapping every cheer and every heartbeat inside. On the high dais, the Monarch lounged with a faint smile, while Andros sat beside him, rigid as a blade, his eyes sharp on the sand below.
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena:
"By decree of the Monarch, the Hawks and the Vasto shall fight for authority. The victor will decide how justice rules this land."
The crowd's cheers shook the stone — until a ripple of silence fell.
A hooded figure stepped into the arena.
Whispers spread like wildfire:
"Kestrel… the Dark General's emissary."
Her hood fell back, and her voice cut through the silence like steel.
"Before blades are drawn, remember this: the blood in your veins, the shadows in your bones, the curses that make you strong — they are not your own. They are the legacy of the Dark General."
The Hawks bristled. The Vasto smirked. Neither could deny it. Their powers, their strength, their edge all traced back to that cursed lineage.
The Monarch's smile widened, entertained.
Andros' jaw tightened, but he gave no word.
Kestrel's gaze swept across both clans.
"Fight. Choose your justice. But know this: whichever side wins, you will still fight beneath the Dark General's shadow. His recognition cannot be ignored."
She stepped aside, and the noise surged back, louder than before.
This was no longer just Hawks versus Vasto. This was a battle under two half-moons — the Monarch, who ruled the body of the land, and the Dark General, who ruled its blood.
The Duel Begins
The dust of the arena swirled as the younger captains stepped forward.
From the Vasto corner,
Zis Skayr — Bloodbolt flexed his fingers, crimson veins pulsing along his arms. The arena floor seemed to respond, small cracks erupting as crimson rods shot upward like jagged spears. He smirked.
"Let's see how much wind you can take, Hawk."
From the Hawk corner,
Nova Oculon — Bane Bringer cracked his knuckles. A storm seemed to gather behind him, dark clouds whipping into a spinning gust that tore sand from the floor. Lightning crackled along his spear, humming like a predator's growl.
"I'll show you bane in motion."
The announcer roared, but it was lost under the collision of powers before a single strike.
Zis moved first. Rods erupted from the floor, dozens in a split second, forming a crimson wall around him. He didn't just attack — he boxed in his opponent, forcing Nova to the air. Sparks of blood ran along the edges of the rods, glowing hot, almost molten.
Nova didn't hesitate. With a flap of his storm wings, he launched himself into the sky. The wind howled, sand and debris spinning like knives around him. From above, he hurled his lightning-charged spear, aiming straight at Zis's chest.
Zis twisted, rods splintering into dozens of sharp crimson spikes, intercepting the spear midair. Sparks flew as lightning struck blood, sizzling and burning the air.
The crowd gasped — the sound was like metal grinding against metal, only hotter, wetter, and alive.
Nova dove again, spinning his spear like a cyclone. Each strike cleaved through rods, each gust of wind scattering Zis's smaller constructs.
But Zis wasn't just reactive. He slammed the floor with a rod, and the earth erupted in a crimson wave, knocking Nova back. Rods slashed, impaled, and jabbed, some twisting midair to block or redirect attacks. His hands moved so fast, it looked like the arena itself was bleeding.
Nova roared, calling forth cloud blades, their edges crackling with lightning. They smashed into Zis's rods, the collision sending a shockwave through the sand, toppling the first few rows of spectators.
Every strike left burned grooves in the obsidian floor. Blood-red shards from Zis's rods fell like molten rock. Cloud and blood collided, mixing into a storm of red lightning.
Round Three: Rage and Escalation
Zis's eyes darkened. The Vasto rage whispered at the edge of his mind.
"Control it… control it…"
His veins flared black. Crimson rods erupted uncontrollably, creating a labyrinth of weapons so dense it looked like a forest of molten spears.
Nova's storm turned savage. He summoned hundreds of spectral hawks even though he is not in the level of creating hawks, wings of cloud and lightning beating like drums of war but they are weak. They tore at the rods, slashing, screaming, and pecking with sharp-edged claws made of pure storm. The air turned dense, wet, electric, the smell of ozone and burning blood making the audience recoil.
Zis bellowed, sending a massive rod crashing through the swarm, scattering hawks in crimson sparks. One rod hit the arena wall and exploded, sending chunks of black obsidian flying. Nova countered with a lightning strike that cleaved the rod in half, molten blood hissing on contact.
Power Dynamics:
Zis Skayr — Bloodbolt
Grounded, tactical, rod specialist.
Rage state = immense strength, rods blackened, molten, almost uncontrollable.
Defensive + offensive in one — forms walls, spikes, cages on the fly.
Nova Oculon — Bane Bringer
Aerial dominance, storm-based, lightning-infused.
Summons weak spectral hawks, cloud weapons, storm gusts.
Offensive, relentless, precise. Brings bane wherever he fights.
The arena was a war zone — shattered obsidian, scorched sand, splintered crimson rods, and storm-twisted clouds.
Renji, perched high, could see the essence of this world's hierarchy:
Hawks = storm, speed, intelligence.
Vastos = rage, blood, raw destructive adaptability.
And in the stands, Kestrel's eyes never left the duel, her lips curving in the faintest smirk. Even in her silence, the Dark General's shadow pressed on the combatants, reminding them that all power here was borne of a curse older than kingdoms.
Zis's anger peaked. A rod snapped, glowing black, molten heat licking the edges. He dashed forward, rods spinning like a tornado, striking Nova with precision and power.
Nova deflected, but one strike caught his leg, sending him crashing into the sand, lightning flickering across his cloud weapons. He struggled to rise, wind gusts failing to lift him as the molten rods pinned his movements.
The crowd erupted as Zis Skayr stood victorious, chest heaving, crimson rods still glowing. Nova lay sprawled in the sand, battered but alive.
Renji's heart pounded. He could see the raw intensity of lineage powers, the difference between rage-forged strength and storm-honed precision.
Even as the cheers rose, one truth was undeniable:
The winner was Vastos.
But the arena, the blood, and the storm had left questions. Hawks were broken but alive. Vastos had triumphed, but the air still hummed with threat, and the Dark General's influence loomed over them all.
Renji swallowed, understanding one thing clearly:
In this world, victory is just the beginning.