Ezmelral's lookalike snapped her eyes open—reality slamming back into focus as the roaring void beam hurtled toward her like oblivion's maw. Behind her, Aserenity's storm of leaves surged forward, a green tempest ready to strike.
Yet she didn't move.
Her faith in her master was an unshakable shield.
The arena quaked. From beneath the platform, the earth erupted—a colossal root spearing skyward like a guardian roused from slumber. It coiled behind her in an instant, intercepting Aserenity's assault with effortless might. The impact thundered through the coliseum, her white robes rippling like silk in a storm as leaves scattered harmlessly into the air.
In the stands, the Eldest Elder seized his chance. He slammed his fist against the armrest with dramatic flair, his voice booming just loud enough for those nearby to hear.
"She is breaking the rules!"
He lurched halfway from his seat, white robes flaring like storm clouds on the verge of breaking. Essence crackled faintly around him—the air trembling with restrained outrage—
—until the GodKing's voice cracked across the arena like divine thunder.
"Solomon is very wise. As his father, you wouldn't stray from this familiar path, would you?"
The air grew heavy, an invisible weight pressing upon every soul present. The other Elders, who had begun to stir, froze mid-motion as that unseen authority coiled around their cores like suffocating vines—a reminder of who truly reigned above them.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
The Eldest scanned the arena for allies, but those closest simply looked away, spines straightening under the GodKing's gaze. Alone, his jaw tightened; teeth ground behind clenched lips as he sank back into his seat, a faint tremor betraying fury he could not release.
High above in the time-veil, Ezmelral exhaled sharply.
"The GodKing's arrogance truly knows no bounds…"
Raiking's lips curved faintly, crimson eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
Below, the lookalike's bloodmark began to glow—a subtle pulse, steady as a heartbeat awakening. Her stance shifted: feet anchored, sheath at her hip—the same poised stance Raiking had once taken when he felled the Praexar Commander with a single, world-rending strike.
Ezmelral's breath caught.
Is that—?
Her gaze darted between Raiking and the girl below, disbelief and recognition colliding.
The lookalike's voice rang out—clear, resonant, brimming with inherited authority.
"GodKing Bloodline."
A surge erupted from her core, Essence exploding outward in a radiant wave that shook the arena. Her robes flared like a banner caught in a storm. With deliberate grace, she drew her sword.
The movement. The breath. The stillness before the storm—
It was Raiking's technique, down to the heartbeat.
The blade flashed horizontally.
A calm exhale followed.
Then—the clean, final click as it slid home.
For one surreal instant, time froze.
The void beam. The swirling portal. The colossal eye within—
All split cleanly in two, suspended as though gravity itself bowed to her will.
Then came the fall.
The halved remnants dropped together, crashing into the ring with a cataclysmic boom that shook the parted sea below. Shockwaves rippled outward, scattering light and shadow alike.
The arena erupted—roars of awe and disbelief merging into a single, thunderous cry.
"What power!"
"Truly!"
"I could never block such an attack…"
Among Aserenity's people, joy bloomed like spring through the storm—whispers of "Our guardian lives!" and "The wild endures!" spreading through the stands like wind through branches.
And through it all, Ezmelral's lookalike stood unshaken, the fading glow of her bloodmark tracing a legacy she now carried as her own.
---
Ezmelral watched as Aserenity's colossal form began to shrink, leaves drifting away like autumn's final sigh, scattering into the wild winds sweeping the parted red sea below. The towering embodiment of nature's fury dissolved back to its serene core—Aserenity reforming in her ethereal, humanoid shape, her foliage-draped body swaying gently as if catching her breath.
Across the arena, Solomon severed his communion with the Void Realm; the portals around him winked out like dying stars. He descended slowly, robes billowing like sails in a fading gale, his black ponytail swaying as his feet touched stone with quiet grace.
But Ezmelral's mind raced beyond the battle's end—entangled in two burning questions. One gnawed at Raiking's true nature, the other at the mystery of her lookalike's swordsmanship—that stance, that cut, the same technique Raiking had used the night he saved her village.
She puffed her cheeks, voice rising in frustration.
"When I asked to learn your sword style, you said it wasn't possible—that you couldn't teach me. So why… why can she use it?"
Raiking's smile deepened at the sight—her childish habit grounding her amid cosmic confusion.
"Look at the bloodmark on her forehead."
Ezmelral's eyes narrowed. The faint crimson mark—shaped like a fractured flame—was fading to a dull scar.
"What is it?"
Raiking's tone grew low, weighted with ancient gravity.
"It's a Bloodline."
The word struck her like thunder.
Memory resurfaced—her lookalike at eighteen, the GodKing bestowing that mark beneath a sky drenched in divine light. "This will boost your power in moments of need… until you learn to master it," he'd said.
A gift of raw potential, tied to his own essence.
"How does it work?"
Raiking's crimson gaze flickered like captured fire.
"Bloodlines are typically bestowed upon mortals by Entities."
"During an Entity's Essence dispersion?"
"Correct. When a Planetary-level Entity dies, the nearest world absorbs their lingering Essence—granting its people Cores upon adulthood. But sometimes… another gift emerges."
"A Bloodline," she breathed.
"Exactly. Though rare, reserved for those of exceptional talent—souls attuned to Essence's deepest mysteries."
Ezmelral frowned.
"But an Entity has to die first. The GodKing's alive."
"He's… unique," Raiking said, gaze drifting back to the arena. "What others cannot achieve, he can—bending rules that bind the rest."
"So there's more to it," she pressed.
"Indeed. For her to inherit his Bloodline, a direct transfusion had to occur—his essence infused into her veins."
"When did he—"
Memories flashed—her lookalike's countless training injuries, the GodKing's healing touch lingering a heartbeat too long, the faint glow that had seemed harmless.
"So that's what he was doing…"
Realization sank deep: every "healing" had been a transfer, every gesture a ritual in disguise.
Her thoughts swirled around the GodKing's contradictions—his arrogance, his hunger for power, his overwhelming presence that could crush worlds… yet his tenderness toward his disciple, like a storm sparing a single flower.
---
The rumble of footsteps drew her focus back to the arena.
Aserenity approached with slow, graceful steps, her foliage-draped form rustling softly like a breeze through ancient woods. The scattered leaves from her earlier storm settled around her like fallen petals.
She stopped before the lookalike, her verdant eyes calm and piercing.
"Why did you intervene?" she asked—her voice a melodic whisper, threaded with gratitude, curiosity, and a faint tremor of something deeper.
The lookalike held Aserenity's gaze, her expression steady but shadowed by lingering sorrow.
"My homeland was invaded," she said softly, her words carrying the weight of lost worlds. "If we had someone as powerful as you… perhaps my planet's destruction wouldn't have been our fate."
Aserenity turned away briefly, her eyes sweeping over her people in the stands—their faces alight with joy and relief, leaves rustling in shared triumph, whispers blooming like fresh sprouts after rain. When she looked back, empathy softened her ethereal features.
"I am sorry for your people's—"
The lookalike lifted a hand gently, cutting her off before the sympathy could form.
"A warrior's death is honorable," she said, her voice calm but resonant, "for it ripples through those left behind in memory. But a hero's death…"—her gaze deepened, distant—"it echoes through generations, inspiring change long after the battle fades."
Before Aserenity could reply, the lookalike's attention flicked to Solomon. He stood silent, arms crossed, void portals humming faintly behind him—his expression unreadable, his thoughts concealed like stars behind cloud.
Then—she vanished. A blur of white and crimson light, reappearing in her elevated seat beside the GodKing. Gasps rippled through the crowd, awe blooming like wildfire at the effortless display.
Above, in the veil of time, Ezmelral's eyes shimmered, wide with admiration.
"She's so cool," she whispered—her voice a blend of wonder and yearning, the lookalike's poise resonating deep within her growing resolve.
Raiking felt the irony settle in the air, an amused curve tugging his lips.
"Are you praising her… or yourself?" he asked quietly, crimson eyes gleaming with that familiar glint of challenge.
"You!" Ezmelral burst out, cheeks flushing with embarrassment and indignation alike. But she caught herself, drawing a steadying breath before continuing with forced composure. "What I mean is… as the GodKing's disciple, her words carry real weight. With his approval, we might not see any more pointless deaths in this tournament."
Raiking's smile flickered—subtle, fleeting. His teasing had landed, but he masked it before she could catch on. His voice softened, edged with approval.
"Her message wasn't just for Aserenity—it was for every contestant. A reminder that while this tournament matters, in the grand scheme of things, it is still just one battle. With how vast the Cosmos are—and the wars yet to come—their deaths here might one day decide their planet's survival."
Ezmelral nodded, her gaze sweeping over the stands. The spectators, once brimming with bloodlust, now sat in thoughtful silence—some nodding, others whispering in low voices. The air itself seemed to shift, violence giving way to reverence.
"She's awakened them," Ezmelral said softly. "That awareness doesn't only deter martyrs—it tempers killers. Even those like Solomon now know that every death in this ring could rob a world of its future defender. What was once a glorious kill now carries the weight of shame."
Raiking's lips curved faintly.
"Exactly. One stone, two birds."
Then the Keeper of Time and Fate's voice rang through the arena, clear and commanding, cutting through the reverent hush:
"The winner is Solomon."
The coliseum erupted. Cheers thundered across the stands; the Eldest Elder rose, beaming at his son with unbridled pride, white robes rustling as he clapped.
Nearby, one of Aserenity's Elders rested a leafy hand on her shoulder, their tone warm and grounding.
"You fought a good fight," she said gently. "You're still young—yet to injure an Entity at your age means your future is boundless."
Then, from the center dais, the Keeper of Balance stepped forward—ten arms moving in graceful unison, each gesture an echo of cosmic order.
"And now," she declared, her voice resonant as the tides, "the next bout: Shona versus Astrength."
The crowd's energy surged anew, murmurs rising like a gathering storm.
High above, Ezmelral watched in silence—her heart alight with determination. The tournament pressed on, each battle birthing legends in its wake.
And within her, a quiet resolve took root—
to carve her own story amid the stars.