ZZTT.
The surge of electricity crackled through the arena like a live wire unleashed, piercing the spectators' ears with a sharp, resonant hiss. In that instant, the vines decaying Shona's strength began to sizzle and wither—peeling away layer by layer to reveal his features. First his left eye emerged, fierce and unblinking; then the left side of his nose, flaring with renewed breath; his lips, curling into a grim smile; his chin, jutting defiantly; and finally his left leg, freed from the entangling rot.
In that moment of true release, Shona felt a torrent rush through his Essence Core—power flooding back like a dam bursting, revitalizing his veins with electric fire. He reached out with his lower left arm, calling forth the spear embedded in the cracked floor. It yanked free in a burst of sparks, hurtling toward him at lightning speed and clicking seamlessly into his grasp.
He arced it southeast in a fluid sweep, deflecting Astrength's incoming sword slash with a resounding clang—the impact staggering his foe back a step, sparks flying like shattered stars.
Seizing the rhythm, Shona summoned another spear with his right middle arm—it materialized in a crackle, and he thrust upward to the southwest, the blade carving through Astrength's armor in a spray of blood, the wound oozing dark crimson that sizzled on contact with the lingering static.
With his upper left and right arms, he called forth the two remaining spears from the arena's corners—they streaked toward him like loyal bolts, snapping into his waiting hands. His middle arm followed with a horizontal swipe, shredding yet another layer of Astrength's bark-infused plating, bark and metal fragments scattering like confetti in a gale.
Shona surged forward then, unleashing a relentless flurry of quick slashes—his five spears a whirlwind of lightning and steel, each strike landing with precision that prevented Astrength from regenerating, the wounds hissing as electricity cauterized and decayed in tandem.
Capitalizing on the momentum, Shona spun into a tornado kick, his boot slamming into Astrength's chest with bone-crushing force—the impact sending him skidding backward across the arena floor, gouging furrows in the stone.
Shona didn't relent—he reached out with his last free arm, yanking the spear impaled in Astrength's shoulder free. As it hurtled toward him, he leaped onto its shaft mid-flight; the weapon bent like a taut bowstring under his weight, then sprang back, propelling him skyward like an arrow loosed from the gods.
Once adrift high above, Shona released his grip on the four spears—they vanished in flickers of static, only to reappear behind him in a connectless square formation, hovering like sentinels ready to unleash hell, the air between them crackling with pent-up storm.
Ezmelral finally spoke, her voice cutting through the tense hush after the fight had commanded her full attention. "Didn't he want to prove himself?" she asked Raiking, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Ascending to the sky... that's just taking advantage of Astrength's weakness, isn't it?"
Raiking regarded her steadily, his crimson eyes reflecting the arena's fading glow. "Shona is a warrior who cleanses corruption—a merciless, ruthless honor bestowed upon the few who can truly bear its crown."
Ezmelral stared at him, her expression shifting to one of playful mockery, as if bracing for another dose of 'old man secluded from mortal affairs' wisdom—her lips quirking in anticipation of the lecture.
Raiking ignored the teasing glint in her eyes, pressing on undeterred. "When Shona chose to endure the vines' decay, when he held back from taking to the sky—these were not truly his choices, but the burdens of others' expectations."
She tilted her head, puzzled. "Isn't that still his choice? He decided to meet those expectations."
He shook his head slowly. "No. When we act for the sake of others' views, we stray from our own path—becoming puppets to their strings."
She pondered that, then ventured, "Does that include good deeds? Helping others?"
Raiking's gaze drifted to the stars above, his voice thoughtful, like echoes from forgotten eras. "If everyone possessed true discipline, would there be any need for 'good' at all?"
The question hung between them, and Ezmelral fell silent, turning it over in her mind. It's true, she realized. Good deeds fill the voids left by wrongdoing—the empty spaces where kindness is absent. But if discipline reigned, wrongs wouldn't exist. No voids to mend, no deeds to perform. We'd all walk our paths freely, unburdened by judgment or expectation.
Disrupting her reverie, Shona's voice boomed from below, his incantation building like thunder in his chest:
"LIGHTNING ESSENCE—GUARDIAN BEASTS OF THE DIVINE SHRINE!"
His spears shuddered, then spun in a widening ring, sketching a formation of pure static. From that crackling sigil, four colossal spirit heads thrust forth with a unified roar—then braided into Shona in a surge of lightning.
The first to awaken was the swiftest. The back plates of Shona's carbon armor rattled—and burst. A dove's wing unfurled from his left, then a twin from his right.
Astrength's eyes narrowed as the new wings beat once, twice—
and Shona vanished.
He reappeared in front of Astrength in a blur of air, spear already moving with avian sharpness. Two quick thrusts—clean, precise—punched into Astrength's chest. Blood spattered. Instinct screamed to retreat, to measure this new threat—
but before the thought finished, the spear smashed into his ribs with the weight of a mythic elephant. The blow hurled him sideways.
Astrength flipped mid-flight, digging his sword toward the stone to arrest his momentum—
Shona was already behind him.
A slash raked across Astrength's back—lion-claw fierce—shattering armor and tearing bloody furrows through the rootlike cords beneath. The strike sent him pitching forward again. Shona flashed to his flank while Astrength was still tumbling, and Astrength spun into a desperate backhand cut.
Steel met spear.
This time the impact felt like striking a turtle's ancient shell. Shona didn't budge.
He knocked the blade aside, vaulted high, and came down in a shockwave that cracked the arena. His spear struck home—burying deep in Astrength's ribs and driving him into the ground with seismic force.
Dust and debris billowed. The arena fell silent.
Astrength coughed blood—thick, dark, burning from within. His bark-flesh split, vines shriveling under the residue of lightning. Still, he pushed up, trembling, his single eye blazing defiance.
Shona leveled his spear at the warrior's throat. A silent command.
Astrength froze—pride wrestling with surrender. His gaze lifted to the stands. There, Aserenity's serene mask fractured—fear trembling through her crown of leaves.
And in that look, Astrength understood.
His shoulders eased. His fingers uncurled from the sword's hilt.
"I…"
Their eyes locked, a silent understanding flowing between them—guardian to guardian, ancient as wood knowing leaf. With a final, inward push, he let go, his voice cutting clear through the charged air.
"I surrender."
The tension shattered. The crowd erupted in a deafening roar—a long-pent cheer exploding outward like a dam bursting, waves of sound crashing against the parted red sea below.
"What a match!" one spectator bellowed, fists pumping the air.
"That's our Commander!" another cried, pride swelling in their voice.
"Who doubts him now?" a third challenged, the words igniting nods and triumphant shouts across the stands.
Shona dematerialized his spear in a flicker of dissipating lightning, the weapon vanishing like mist under dawn's light. His Essence Core began to calm, the electric storm within ebbing to a quiet hum—but as the adrenaline faded, the true toll crashed over him. His body swayed, knees buckling as exhaustion claimed its due, tilting him backward toward the scarred arena floor.
In a blur, the GodKing materialized beside him—his massive hand clamping Shona's shoulder with steadying force, halting the fall mid-collapse. Shona steadied, drawing a ragged breath, the GodKing's silent support a pillar amid the cheers—a reminder that even commanders needed anchors in the storm.
"You fought well," the GodKing said.
"I—" Shona began, but the GodKing was already ahead of the words, his voice the final nail sealing doubt.
"The moment you were chosen as Commander," he said, steady and absolute, "you no longer needed my validation—or anyone's. Your tireless nights of training, the triumphs of your Flood Missions—those are the true measure of who you are. Far more than any prying eye or whispering mouth can ever dictate."
Shona's chest tightened, the GodKing's words sinking in like roots finding fertile soil—banishing the shadows of self-doubt, replacing them with a quiet fire. He straightened, the ache in his body fading to a distant throb.
Nearby, Ta'Narsha—Shona's mother and the Keeper of Balance—watched with a soft smile, her ten arms folded in quiet pride. The two men she had helped raise, guiding them through trials of power and heart, now stood as pillars of growth—her son's vulnerability met with the GodKing's wisdom, a harmony she had long hoped to see.
Composed, she stepped forward. Her voice rang through the arena like the chime of restored equilibrium.
"The winner… is Shona."
The crowd broke again into tempest—cheers rolling like thunder, pride swelling for the warrior who had turned humiliation into triumph.
She raised a hand; the clamor fell away.
"We will now repair the stage for the next bout: the GodKing's Disciple versus the Dragonkin."
Anticipation leapt like dry tinder catching flame. Murmurs rippled across the parted sea; eyes turned toward the elevated throne, where the GodKing's disciple sat poised—her presence a quiet beacon of mystery and power. The tournament pressed on. But for Shona, the moment lingered—a turning point etched into the marrow, the weight of expectation transmuted into a crown he now wore with calm resolve.