The air in the colosseum trembled like a living thing. Psychic currents hummed through the marble and the hovering platforms, vibrating with invisible energy. Every Esper Knight stood at attention, silent, their helmets glinting under the white-blue glow of the psychic sun hanging above the arena.
Myrith's voice echoed through the telepathic air, playful and cruel.
"Well then, little warlord. Choose your five."
Mudhand spat to the side, his eyes burning like twin embers. "You'll regret this mockery, woman."
He turned to his troops, growling. "You, Skarr, bow and string. You, Malth, mage of the red flame. Brukk, Torn, and Jagg, blades up front."
The five goblins stepped forward. Skarr, the archer, wore a hood of tattered leather and his longbow was strung with sinew from some dead beast. Malth, the mage, held a staff made of bone, runes pulsing faint orange. The three warriors were broad, musclebound and scarred, their crude armor mismatched but deadly in its savagery.
Myrith tilted her head, smiling faintly. "An archer, a mage, and three brutes. A balanced team… or so you think."
Mudhand glared up at her. "And who fights us, bitch?"
"Oh," Myrith said sweetly, "you get to choose."
"I'm feeling generous," Myrith replied, her tone almost musical. "Pick any knight from the rows behind me. Any one you want."
Her words echoed through the arena.
Mudhand's gaze swept across the hundreds of Esper Knights. Each stood in perfect formation, faceless, still, their psychic presence like pressure in the air. Giants, titans, elegant monsters. Some radiated power so great it made the goblins' skin crawl.
But then Mudhand's eyes landed on one near the end of the front row.
She was small, barely taller than a human girl. Her armor was slim, her pauldrons narrow and curved like wings. The psychic glow around her was faint, almost gentle. Her helmet's visor shimmered softly, and unlike the others, she carried no visible weapon save for a simple longsword at her hip.
Mudhand's lips twisted into a cruel grin. "That one," he said, jabbing a claw toward her. "The little one who hides behind the others."
Myrith's smile widened. "Oh, her?" She glanced back. "Emma."
The thin Esper Knight stepped forward at once. Her movements were graceful, measured, neither hesitant nor proud. When she reached the balcony's edge, she raised one hand. A ripple of telekinetic force expanded beneath her feet, and she descended to the arena like a feather in the wind.
Her boots touched the ground softly.
The five goblins sneered.
"That's their knight?!" one of the warriors barked.
"She's smaller than my spear!" another laughed.
Skarr spat, stringing his bow. "Good. I like it when they look easy."
Myrith clasped her hands behind her back. "Let's make this more… fair. For the first three minutes, Emma, you will not attack. Defend only. After that, do as you please."
Mudhand laughed harshly. "You're trying so hard to look down on us, woman! You humans, you really have the audacity to call us weak! Where did you get the nerve?!"
Myrith's laughter rang through the colosseum like silver bells. "Because you vermin are too weak."
Her words struck like a slap.
Mudhand's face twisted in rage. "You dare! A human dares to call us weak?!"
"Then prove me wrong," Myrith said simply, her eyes gleaming. "Let's see if five of your best can slay one Esper Knight."
The goblins roared in fury.
"Begin."
---
Emma moved first, not to attack, but to step. A single, small movement.
It was enough.
The air rippled around her like water disturbed by a drop of ink.
The five goblins charged.
Brukk and Torn led the way, twin blades raised high, howling battle cries. Jagg followed at their flank, his axe glowing faint red. Skarr stayed behind, drawing his bow in one fluid motion, while Malth began to chant, runes swirling around him like fiery serpents.
"Now! Together!" Mudhand bellowed.
Brukk's greatsword swung down with enough force to cleave steel. But the blade struck nothing.
Emma was no longer there.
A faint shimmer traced her afterimage, a blur of gold and black.
"Behind you!" Jagg shouted, spinning around just as his axe met a psychic barrier that deflected it like glass.
Emma's boots barely touched the ground. She glided more than ran, each movement calculated, her sword still sheathed. Every goblin's strike missed by inches not because she dodged late, but because she had already known where the blows would land.
Skarr loosed an arrow.
It curved midair, curved deflected by an unseen hand, and embedded itself in Torn's shoulder instead.
"AAARGH!"
"Hold the line!" Mudhand barked.
Malth snarled, his staff blazing. "You can dodge steel, but not this!"
A gout of flame exploded toward her. The inferno surged, a roaring column of heat that swallowed a portion of the arena.
When the fire cleared, Emma was untouched.
The flames curved around her, like a river bending around a stone. Her telekinetic field shimmered faintly, a golden hue wrapping her body like a veil.
The goblins growled in frustration.
Brukk lunged again. Torn came from the left. Jagg swung low to cut her legs.
Emma raised one hand, her sword still sheathed.
All three blows stopped midair.
The goblins strained, muscles bulging. The weapons didn't move an inch. Sweat dripped down their faces as their veins throbbed.
Then Emma tilted her head, as if observing insects. "Three minutes," she murmured softly. Her voice was quiet, almost gentle. "Let's see how long that truly feels."
The weapons snapped.
The goblins stumbled backward as their own blades shattered.
Skarr cursed, firing another arrow. It ricocheted, spinning wildly, slicing a shallow cut across Malth's arm. The mage shouted in pain and anger.
"Idiot! Watch your aim!"
Emma stepped lightly, her psychic field flickering. Every movement was precise, efficient. Her aura didn't radiate like the others, it focused, wrapping tightly around her body, channeling her telekinesis into speed, balance, and control.
Brukk lunged again.
She sidestepped, let his weight carry him forward, and inch away from his shoulder with one gloved hand.
But it was enough to accidentally launched him across the arena like a catapult, smashing him into the colosseum wall hard enough to leave a crater.
The audience, the silent Esper Knights didn't react. Only the hum of psychic energy filled the air.
Myrith watched with a faint smirk. "One minute."
Mudhand's claws dug into the railing until it cracked. "You little witch! Fight back, coward! Fight!"
Myrith watch lazily.
Below, Emma's movements blurred faster now.
She evaded Malth's fireball by pivoting sideways, letting it pass inches from her face, then redirected it telekinetically mid-flight to explode against Torn's shield. The blast threw him off his feet.
Two minutes.
Sweat dripped down the goblins' faces. Their breathing grew ragged. Their attacks grew wild, desperate.
But Emma didn't pant. She didn't even blink.
Every motion was a prediction, every gesture a dismissal.
When Brukk staggered up again, clutching his side, Emma met his eyes or rather, the reflection of his fury in her visor and spoke softly.
"Two minutes, thirty seconds."
Brukk screamed, charging again. His sword rose high and then froze midair.
Emma didn't move.
His weapon twisted out of his hands. It spun once, twice and the hilt smashed into his jaw.
He dropped like a stone.
The goblins hesitated.
"Keep attacking!" Mudhand howled. "Don't stop! You'll shame our kingdom if you falter now!"
Malth gritted his teeth, both hands gripping his staff. "Fine! Then burn with me!"
He slammed it into the ground. Fire erupted in all directions, a dome of searing orange.
For the first time, Emma paused.
The flames engulfed her completely.
The goblins cheered. "We got her!"
But then silence.
The fire twisted. It folded inward.
And then, the impossible it froze in midair, every spark suspended, like embers caught in glass.
A soft hum filled the colosseum. The air itself trembled.
The flames compacted into a dense orb the size of a man's head glowing, unstable, pulsing.
Malth's eyes widened. "Wait... what are you—"
Emma tilted her head.
"Three minutes."
She opened her hand.
The fireball imploded then exploded outward in a cone of destruction. The blast tore across the arena, vaporizing sand and melting stone. The goblins screamed as the wave of telekinetic fire flung them in all directions.
When the dust cleared, the battle was over.
Brukk lay broken, limbs twisted unnaturally. Torn was missing half his armor. Malth's staff was gone, his hands burned black. Jagg tried to stand, his leg bent the wrong way. Skarr crawled backward, blood pouring from his mouth.
Emma stood amidst them, her armor untouched. Her sword was finally drawn.
Myrith smiled faintly.
Emma raised her blade, a grand simple weapon, sleek and silver, black and gold. She twirled it once, then pointed at the nearest goblin.
Brukk.
He was still conscious, barely. He tried to lift his sword, but his arm failed him.
Emma's sword blurred.
A silver streak.
Brukk's head fell before his body realized it was dead.
The next was Torn. He roared, swinging wildly. She sidestepped, caught his arm mid-swing and twisted. Bone snapped like a branch. Her blade followed immediately, sliding through his throat in one smooth motion.
Jagg lunged from behind, screaming.
She spun, catching his axe telekinetically before it could fall. His eyes went wide as his own weapon turned against him, burying itself into his chest.
He gurgled blood and fell to his knees.
Skarr, the archer, loosed three arrows in panic. They froze midair then turned, hovering inches from his face.
"W-wait—" he stammered.
The arrows fired back into his eyes and mouth.
Only Malth remained.
He was crawling, half-burned, clutching at the ground. "Mercy… please… mercy…"
Emm approached slowly. Each step echoed softly in the vast arena.
Mudhand shouted from above, "No! Stop! He's had enough!"
Emma looked up, her expression unreadable behind the visor. Then she turned back to the mage.
"You had three minutes," she said quietly. "I had none."
The sword came down.
Silence.
Then Myrith clapped, slow and deliberate.
"Well done, Emma," she said, her smile sharp. "Elegant as always."
Emma bowed slightly, her voice calm. "They were loud and predictable."
Myrith turned her gaze to Mudhand, who was shaking with fury, and perhaps, deep down, dread.
Myrith said softly. "Five of your best couldn't even make her try."
Mudhand's claws dug bloody grooves into his palms. "You monsters… you mock the very spirit of war!"
Myrith chuckled. "War? This isn't war. This is measurement."
Her voice darkened, smooth as silk and sharp as ice. "We're merely measuring how long it takes you goblins to die."
The goblins are still standing, the captives chained along the edge of the arena, trembled.
Myrith turned to her knights. "Prepare the next phase. I think our dear warlord needs a better understanding of hierarchy."
Her gaze returned to Mudhand, smiling faintly.
"Tell me," she said. "Do you still believe numbers can defeat precision?"
Mudhand glared down, silent.
Myrith leaned on her halberd, voice lilting once more. "Don't worry. There are still plenty of you left."
Her smile deepened. "And we have so much time."
The telekinetic winds howled again, carrying the faint scent of blood and ozone as the colosseum shifted, readying itself for another round.
The audience of Esper Knights remained motionless, their auras cold and perfect.
And as Emma turned away from the corpses, her voice whispered almost inaudibly beneath her breath, a tone of detached melancholy rather than triumph:
"They are so simple."