"This is the second semifinal," Vikel announced, his voice sharp and carrying through the Colosseum like a steel blade. His stern eyes shifted from one side to the other, settling on each competitor in turn. "You are to give it your all. The winner will proceed to the finals, while the loser will still have the chance to compete for third place. Is that understood?"
The crowd hushed, the air thick with anticipation.
"Yes."
"Understood."
Vern's reply was calm, his tone steady as still water, his eyes unblinking beneath the weight of countless stares. He stood straight, Enkris resting lightly in his hand, as though the black blade were merely an extension of his body. His breathing was measured, his expression unreadable—serene yet unshakable.
Across from him, Tanvir Gossen clenched his fists, the cords of muscle in his arms tightening like drawn ropes. His broad chest rose and fell with each deep breath, nostrils flaring as he glared at Vern. Veins stood out along his neck, his jaw set so tight it seemed his teeth might crack. The memory of his brother's defeat burned in his eyes, simmering with rage that demanded release.
The silence between them stretched taut, like a bowstring pulled to its limit.
"Then fight!" Vikel's voice cut through the tension like thunder.
At once, the Colosseum erupted into a roar. Dust rose as both fighters shifted their stances, eyes locked, their expressions alone promising that this clash would not be a simple duel—it would be a storm.
Boom. Boom.
Both figures shot off the ground at the same instant, blurring across the arena like unleashed predators. Tanvir swung his massive greatsword, its edge wreathed in dense sword force that crackled faintly in the air, while Vern's pitch-black blade shimmered with an ominous aura, its hum vibrating through the Colosseum.
Clang!
Steel collided with steel, the impact ringing like a war drum. Sparks burst outward in a shower of fire, dancing across the stone floor as the shockwave forced both men a step back. The ground beneath their feet cracked from the sheer force, dust rising in twisting plumes.
Vern flexed his wrist once, his expression calm, though a faint numbness lingered in his palm. His gaze lowered briefly to his hand, then returned to Tanvir with a contemplative glint.
Hm… so he's different. Stronger than his brother. Then let's try this.
A low, thoughtful hum left his lips as he steadied Enkris.
"Abyss Grace—first form."
His body blurred, vanishing in a flicker. With a fluid, stabbing posture, he surged forward like a spear tearing through the void.
Thirteen Consecutive Slash.
The words echoed in the air like a curse.
Enkris became a storm of black light, thrusting again and again, each strike honed on Tanvir's vital points—neck, heart, ribs, joints. The movements were so sharp and precise they overlapped like shadows, leaving afterimages that trailed across the Colosseum's walls.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Tanvir roared, muscles bulging as his greatsword whirled into motion, a wall of steel intercepting Vern's furious assault. Sparks and shockwaves raged with every impact, the rhythm of their strikes pounding like thunder.
But even Tanvir could not emerge unscathed. With the twelfth strike, Vern's blade slipped past the edge of his defense, grazing his right shoulder. A shallow but burning line of blood appeared, staining his shirt crimson.
Tanvir's eyes widened, his jaw clenched in fury. He staggered half a step, then steadied himself, glaring at Vern with a mixture of pain and wrath.
The crowd exploded, half roaring in awe, half gasping in disbelief. To force the Gossen brute back and draw first blood—Vern had shown he was not just another opponent.
"Haha!" Tanvir burst into roaring laughter, the sound rolling through the Colosseum like thunder. His eyes burned with savage fire as he pulled the massive greatsword up over his shoulder, gripping it with both hands. His broad frame bent low, muscles coiling like a drawn bow as he readied himself to charge.
"You can dodge it if you want!" he bellowed, voice brimming with brutal confidence.
His aura swelled, the ground trembling beneath his stance. Then, with a deafening stomp, he launched himself high into the air, the greatsword trailing a violent arc of sword force that split the dust clouds above.
"Earth Shaker—Fifth Form!"
The words cracked like a whip as he swung downward with all his might.
"Calamity!"
The moment the blade descended, the arena seemed to hold its breath. The pressure was suffocating, the sheer weight of the strike enough to make the front rows flinch back instinctively. Stone tiles cracked and splintered beneath the force before the sword had even landed.
Vern's gaze lifted, his expression cool, untouched by the chaos. A faint scoff escaped his lips, followed by a low chuckle.
So… this again?
The memory of Dominic's final desperate attack flickered in his mind. The resemblance was undeniable—only this time, the execution was sharper, the force heavier, the precision tighter. It was an improved version, honed through experience and fury.
But still—
Vern's lips curved faintly, almost mocking.
"It's better than Dominic's… but not enough to make me dodge."
Enkris hummed in his grasp, the black blade vibrating as though eager to cut down the imitation strike.
Vern lifted Enkris in a fluid motion, the black blade slicing upward to meet Tanvir's descending strike. His entire arm shimmered with aura, muscles tightening as if reinforced by some invisible steel. Every fiber of his body hummed with controlled strength, ready to absorb and redirect the force coming at him.
Shrinkkkk…
The edge of Tanvir's greatsword grazed along Enkris with a metallic screech, sparks flying as steel met steel. The sheer force of the collision drove both fighters backward, reverberating through their arms and shoulders.
Boom!
The ground beneath them buckled from the shock, chunks of stone and dust erupting in all directions. The arena trembled under the weight of the attack, and the crowd's roar hit a fevered pitch.
Tanvir staggered slightly, sensing Vern directly in front of him. Yet even as he braced for another blow, confusion flickered across his features. Something had struck him—swift, precise, and unexpected.
A sharp sting lanced his left shoulder, the pressure almost imperceptible amid the chaos of his strike, yet undeniable. His eyes widened, a flicker of unease crossing his usually confident glare.
What…?
Even amidst the overwhelming force he had unleashed, Tanvir could feel it: Vern was not merely blocking or countering. Something unseen, something precise, had reached him before the impact even finished.
For the first time, the Gossen twin's grin faltered—his power alone was not enough to overwhelm this calm, relentless figure.
Tanvir took a sharp step back, creating space between himself and Vern, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths as he prepared for the next clash.
Vern mirrored him, moving with measured grace, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his usually stoic face. His eyes lingered on the small dagger now embedded in Tanvir's shoulder—an imperfection left intentionally during their earlier clash.
The dagger hadn't been aimed for the heart or neck. Vern hadn't intended to end the fight so soon. No, this was for his own amusement, a small test of Tanvir's reflexes and composure. The battle had grown exciting, and Vern was savoring the thrill.
A spark of amusement glinted in his eyes as he readied himself for the next move, every fiber of his body coiled like a spring, his grin silent but telling: this fight is finally worth my attention.
On the sidelines, Edward watched the clash with a wary grin, his eyes narrowing as they landed on the small dagger lodged in Tanvir's shoulder.
This bastard… he thought, a flicker of respect mixed with exasperation crossing his mind. In our spars, he always pulled a dagger out of nowhere. So precise… every time I had to brace myself just to deflect it.
Edward let out a low scoff, shaking his head slightly. But Tanvir? Hah. There's no way this musclehead could have anticipated a dagger flying toward him. No chance.
He leaned forward, eyes sharp and calculating as he studied the two fighters. Tanvir's glare was deadly, muscles coiled, every breath tense with restrained power and rage. Vern, on the other hand, wore that rare amused grin, his calm composure hiding the subtle thrill coursing through him.
Edward's grin widened slightly, a mixture of awe and anticipation curling on his lips. Our fight is going to be one hell of a fight, he murmured under his breath, eyes flicking between the two as sparks of steel and aura flared across the arena.
"You motherfucker!" Tanvir spat, his voice raw with fury. He yanked his right hand back, the one gripping his greatsword, and pointed it accusingly at Vern. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to use cowardly tricks?!"
A gasp escaped Charlotte, who sat beside Salena and Edward, her hands trembling slightly. "He… he is—" she stuttered, eyes wide with disbelief.
Both Edward and Salena turned toward her, curiosity and unease flickering across their faces.
Charlotte's words came out in a rush, one trembling declaration: "He… he is so dead!"
Before anyone could process her words, an ear-piercing scream erupted from the arena, sending a shiver down every spine. The crowd went silent, tension snapping like a drawn bowstring.
"Ahhhhhhh!" Tanvir bellowed, his roar turning into a scream of pain as he clutched his right shoulder—it was completely severed. Blood spurted in arcs, staining the arena floor crimson.
Across from him, Vern stood unmoving, Enkris gripped tightly in his right hand. His left hand, impossibly, held Tanvir's now-giant severed right hand as if it were nothing more than a toy.
Vern's black hair, streaked with red from the fury and aura he had unleashed, flowed behind him, framing a face that had lost all semblance of calm—his normally placid features now a mask of lethal determination.
The arena seemed to freeze, every heartbeat stretching into eternity as the magnitude of the strike sank in.