Year 2071.
In the Earth magical ruins. Mostly ruins should have been silent.
Yet as John stepped beneath the broken archway, he swore he could hear a pulse—slow, steady, like a heartbeat buried beneath the stone.
Above him, the night sky shimmered with faint auroras, streaks of green and violet that had no place in Earth's heavens.
He had chased that anomaly for weeks, following whispers of ley-lines and half-decayed maps from forgotten orders. His search ended here, at the shattered bones of a temple buried deep within the mountain cliffs.
The mortal realm no longer challenged him.
Nations had learned to fear his name. Armies hesitated at the sight of his flames. Even the strongest mortal magicians had crumbled under the weight of his space-fire fusion.
But power was insatiable, growing fiercer with every triumph.
Tonight, he sought something more.
The temple loomed ahead, its toppled columns entwined with tight vines against weathered stone walls. The air hummed with an eerie, dormant magical energy, sending chills down your spine and veiling the surroundings in a mysterious and foreboding aura.
At the center of the great hall lay a circular dais, cracked yet stubbornly inscribed with runes that refused to fade.
John raised a hand, feeling the heat of the fire blooming in his palm, the shadows dancing across the ancient carvings. They weren't mortal symbols. He couldn't read them, but he felt them—threads pulling at his core, ancient and demanding.
"This is it," he muttered, stepping onto the dais.
"The next step."
The runes responded instantly, glowing with an ethereal light as if acknowledging John's presence.
Light flared beneath his boots, a lattice of glyphs searing outward. The air thickened, pressing against his lungs. His flame sputtered, as though another will sought to snuff it out.
John gritted his teeth. "Not so fast."
He thrust both hands forward. Fire poured into the carvings, burning against their restraint.
The runes fought back, glowing fiercely. The temple shook. And from its shadows, stone guardians tore themselves free—hulking figures of rock and iron, their cores glowing with the same pale glyph-light.
John cracked his neck.
"Finally. Something."
The first guardian lunged, stone fists like hammers. John slipped past, his body bending with a ripple of warped space. A flaming fist exploded upward, striking its core. The golem shattered into molten shards.
The others closed in.
Gravity surged, causing the dais to shift.
The ruins weren't just defending—they were awakening.
John grinned, flames enveloping his body, while space contorted around him like shattered glass.
"Let's see how much you can take."
The chamber became a furnace.
Firestorms erupted, stone guardians crumbled under blows of burning void, fragments swallowed into cracks of fractured space. For every guardian crushed, the glyphs grew brighter, the heartbeat louder.
And then the floor gave way.
The dais split apart, revealing a vortex of light beneath. Space itself howled, creating a turbulent force that clawed at his flames and bones, threatening to tear him apart.
He staggered, using his own gravitational manipulation to anchor himself, but the pull was relentless.
A guardian's strike grazed his back, sending him tumbling.
The vortex swallowed him whole.
The last thing he saw of the mortal Earth was the temple collapsing inward, devoured by its own ancient hunger.
Then—silence.
No, not silence. Applause.
+++
John slammed into polished marble, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his body as he struggled to rise to his feet. His flames flared instinctively, scorching the air. Above him, a dome of runes shimmered.
Around him, an audience—hundreds strong. Robed figures, armored warriors, even civilians suspended in floating seats shaped by levitation glyphs.
A steady and commanding voice boomed through the air.
"An outsider."
John staggered to his feet. His body ached, his blood hummed with displaced magic. He looked up as a man descended opposite him, carried by air that bent to his will.
A silver blade orbited lazily at his side, alive with restrained lightning.
"I am Kael Veynar, Duelmaster of Arcanis," the man declared, voice resonating through the dome.
"By the laws of this realm, trespassers must prove their worth—or be erased."
The crowd erupted—cheers, laughter, jeers.
John blinked, his mind racing.
Inner Earth?
Higher realm?
The vortex had thrown him here. And already, the realm demanded his life as entry fee.
Kael's blade snapped into alignment, sparks dancing across the floor.
"Crude flame and fractured space," Kael sneered.
"This duel will be brief."
John smirked, blood trickling from his lip. His flames roared back to life, space warping with them.
"Brief works for me."
+++
The arena's runes lit up with a radiant glow, intertwining to form a shimmering barrier that encased John and Kael in a field of magical energy.
Energy surged, sealing the duel.
Kael struck first. Lightning carved the air, a serpent of raw current. John twisted space, the bolt bending away, scorching empty marble.
He lunged in the same breath, fists wreathed in flame.
Kael met him head-on. His blade blurred—a storm of arcs that met fire with surgical precision.
Sparks rained as flame and lightning collided, their clash echoing like thunder.
The crowd roared.
Some leaned forward eagerly, others laughed, confident in their Duelmaster's dominance.
However, John noticed the distinction.
Kael's every strike carried precise and calculated intent.
This was no brawler's rhythm, but a legacy of discipline. He used gravity manipulation to stabilize his footing. His swings flowed with precision, empowered by the sharpening runes.
They fight as if magic is breath itself, John thought grimly. This isn't Earth anymore.
Excitement coursed through his veins. He had crossed over. He had transcended.
But the sting of Kael's blade across his shoulder snapped him back.
Flesh sizzled.
John hissed, countering with a fierce explosion of compressed space, unleashing a surge of power against his opponent.
The shockwave hurled Kael backward, but the Duelmaster landed lightly, sliding with impossible grace.
Kael raised a brow.
"Crude. Untamed. But not weak."
John clenched his fists, flames spiraling upward, space bending dangerously.
"Good. I was hoping for a challenge."
He thrust both hands forward. Fire and space collapsed into one, a spiraling spear of burning void that screamed across the arena.
The crowd gasped, shielding themselves as the barrier flared, barely containing the blast.
Kael's eyes sharpened. For the first time, his smirk faltered.
John roared.
The concentrated energy struck Kael's blade, and the arena shook.
Marble split.
Runes strained.
For an instant, the very air seemed to tear.
Then, a profound silence enveloped the arena.
Dust swirled through the fractured arena.
Kael stood, his blade trembling, lightning sputtering.
Across from him, John panted, flames dimming but his space-field still vibrating like shattered glass.
The Duelmaster's smirk returned, thinner this time.
"Perhaps," he said, voice measured, "this duel will not be brief after all."
The crowd erupted into a chaotic mix of outrage and exhilaration, with some spectators on the edge of their seats while others shouted in protest or cheered in anticipation.
And John Terrado, fire smoldering in his fists, smiled back.
"Good," he muttered.
"Let's make it interesting."