Chapter 142| The Weight of the Final

The Ascension Tournament’s final arrived beneath a clear, considerable morning sky, the stadium’s capacity swollen beyond even the opening ceremony’s already staggering figures, and Allen felt the accumulated weight of an entire extraordinary year settle over him as he stood at the tunnel’s edge, his own family gathered close, waiting for the announcer’s call.

"Two point three billion viewers," Myria reported quietly, though her attention remained fixed on Allen rather than the considerable statistic itself. "How are you feeling?"

"Ready," Allen said, and found, testing the word against his own genuine state, that it held true. "Whatever happens today, we’ve already built something worth considerably more than any tournament outcome."

"We have," Vivian agreed, her hand finding his with quiet, grounding warmth.

Everlyn pressed a final, soft kiss to his cheek, and Irene’s fierce grin carried the particular, restless anticipation she reserved for genuinely worthy challenges, and together, the five of them made their way out into the arena’s overwhelming scale, the crowd’s considerable roar swelling into something enormous the moment Fallen Crown’s banner rose alongside Golden Reckoning’s on the stadium’s towering display screens.

Edward already stood waiting on the opposite side of the field, his own party arranged behind him, and Allen felt old, familiar unease resurface the moment he properly registered his brother’s expression — something tightly controlled, carefully composed in a way that didn’t quite mask the tension coiled beneath it.

"Little brother," Edward called across the considerable distance, voice carrying easily despite the crowd’s mounting noise. "I hope you’re prepared for something considerably different than whatever you’ve faced so far this tournament."

"I’m always prepared for you to surprise me," Allen said evenly, refusing to let the observation unsettle him visibly, though Myria’s own sharp glance suggested she’d caught the same uneasy note he had.

"You noticed too," Allen murmured, low enough that only she could hear.

"I did," Myria said quietly. "Something’s different about him today. I don’t have enough to name it yet, but I don’t like it."

The ceremony preceding the match’s official start stretched longer than any previous stage, High Inquisitor Voss himself returning to preside over the tournament’s culminating moment, his considerable, formal address building the crowd’s anticipation toward genuine fever pitch, and Allen found himself, standing amid the stadium’s overwhelming noise, drawing quiet strength from his own family’s steady, familiar presence.

He let his gaze drift once, briefly, toward the stands, finding Haruki’s own party seated prominently near the front, Haruki himself on his feet already, cheering with the same unguarded enthusiasm that had defined every one of their encounters since the training facility weeks earlier. The sight settled something warm and grounding in Allen’s chest, a reminder of exactly how much genuine good this considerable, chaotic tournament had already produced, regardless of whatever the day’s final still had waiting.

"Whatever he’s planning," Allen murmured to Myria as the ceremony finally wound toward its conclusion, "we handle it together."

"Together," Myria confirmed, and the countdown began.

The horn sounded, and both parties surged forward into the tournament’s considerable, final engagement, and for the first several minutes, the match unfolded exactly as Allen’s own preparation had anticipated — Golden Reckoning’s four retainers proving considerably skilled but not remarkable, Fallen Crown’s own coordinated advantage asserting itself steadily across the expanded battlefield, Irene’s flames and Vivian’s patient precision gradually, methodically dismantling whatever resistance Edward’s supporting party attempted to mount.

Edward himself, though, held back from the engagement’s opening exchanges, circling the battlefield’s edge with focused, deliberate patience that Allen recognized, uncomfortably, from Myria’s own tactical restraint — someone waiting for a specific, calculated moment rather than simply engaging.

"He’s stalling," Vivian called, having cleared her own opponent with practiced efficiency. "Watch him, Allen. Something’s wrong."

Allen turned his attention fully toward his brother, tracking the deliberate patience beneath Edward’s circling movement, the way his eyes kept flicking toward the crowd, toward the broadcast cameras, toward everything except the actual fight unfolding around him — as though he were waiting for some precise, considerable moment rather than genuinely engaging with the match at all.

"Edward," Allen called, closing the distance carefully. "Whatever you’re planning, this isn’t the way to prove anything."

Edward’s expression flickered, something almost like doubt surfacing behind his careful composure, before old resentment visibly, deliberately hardened back into place. "You don’t get to lecture me about proving things," he said. "Not after an entire lifetime of everyone assuming I’d never measure up to whatever considerable miracle you’ve become."

"That’s not what this is about," Allen said, genuine concern breaking through his own combat focus. "I never wanted this kind of rivalry between us."

"Then you should have thought about that before your entire existence became a permanent reminder of everything I’m apparently not," Edward said, and reached, with sudden, decisive motion, toward something concealed within his armor’s inner lining.

The device the butler had given him emerged into view, its dark metal surface humming with contained, considerable energy that made the surrounding air feel subtly, wrongly charged, and Allen felt the Precognitive Reflex flare properly to life for the first time, cold and immediate, an unmistakable warning that whatever Edward intended to unleash carried genuine, lethal intent behind it.

"Edward, don’t," Allen said, urgency sharpening his voice as he called for his own party’s attention. "Whatever that is, it’s not worth—"

"It’s exactly worth it," Edward said, something almost pleading beneath his hardened resolve, as though he were trying to convince himself as much as anyone watching. "I need this. Just once, I need to be the one people remember."

He activated the device.

The stadium’s considerable noise dropped away entirely in Allen’s own perception, the world narrowing to the device’s sudden, blinding flare of contained energy and the Precognitive Reflex’s frantic, overwhelming warning screaming through every fiber of his awareness, and Allen felt himself moving before conscious thought could properly catch up, some instinctive, desperate calculation already underway as Edward’s entire form seemed to blur with sudden, unnatural power, the device’s considerable amplification settling over him like a second, borrowed skin.

"Everyone get back!" Allen shouted, though he wasn’t certain, in that fractured, urgent instant, whether the warning could possibly reach his own party in time, or whether whatever Edward had just unleashed had already, irrevocably set into motion something none of them could properly stop.

The stadium’s massive display screens flickered, static briefly overtaking the broadcast feed, and two point three billion viewers around the world found themselves holding their collective breath as the Ascension Tournament’s final descended, without warning, into something considerably more dangerous than anyone had anticipated.