Chapter 32: The Deathbringer

The match was going strong as loud cheers could be heard all around the colosseum. Snow fell and landed on the dome of the colosseum, turning to nothing but steam, and inside, Corvin and Julian snapped their heads around to look at Orson. Julian’s eyes widened in disbelief.

"I never knew you could read a fight like that, Orson," Julian said, staring at him.

Orson blinked, thinking on his feet as a flicker of a remembered memory surfaced. "Oh, right... my sister taught me."

Julian nodded slowly, but paused, his brow furrowing. "Wait, how can you be so sure Elias knows what he’s doing?"

Orson smiled, raising a finger and pointing down toward the ring. "Look. From the very beginning, Elias already knew what his opponent’s plan would be."

He tapped the player cards they were handed when entering the colosseum, which displayed each combatant’s status and abilities.

"According to this, Draven can only be damaged by direct physical attacks—his Absolute Durability nullifies everything else. That means Elias has to get close to land a hit, and both fighters know it.

Ever since Elias stepped onto the ring, he knew Draven was going to use tricks to keep him at bay, so he’s been baiting those long-range attacks to figure out how to turn them against him."

Beside them, Lenora looked genuinely shocked by how seamlessly Orson laid out the fighters’ strategies. She had no idea he possessed such sharp tactical insight. Even Aeron and Corvin remained silent, staring at Orson in surprise before turning their attention back to the ring.

Down in the arena, the fight reached its turning point.

Draven lashed his whip through the air again and again, trying to wear Elias down, until Elias finally spotted the fraction-of-a-second opening he was waiting for. A surge of Astral energy pulsed through his boots and broadsword. Just as Draven’s water-whip snapped forward at full extension, Elias lunged into the dead space.

The whip was fully uncoiled—Draven couldn’t retract the fluid steel in time.

Elias closed the distance in a blink, swinging his heavy broadsword down with crushing force straight for Draven’s chest. But to Elias’s sudden shock, the moment his edge struck the deep navy blue armor, his broadsword violently bounced off as if hitting an unyielding wall of diamond. Draven’s Absolute Durability held firm, completely absorbing the impact.

Realizing the trap, Elias instantly kicked off the sand, retreating backward to reset his stance.

In the stands, Julian let out a long breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

"Did you see that?" Julian scoffed, shaking his head. "Look how bad his aim is! If this was a match with Seraphina, I know she would have sliced him right in half."

Corvin rolled his eyes and snorted. "Have you even seen her fight before?"

"No," Julian shot back without missing a beat, "but it can’t be as bad as this!"

Orson glanced back at Julian and Corvin, who were still bickering over whether Seraphina could have landed the blow. He shook his head softly with a faint smile.

They didn’t see what was really happening down on the sand. Elias wasn’t struggling; he was prolonging the fight on purpose. Though the man craved a swift, decisive victory, he was a crowd favorite with thousands of screaming spectators in the stands.

End the match in a single breath, and his fans would feel cheated. Elias was putting on a show, carefully pacing every clash to give the audience their money’s worth.

Before Orson could interject to calm the two boys down, Lenora jumped in to defend Elias’s honor.

"Just keep watching," she interjected, her eyes never leaving the arena below. "He hasn’t even pulled out his signature weapon yet."

Orson looked over at her, genuinely surprised. So Lenora was actually listening to Corvin’s rant back in the transporter after all, he thought to himself.

Corvin caught the exchange and snorted, crossing his arms. "I didn’t realize you knew anything about Elias’s signature weapon."

Lenora offered a small, amused smile without turning her head. "Not particularly. I just happened to overhear you earlier. Besides, you two are distracting me from watching."

Silenced, the group turned their attention back to the pit as the duel surged back into motion.

Down in the sand, the battle reached a fever pitch. The rhythm of steel against rushing water rang out in violent cadence, the two fighters exchanging dozens of rapid blows. Draven’s whip lashed out in wild, undulating arcs, slicing through stone pillars and kicking up massive blinds of sand, but Elias wove through the liquid blades with terrifying precision.

Elias feinted to the left, stepping heavily on his forward boot. Draven, anticipating the short-range rush, smirked. Reading his opponent’s trajectory, Draven snapped his wrist, sweeping the Watershine whip across the low ground in a lethal circle meant to sever Elias’s legs at the knees.

He read the move, but he vastly underestimated Elias’s speed.

With a sudden burst of Gold Astral energy, Elias vanished from Draven’s line of sight. The water whip hit nothing but empty air and swirling dust.

Before Draven could re-orient his guard, a bone-chilling cold washed over the ring. Elias materialized directly behind him.

Under the scorching rays of the arena sun, the shadow beneath Elias’s boots began to pulse and swell. The darkness detached itself from the stone floor, rising upward like ink spreading through water. A towering, ancient silhouette tore itself away from Elias’s form, casting a suffocating aura over the entire colosseum.

High up in the spectator stands, Corvin shot up onto his feet, his hands gripping the stone railing so hard his knuckles turned white.

"The... Deathbringer," Corvin whispered, his voice trembling.

A deafening, primal roar erupted from the darkness, shaking the stone foundations of the colosseum and drowning out the screams of the crowd. The air froze in the lungs of thousands of spectators.

Standing directly behind a horrified Draven was a massive, monstrous reaper draped in tattered black armor and flowing dark robes. In its spectral hands, it wielded a giant, jagged scythe that hummed with pure, unbridled destruction.

Elias glanced over his shoulder at his petrified opponent, his broadsword resting loosely in his grip.

"The show’s over, Draven," Elias said quietly.

The Deathbringer raised its giant scythe high into the air, its dark armor clanking like iron tomb doors, before sweeping the massive blade downward straight toward Draven’s navy blue armor.