The arena had descended into complete chaos.
Magic detonated in waves. Cries, curses, and the sound of stone fracturing under elemental fury echoed beneath the fading dome of light.
The floating terrain had grown even more unstable—platforms crumbling, rising, shifting, as the very fabric of the battlefield bent under the strain of so many unleashed abilities.
There were only a handful of us left now.
I was still sprawled atop a cracked floating slab of stone, drifting steadily just under the dome ceiling.
Too far to leap, too wounded to try.
One orb left. Cracked.
5 minutes left on the clock. My clothes were soaked and tattered, my ribs a symphony of pain, and my breath left in short bursts as I stared down at the madness below.
I counted them again, just to be sure:
Selene Vaelthorn. Cassia Virelle Duskmoor. Justin Bridge. Thalia Renwild. Glory Prairie. Valois Laurent. Liora Evermist. Marco Theron Gravesbane. Nyra Rhend.
And two more students I hadn't quite memorized before: Juno Ashwing, a windwalker from Tenaria, and Rikkan Drol, a rugged mountain-born from Dur-Golheim with earth enchantments running through his skin like veins of molten ore.
Eleven.
And then there was me. Watching from above.
Juno and Rikkan fell first.
Their duel against Liora Evermist had started almost comically—both of them confident, rushing the silver-haired fairy as if she were just another target. Poor bastards.
Liora danced between them like she was choreographing lightning.
Wings of translucent frost flared behind her as she snapped her hands forward, sending twin arcs of freezing wind across the stone bridge they fought upon.
Juno vaulted upward, using the winds to stay aloft.
Rikkan slammed his foot into the ground, sending a shockwave through the bridge that cracked the foundation.
But Liora barely moved. She lifted a hand and summoned a mirror of ice before her face.
It shattered a second later into hundreds of tiny glassy shards—each one finding its way toward her opponents.
Juno cried out as her shoulder was slashed.
Rikkan bellowed, raising a wall of rock to defend, but Liora vanished.
Blink.
She reappeared behind him, fingers glowing with frost.
She struck his back with a sharp jab, and his second orb cracked with a visible ripple of light.
Another blink, another sharp cry—Juno's last orb shattered in mid-air, and her body flickered with teleport light.
"Told you two," Liora muttered, brushing dust from her arm.
"I'm not just some glitter with wings."
Rikkan went down seconds later, pulled beneath the water by Liora's summoned frost vines that solidified around his legs.
His last orb shattered with a dull boom, and he blinked out, roaring in frustration.
Down to nine.
Marco Theron Gravesbane was, against all odds, still standing.
He had used a floating door as a raft (Where in the name of all elements did he get a door?), and was now paddling madly with his legendary spoon across the flooded basin.
Selene Vaelthorn was unimpressed.
She appeared beside him without a sound.
Marco flinched. "Oh. It's *you.*"
She looked at him, then looked at the spoon.
"You amuse me," she said flatly.
Marco grinned. "And you intrigue me, dark princess of vengeance.
But alas, this is where our love story ends."
She didn't respond. She just raised her hand.
He flung an icicle at her face.
She didn't dodge.
The icicle shattered against her.
Then she raised her hand again and touched his chest.
A flash of light. A scream of air pressure.
Marco's body bent like a reed before being flung twenty meters through the sky, skipping across three platforms like a flat stone across a lake.
He rose, coughing blood, blinking.
"Okay... okay... that was rude."
Selene stepped forward. Two meters above the platform.
Still floating.
Marco's eyes widened.
"You float too? Seriously? That's not even fair."
He threw a storm of freezing daggers.
She waved a hand.
They disintegrated.
And then she was in front of him.
She blinked once.
A needle-thin lance of blood-red light lanced toward him.
Marco dodged—barely—and screamed as the stone beneath him split.
"LASERS?"
"Now you're just cheating"
Another blink. Selene was behind him.
With a single open palm strike, she shattered his orb with a flick.
Marco spiraled through the air, flickering with teleport light.
As the light engulfed him, Marco grinned and pointed dramatically.
"Tell my fans I loved them,"
"Tell my story!" he called as he vanished.
"Let the world know I almost won!"
"And someone find my left boot. I think I kicked it at a shark."
Down to eight.
Cassia Virelle Duskmoor found Liora next.
Their clash was carnage.
Cassia launched herself off a crumbling pillar with a manic grin, eyes glowing like twin moons, and blood on her lips that was definitely not hers.
Her once long crimson gown which was now short flared behind her like wings as she spun mid-air, landing on the same platform Liora stood upon.
"You glitter too much," Cassia said, tone mocking.
"Makes it hard to take you seriously."
Liora narrowed her eyes. "And you talk too much."
What followed was chaos.
Liora summoned a wave of crystal spears.
Cassia danced through them, her movement fluid and erratic, like a fever dream with blades.
She used her vampiric speed to get in close, aiming kicks and elbow strikes in a whirl of motion.
Liora took to the sky, wings buzzing like a storm, but Cassia hurled a shard of obsidian into the air—piercing one wing. Liora dropped.
Cassia was already there.
She moved in bursts—fast, sharp, erratic.
Her twin daggers spun like ribbons, slashing through illusions.
Liora responded with a barrier, but Cassia rolled under it, kicked her in the ribs.
Liora retaliated with a sphere of condensed starlight.
Cassia laughed and hurled herself into it.
She emerged singed, but still smiling.
"That tickled."
She spun, lashed Liora across the face. Her orb cracked.
Liora blasted her with a gale-force wave, pushing her back, then launched into a flurry of quick strikes.
Cassia took one, two, three hits, then vanished in a shadow blink.
She appeared behind Liora.
"Boo."
A knife in the back.
Liora's final orb finally shattered.
"Ugh," she muttered, fading away. "At least I'm still prettier."
Cassia bowed dramatically to no one.
Seven.
Selene moved in silence.
She found Thalia Renwild near the base of a ruined archway, separated from Justin.
Thalia raised her halberd, preparing to defend, but Selene was already gone.
Blink.
A single strike to the chest.
Her last orb cracked even more.
Thalia spun, slashing wildly. Another blink. Selene reappeared at her side.
"You're strong," Selene said.
"Yield,"
Thalia gritted her teeth. "I'm not afraid of you."
"That's unfortunate."
Thalia launched a dozen stone spears.
Selene stepped through them. Literally.
Her body shifted into moonlight and emerged past them all.
A single open palm thrust into Thalia's gut, a palm to the neck.
Her orb finally shattered.
Thalia collapsed to her knees, panting.
She looked up as the teleport shimmer took hold.
She smiled faintly. "Tell Justin to win."
Then she vanished, hair trailing behind her like a comet.
Six.
Somewhere below my drifting perch of stone and silence—chaos took on a new form.
Nyra Rhend, the lean, silver-backed werewolf girl, crouched low on all fours atop a curved slab of floating earth.
Steam coiled from her back like heat rising off a blade just pulled from the forge.
Her eyes weren't red or gold like most of her kind—they were a calm, lethal steel-gray.
And they locked onto Justin Bridge like a predator watching prey that just didn't know it yet.
Justin stood on the opposite slab—elevated, calm, his silver and navy coat fluttering in the salt-laced wind.
His blade was drawn, but low. He looked almost... hesitant. Not out of fear.
Out of respect.
Nyra grinned.
"You really think that little toy can keep up with me?"
Then she launched.
The platform cracked under her departure.
A blur of muscle, claws, and momentum—Nyra twisted midair and came down on Justin like a lightning bolt shaped like a girl.
His blade snapped up just in time, and a blast of sparks erupted as claw met steel.
But Nyra wasn't done. She bounced off his guard, landed behind him, and her leg shot out in a low spinning kick that forced Justin to stumble back across the slab.
She was moving like something out of a nightmare—fluid, fast, unpredictable.
But Justin was no pushover.
He used the momentum, pivoted mid-stumble, and slammed his blade downward into the platform. Runes glowed.
The slab detonated upward, forcing Nyra into the air.
He met her mid-leap.
A clean upward slash—just enough to clip the orb on her left hip.
It cracked with a sharp shudder.
Fracture lines glowing bright amber.
She snarled, grabbed his wrist mid-air, bit his shoulder—Justin hissed in pain—but then spun with her entire bodyweight and hurled her across the basin like a comet.
Nyra twisted mid-flight, dug her claws into a rising stone platform, and rode it down like a beast on a falling meteor.
She landed in a crouch, blood on her teeth, and laughed.
"Now that's more like it."
Justin adjusted his grip. One shoulder was bleeding—he didn't seem to care.
She came again, faster this time.
Her claws scraped arcs of silver across the space between them.
Justin deflected, parried, ducked under a sweeping crescent slash—and then drove his knee into her gut.
It knocked the wind out of her. The follow-up was ruthless.
His blade flicked up once—tap, another fracture line.
Twice—crack, the orb now looked like spiderglass.
And the third strike was a heavy overhead slash that didn't touch her skin—but the impact struck true.
Her final orb shattered with a shiver of golden light and sparks.
The signal of elimination.
She was already fading in fragments of shimmer and teleport light—but she didn't look disappointed.
She just grinned, panting, blood in her mouth, eyes still sharp.
"I want a rematch," she said with a rasp.
Then she was gone.
Justin exhaled, rolled his wounded shoulder, and whispered, "Fair enough."
Down to five.
Glory Prairie and Valois Laurent were still at it.
Their fight had carried them across four different platforms, two falling trees, and a floating chunk of a ruined staircase.
Valois, ever the duelist, moved with cold elegance, parrying with his twin blades.
Their battle was brutal. Blood, sweat, and sheer pride.
Glory faked left, rolled under a high slash, and drove her elbow into his ribs.
One blade dropped.
Valois hissed, but countered with a knee. Glory staggered, eyes burning.
"Your brother fought well," Valois muttered. "Hope you do better."
Glory snarled.
Valois blurred—sidestepping the concussive blast by a hair—but his coat whipped violently behind him.
She was already on him, hurling another spell like a lance of compressed wind.
He ducked and twisted, eyes gleaming.
"You'll forgive me for the comparison.
But you and your brother fight with the same anger.
Same glint in the eyes.
Same refusal to kneel."
His twin blades crossed to catch her next spell, sparks screaming against the steel.
"You're mistaking fury for resolve," she snapped.
"We're not the same."
"You're right," he said smoothly. "He's quieter."
Glory didn't reply. Not yet. Her hands were glowing—raw, red magic swirling at her fingertips like captured storms.
He chuckled.
"No witty comeback?"
He took a languid step forward. "You must really be furious."
Her response came with action.
The air in front of her shimmered—and a blast of concussive force erupted outward like a silent scream.
Valois crossed both blades in an X, barely bracing in time as the wave slammed into him, sending his boots skidding backward across the stone.
Glory didn't stop.
She twisted her body, spun, and threw a sharp arc of raw kinetic energy straight at his head.
He ducked—barely.
The spell carved a trench across the wall behind him.
She followed it up with a volley—four quick darts of compressed wind magic, thin as blades.
He batted away two. One grazed his coat.
The fourth pierced into his left shoulder.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he grinned.
"Ah. There it is."
He blurred forward.
One of his blades went low, the other high—Glory ducked under the first and caught the second with a half-raised barrier of violet light.
Sparks screamed against it. The pressure of his strike forced her to her knees.
"You're better than expected," he murmured, pressing down.
"But do you know what your problem is, little twin of Eden?"
"I'm the Eldest," she growled.
Valois leaned close.
"You're both trying to protect something you don't understand.
Him from the world. You... from yourself."
She roared—her hands flaring.
A burst of telekinetic force blew him back a meter.
Then she reached for the ring on her finger—a simple gold band etched with tiny runes.
She twisted it once.
Fwoom.
A long, silver blade emerged in a shimmer of blue light, materializing out of compressed space.
The hilt fit her hand like it had always been there.
Valois's smile widened. "Ah... there she is."
Glory didn't waste time.
She lunged—magic pulsing through her limbs—and brought the sword down in a heavy, radiant arc.
Valois met it with both blades in a crossing block.
Clang.
The sound rang like a cathedral bell.
He pivoted, tried to counter with a horizontal slash, but Glory anticipated it.
She danced back, brought her blade up in a rising diagonal that carved across his torso—his coat finally tore.
Blood blossomed at the edge of the wound, faint but real.
They collided again.
Steel rang. Sparks flew.
Glory spun, ducked, elbowed him in the ribs and brought the pommel of her sword down hard against his wrist.
One of his twin blades clattered across the stone and fell into the void.
Valois retaliated with a roundhouse kick that sent her staggering.
"You're not bad with a blade," he admitted, voice breathless now.
"But you still lack refinement."
Glory narrowed her eyes.
"You talk too much."
She came at him with a scream—steel now glowing with kinetic energy.
Valois parried, but the blow forced him back.
His cracked orb flared in warning.
One more—
She twisted her hips, turned the momentum of the last swing into a reverse backhand that smashed against his left flank.
He blocked again, but she'd expected that—her next strike came upward, brutal, precise, and she slammed the flat of her blade against the weakened orb on his waste.
CRACK.
The orb erupted with a scream of silver light. Shards scattered like ice underfoot.
Valois staggered back.
One orb remaining.
And it was still intact—for now.
He raised his hand, brushing a cut from the side of his mouth, and then did something rare.
He laughed.
Deep. Low. Unsettling.
"I take it back," he said, eyes now glowing faintly red, teeth faintly lengthening.
"You're nothing like him.
You're better at hiding the monster."
"I'm not hiding anything," she said, panting, gripping her sword tight.
"You're just not fast enough to see it."
Valois grinned—and vanished.
A flicker. A blur.
Glory turned, barely in time, and parried the saber that came for her throat.
CLANG.
He struck again. Faster.
And again.
And again.
The prince was no longer toying with her.
His attacks became flurries, elegant and wild.
His shadow bent strangely now, extending past his feet—twisting in unnatural ways.
One hand sang with darkness, the other with light.
Glory was on the defensive—forced to conjure shield after shield, blinking backward across the battlefield.
He was pushing her hard now.
"You know what I think?"
he whispered between strikes, voice like silk over thorns.
"You fight like someone terrified of what you could become.
Like you're hoping the sword is enough."
He knocked her guard wide, slipped in close, and elbowed her hard in the stomach.
She coughed. Her grip faltered.
"But it won't be."
She drove her forehead into his nose.
Valois reeled—cursing.
Then she conjured a rune midair and detonated it between them.
Both of them were flung in opposite directions.
She hit the ground on her back, hard, gasping.
He landed in a low crouch, blood now staining his chin, coat torn open down the front.
His orb flickered ominously—still intact, but under threat.
They stared at each other, matching expressions of grim exhaustion.
Glory finally spoke.
"You think I'm scared of who I could become?"
She rose, blade dragging beside her.
"No. I'm scared of what'll happen when I don't."
Valois licked the blood from his lip.
"You sound just like him again."
"And you keep talking."
The ground beneath them buckled.
He swept wind under her footing, making her slip.
Then he slashed toward her face—only for her to drop entirely and counter with a rising pulse of kinetic force that detonated point-blank.
As the winds cleared from their last strike, a ripple of shadows peeled back across the stones like ink bleeding into water.
A faint scent of roses and grave dust clung to the air.
Valois turned—ever so slightly—as Selene stepped onto the battlefield, her silver eyes glowing like moonlight off still water.
Her clothes fluttered gently, untouched by the wind, as if she walked through the world at her own pace.
"I'm not here for banter," she said coolly, brushing a fleck of blood off her lip.
"One of you needs to fall."
Cassia landed half a second later like she meant to crack the arena.
She somersaulted in midair, landed hard on one knee with her hands flared out for balance, and grinned wide enough to make a priest flinch.
"Oh hell yes, we're doing this now?" she cackled.
Her crimson eyes gleamed with that same lunatic joy that preceded bad decisions and beautiful violence.
"About time."
Valois barely shifted his stance.
But he smiled.
And it was sharp.
"I like this one," he murmured, flicking his eyes toward Cassia.
She lunged.
Twin daggers swept for his throat, gleaming with corrupted vampiric magic.
He twisted just in time—one blade missed his head by half an inch.
His wind-blade parried the other with a screech of steel-on-steel.
"Down, kitty," he said dryly.
"Oh you wish."
The next to appear was Justin Bridge—and he didn't arrive.
He charged. One foot after the other, a streak of blue light and fury as his enchanted boots sent out little arcs of lightning with each stomp.
His sword still gleamed, and his stance was pure knight.
He stood there, jaw tight, eyes scanning all of them.
So there they were. Five.
My sister with her long sword still gripped tight, half-panting, aura flickering with exhaustion but spirit blazing bright.
Valois, coat in tatters, his last orb flickering a little like a dying star, blades ready—grinning.
Cassia, crouched low, licking blood off her wrist like a promise.
Selene, calm and waiting. Patient. Calculating.
Justin, the immovable wall. Sword in one hand.
Breathing slow and controlled.
They didn't speak.
Not for a heartbeat.
Just circled slowly, eyes flicking between each other. No one wanted to make the first mistake.
Because the moment someone struck—The dam would break.
And I watched it all. From above.
I was still on that damn slab of rock.
Clinging to it like it owed me money.
My ribs were still busted from the last time I "lightly tapped" Valois in the ribs and got yeeted across half the arena for my trouble.
My left leg twitched when I breathed too hard.
And every part of my body screamed something between lie down and die or crawl to the nearest exit and file for medical leave.
But down there?
Those five were about to tear each other apart.
And I wasn't invited.
Not acceptable.
So I stood up.
Cracked my neck. Cracked my knuckles.
Regretted both.
Looked down at the drop.
It was... really far.
Like, stupidly far.
Like "I'd break my ankles if I didn't already break half my body earlier" kind of far.
And yet.
"Well," I muttered.
"Here goes nothing."
I focused. I'd recovered a little mana.
Not enough for Veil Teleportation—because you know, sanity and soul shattering weren't on to-do list for now.
But enough for a boost.
So I leapt.
Straight off the boulder.
I became a human projectile.
Air screamed past me.
My hoodie flapped like I was a goth parachute.
My cracked orb rattled somewhere around my waste.
I was now terminal velocity plummeting toward a group of high-tier murder-children.
Did I have a plan?
No.
Then why was I falling toward five of the most dangerous students in the Battle Royale?
I had no fucking idea.