The air in the arena still crackled with tension as Aston stepped off the field. His victory had not silenced the crowd—it had only stoked them hotter.

But the announcer's voice didn't wait. The quarterfinals marched on.

"Quarterfinal Match Five! Genevieve Ortega of the Spirit Combat Division versus Vivianne Clairmont, also of Spirit Combat!"

The crowd stirred. Both girls were well-known among their Division—Vivianne for her iron defense, Genevieve for her cold precision.

From the east gate, Genevieve emerged with quiet focus, dark eyes locked forward, her hand brushing against the sleek shadow at her side. Umbra, her Shadow Strider, padded with silent grace, its black fur blending with the dim corners of the arena. Its eyes glowed faintly, an eerie contrast to the sunlight overhead.

From the west gate came Vivianne, her stride bold, her expression confident in contrast to her bookish appearance. Beside her thundered the emerald bulk of the Verdant Bulwark Beetle. Its carapace gleamed like living jade, enormous wings clattering faintly against its shell as it stomped into place.

The crowd erupted—roaring for the clash of predator and fortress.

The referee cut through the noise. "Begin!"

—

The beetle charged first, emerald shell low, wings buzzing. Dust plumed beneath its legs as it barreled forward, horn angled to drive Umbra into the ground.

Genevieve didn't flinch. "Shadowmeld."

Umbra flickered into the shadows, its body dissolving against the arena floor. The beetle's horn gored only empty air, stone cracking under the weight of its strike.

The beast's eyes darted, confused.

Genevieve's voice was calm, almost icy. "Now."

Umbra reappeared at its flank, jaws dripping with dark energy.

"Void Fang!"

Its fangs sank deep into the beetle's joint, bypassing armor in a burst of shadowlight. The Verdant Bulwark Beetle screeched, emerald plates trembling. A black mark spread outward from the wound, weakening its defenses.

Vivianne's expression hardened. "Hold your ground! Guard up!"

The beetle stomped, carapace glowing as it braced. But Umbra had already vanished again, slipping between flickers of shadow.

The audience leaned forward, straining to follow the dance.

Vivianne barked, "Counter with Shell Slam!"

The beetle reared and smashed down, shattering stone—but Umbra darted aside, phasing into darkness again. Its fangs gleamed once more, this time tearing at the beetle's underbelly.

Black marks layered one after another, weakening the fortress's vaunted defenses.

Vivianne shouted in frustration, "Stay steady! Don't falter!"

But the beetle's movements slowed. Its emerald glow flickered. Armor cracked where no strike should have pierced.

Genevieve raised her hand, her command cold and precise. "Finish it."

Umbra's eyes glowed brighter, body melting into the beetle's own shadow. In one swift motion, it emerged atop its prey, fangs burying deep into the neck joint. The shadow mark pulsed—then detonated in a ripple of dark essence.

The beetle collapsed with a groan, its armor fractured. Vivianne dropped to one knee, reaching for her beast, but the referee's hand shot up.

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"Winner—Genevieve Ortega!"

The arena roared in shock. The fortress had fallen—not by brute force, but by shadows biting where armor was weakest.

Genevieve gave no bow, no smile. She simply called Umbra back to her side, dark eyes unflinching as she walked from the field.

—

"Quarterfinal Match Six! Alain Price of Spirit Alchemy versus Chris Dadess of Scouting Arts!"

The duel was brisk. Alain's cauldron beast unleashed waves of corrosive mists, each strike calculated. Chris tried to counter with speed and traps, but the mist corroded every advantage. Within minutes, Chris's beast collapsed, coughing in acid burns.

"Winner—Alain Price!"

The Alchemy Division cheered, voices proud. Another alchemist stood in the semifinals.

—

The announcer's voice boomed, shaking the coliseum walls.

"Quarterfinal Match Seven! Dai Micho of the Spirit Combat Division versus Lyra Yves of the Scouting Arts Division!"

The crowd erupted. Combat Division chants roared for Dai, while a smaller but fierce chorus cheered Lyra's name.

Lyra strode into the arena, her posture bold though her eyes betrayed the pressure. Beside her padded Chill, the Frost Treading Lynx. Its sleek, pale fur rippled with every step, eyes glinting like shards of ice. Frost clung to its paws, a faint chill spreading wherever it walked.

From the opposite gate, Dai Micho stormed in, gripping a heavy-bladed sword. At his side prowled his plated Warhound, a beast as broad as it was vicious. Armor-like hide gleamed dully, its maw sparking with embers. It growled, flames licking its teeth, the embodiment of raw aggression.

The referee's hand shot up. "Begin!"

Chill moved first. In a blur of pale fur, it leapt aside, snow-dust trailing its paws though there was no snow in the arena.

"Ice Dart Volley!" Lyra shouted.

The lynx's mouth opened in a sharp hiss, releasing a flurry of ice darts that streaked toward the Warhound. They struck its armor in rapid succession, shards exploding on contact, leaving faint trails of frost. The Warhound staggered, its gait slowed, legs stiffening under the frostbite's sting.

"Push him!" Lyra's voice rose with hope.

But Dai only grinned savagely. "Flame Maw!"

The Warhound roared, fire erupting from its jaws. A cone of searing heat blasted across the field, melting ice darts midair and forcing Chill to leap back. The lynx landed gracefully, but its paws smoked where flames had licked the ground.

The crowd howled with approval.

Lyra clenched her fists. Too direct. Keep moving, Chill.

The lynx shimmered, its fur shifting to match the rocky terrain—Winter's Guise. For a moment, it seemed to vanish, blending seamlessly into the broken stone.

"Where are you hiding?" Dai taunted, swinging his sword down. His Warhound sniffed, growling low, embered eyes tracking.

Then Chill struck—darting from the flank, claws raking across the Warhound's shoulder. Frost spread instantly from the wound, slowing its foreleg.

The Warhound snarled, but Chill was already gone, slipping into camouflage again. The crowd gasped at the flash of speed.

Dai's grin faltered. "Enough games. Crush it!"

The Warhound slammed its forelegs down, sending cracks racing across the stone. Flames burst upward in sudden eruptions, forcing Chill to reappear as it dodged, narrowly avoiding a fiery geyser.

Lyra shouted, "Chill—again! Volley!"

The lynx hissed, another storm of ice darts lashing into the Warhound's chest. Armor cracked, shards of frost sinking deeper this time. The Warhound faltered, its breath wheezing.

The Scouting Division cheered wildly, sensing a turnaround.

But Dai only bared his teeth. "End it."

The Warhound's body ignited fully, flames wreathing its entire form. It lunged, a flaming juggernaut, ignoring frost and pain. Chill tried to slip aside, paws gliding silent as snow, but the fire-beast matched its speed, anticipation fueled by fury.

"Flame Maw—point-blank!"

The Warhound caught Chill mid-leap, its jaws clamping down across the lynx's flank. Fire erupted in a brutal detonation, engulfing both beasts in searing light.

Lyra screamed, "Chill!"

When the flames cleared, Chill tumbled across the ground, its fur scorched, frost aura flickering weakly. The lynx staggered once, twice—then collapsed, unconscious.

The referee's voice cracked through the arena. "Winner—Dai Micho!"

The Combat Division roared in triumph, their chants shaking the stands. Dai raised his sword in victory, his Warhound snarling with smoke curling from its fangs.

Lyra rushed to Chill's side, cradling the lynx's burned body. The healers were already moving, but her face was tight with anguish. She refused to look at Dai.

From the tunnel, Aston's fists clenched. He had never seen Lyra's fire dim like that. And yet, for the first time, the crowd saw her not as reckless—but as someone who had stood against fury itself and nearly broken through.

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