The arena trembled with silence.

Avin leaned forward, his crimson eyes locked on the two figures standing in the center of the black platform. The heat from the earlier battles still shimmered in the air, rising like smoke from a dying fire. All around him, the crowd held its breath. Every heartbeat in the coliseum seemed to sync with the tension below.

Two God-folk stood facing each other.

Seraphine Chrono — crimson hair, calm as a frozen lake.Paul Thorson — tall, proud, veins of lightning crawling faintly across his skin.

Avin's jaw tightened. He could feel the divine mana pulsing off both of them — the blood of gods thick enough to make the air hum.

Seraphine raised her rapier slightly. "Your name?"

Paul had been leaning casually on his sword, the blade's tip still buried in the cracked floor. At her question, he lifted his head with a teasing grin and a faint spark danced across his cheek. He pressed a hand against his chest in mock injury.

"You don't know my name? How hurtful."

Seraphine tsked, lowering her chin. "If I didn't know your name, it means you weren't worth knowing."

Paul chuckled, brushing the dust off his shoulder. "So I'm worth it now?"

She said nothing. Her eyes only sharpened.

Paul sighed dramatically, fingers curling around his blade's hilt. He pulled it from the ground with a slow, ringing scrape that echoed through the stadium.

"My name," he said, spinning the sword once in his hand, lightning gathering around the edge, "is Paul Thorson."

Seraphine tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable.

"And I'm—"

"No need," he cut in, planting one foot forward, his blade poised low beside him. "I already know who you are."

Crimson eyes met storm-blue ones. The air crackled.

Then—they moved.

Paul disappeared first.

One step — and the world flashed white.Seraphine's pupils dilated. Her enhanced vision caught only the faint after-image of his body — a streak of lightning tearing through the air. The ground hissed where he'd been standing.

She pivoted, searching—too late.

The sound of air tearing behind her. She spun, sword half-drawn just as his blade carved toward her head.

Steel whistled past.

She bent backward in a fluid arch, feeling the wind of the swing graze her hair. Her feet hit the ground again, soft and controlled, but in that fraction of a second—she lost him.

Left?Right?No — behind again!

A flicker — the stutter of static. She twisted and swung in a perfect spin, her rapier slicing through the space behind her. The blade hummed through the air—

Clang!

Nothing. Only the faint taste of ozone.

Paul was grinning a few meters away, his sword lazily twirling between his hands like it weighed nothing.

"Oh, you're good," he said, voice light, almost amused. Sparks danced off his armor and vanished into the ground.

Seraphine didn't reply. Her focus was razor-thin, her breathing steady.

Paul spun his sword one more time, then drove it point-first into the earth.

The entire arena erupted in light.

A pillar of lightning split the sky, slamming down onto the platform with a deafening KRAK! The blast lit up the stands, forcing several spectators to shield their eyes.

Seraphine leapt aside, boots skidding across the black surface. But then—another strike. Then another. Dozens rained down in a relentless storm.

Every flash painted her silhouette in stark red and white as she weaved between bolts, her movements graceful, deliberate. Each dodge left scorch marks in her wake.

She realized quickly: this wasn't an attack — it was a cage.

Her crimson eyes flicked toward Paul.

He stood at the heart of the lightning, completely still.The storm coiled around him like a living serpent. His lips moved in silent incantation, his sword glowing brighter and brighter until it seemed to hum in harmony with the thunder.

Her instincts screamed at her.

She stopped moving, dropped into stance, and drew in a long breath.

She sheathed her sword—unsheathed it an inch—and whispered a wordless invocation.

Instantly, everything froze.

The lightning above halted mid-strike. The air turned glassy, still, silent. Time itself refused to move.

The audience's cheers warped into a deep, drawn-out hum. Even the flickers of light trembled, frozen in place like shattered stars.

Seraphine exhaled softly. Her red aura pulsed outward — not violently, but with the authority of inevitability.

And then she saw him.

Paul, mid-chant, lifted his head slowly. His voice echoed through the suspended world like thunder crawling through a tunnel.

"Let us end this."

The words rippled through the frozen silence, breaking it.

The lightning cage shattered, exploding outward in blinding light. Paul's figure reappeared through the haze — changed.

His armor was gone, replaced by arcs of living lightning crawling across his body. His boots sparked with every step; his gloves burned with caged power. The sword in his hand was no longer metal — it was pure energy, vibrating and crackling, leaving a tail of white fire in the air.

He swung it once. The whoosh rolled through the coliseum like a drumbeat that struck every chest.

Seraphine narrowed her eyes.

And then he vanished.

No warning. No step. Just disappearance — instant movement beyond sight.

She didn't bother searching.

She simply sheathed her sword again, aura thickening around her until the air shimmered crimson.

A sound — the flicker of static to her left.

The lightning strike came, cutting through the red haze—only to stop mid-impact, completely still. The light distorted, solidified, and the streak of lightning twisted back into Paul's form, frozen just inches away from her.

For a heartbeat, it was quiet.

Then another lightning bolt fell from the sky, smashing into the ground beside them. The shockwave tore him free from the time lock.

"You think this will work on me?" he growled, the crackling energy of his voice almost drowning out his words.

Seraphine's gaze didn't waver. She exhaled softly, standing upright, sliding her blade fully back into its sheath.

It looked, for a moment, like surrender.

Then she raised her head — and the world trembled.

Behind her, hundreds of small red orbs flickered into existence — each one pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat. They lined the air in neat symmetrical rows, a living constellation of mana.

She pulled her sword free with a single, clean motion.

The orbs fired.

Wave after wave of crimson energy shot toward Paul. The explosions formed a dome of light that painted the whole coliseum red.

Paul's eyes widened, and lightning burst under his feet. He weaved through the projectiles with inhuman speed, slipping between flashes of scarlet like a streak of thunder. The red orbs hit the ground and exploded, blowing chunks of concrete into the air.

But there were too many. He couldn't advance.

He summoned another pillar of lightning, slamming his sword into the floor.The bolt struck downward—only to freeze mid-impact as it met one of Seraphine's spheres, turning solid before dissipating entirely.

He grit his teeth."She's countering my element… with time?"

His breathing grew heavier. He could feel his mana thinning, his lightning dimming. Still, he endured. She'll tire out too, he thought. All I need is a gap.

And the gods, it seemed, heard him.

The spheres began to thin. The rhythm faltered. The red glow dimmed between volleys.

Paul saw the opening. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, lightning exploding under his feet. The shock cracked the arena floor, propelling him like a missile straight through the gap.

He was in front of her before the next heartbeat.Her face was calm.His sword arm moved.

—or tried to.

"What the hell—?"

His muscles refused to respond. He looked down — his wrist was caught in her grip, a small red orb embedded against his skin, spinning slowly.

"But—"

He turned his head.

Seraphine stood there beside him, holding his hand—but she was also in front of him, watching with quiet calm.

"How are there two of you?" he breathed, panic rising in his voice.

Seraphine smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded. "Just because you're frozen in time," she said softly, "doesn't mean time itself has stopped."

He barely processed the words before the glow flared.

One clean motion.

Her sword rose —and fell.

The blade passed through the air with such precision that even the lightning around him flickered and died.

Silence followed.The red aura dissipated.Paul's lightning armor faded, his sword shattering into sparks that rained gently down onto the platform.

He dropped to one knee, then fell completely, unconscious before he hit the ground.

The crowd was silent for a heartbeat—

Then the coliseum erupted.

"TEAM SEVEN HAS WON!"

The announcer's voice boomed across the arena, but Avin barely heard it. He sat still, staring down at the arena, his crimson eyes reflecting the two fallen God-folk — one defeated, one standing proud with her sword at her side, hair fluttering in the faint heat still rising from the platform.

For just a moment,Avin thought he saw the faintest flicker of sadness cross Seraphine's facebefore she turned away.

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