[Timeline: Day 2 of the Tournament – Quarter-Finals]

[Location: The Arena Floor]

The ground shook.

It wasn't an earthquake spell. It was just footsteps.

"FROM CLASS A... THE STEEL JUGGERNAUT, JORAH!"

Jorah walked out of the East Gate. He was massive, standing six-foot-five, nearly matching Alaric in height.

But while Alaric was built like a mountain of raw muscle, Jorah was built like a fortress.

He wore heavy plate armour made of darkened steel, but his skin was the real threat. It had a metallic sheen to it.

[Metal Magic: Iron Body.]

He carried a massive warhammer that looked like it belonged on a siege engine.

"Class F," Jorah grunted, his voice sounding like two stones grinding together.

"I watched your first match. You swatted that fly. Good job."

He slammed his hammer into the ground. BOOM.

"But I am not a fly."

"AND FROM CLASS F... ALARIC THE TITAN!"

Alaric walked out. He dragged The Anvil behind him. The scraping sound was getting familiar to the crowd now, a harbinger of violence.

Alaric stopped ten paces from Jorah. He looked at the metal man. He looked at the warhammer.

"Finally," Alaric said, a genuine smile breaking across his scarred face.

"Something that won't break."

"BEGIN!"

There was no strategy. There was no maneuvering.

Both giants charged.

The crowd gasped as two tons of combined weight and armor collided in the center of the arena.

CLANG!

Alaric swung The Anvil horizontally. Jorah swung his warhammer.

The weapons met in the middle. The sound was deafening—a high-pitched ring that shattered glass in the lower rows.

A shockwave of condensed air blasted outward, kicking up a ring of dust.

Neither of them moved backward.

"Heavy," Alaric grunted, his boots sliding an inch backward in the dirt.

"Weak," Jorah retorted.

Jorah pushed forward. His Metal Magic reinforced his muscles with hydraulic pressure. He shoved Alaric back.

[Metal Magic: Steel Avalanche.]

Jorah unleashed a flurry of hammer strikes.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Alaric blocked with the flat of his sword. Each hit vibrated through his bones.

The Titan's Capacitor in his chest thumped wildly, absorbing the kinetic energy, but Jorah was strong. Class A strong.

"Is that all you have?" Jorah roared, landing a heavy blow on Alaric's shoulder.

Alaric stumbled. The armor on his shoulder crumpled like tin foil.

"You rely on your skin!" Jorah shouted. "But steel is harder than skin!"

Jorah swung for Alaric's head.

Alaric didn't dodge rather he headbutted the hammer.

DONG.

The sound was like a church bell ringing.

Jorah froze. "What?"

Alaric stood there, a trickle of blood running down his forehead, but his skull was intact. His eyes were burning with adrenaline.

"My turn," Alaric whispered.

He didn't swing his sword.

He stepped inside Jorah's guard and grabbed the Class A student by the waist.

[Titan Art: Seismic Suplex.]

Alaric lifted the 300-pound armored juggernaut into the air as if he were a bag of feathers. He arched his back and slammed Jorah into the stone floor.

CRASH.

The arena floor cracked. Jorah gasped, the wind knocked out of him.

But Jorah didn't stay down. His skin glowed silver. [Metal Magic: Mercury Flow].

He turned his body rigid, ignoring the pain, and kicked Alaric in the chest, sending the giant skidding back.

Jorah stood up, laughing.

"You can't hurt me! I am living metal! Blunt force just ripples through me!"

In the VIP box, Damien nodded.

"Jorah is right. Hitting metal just spreads the impact. You can't crush him."

"Then how does he win?" Duke Vane asked, nursing his headache.

"If you can't crush a piece of metal," Damien said, "you drive it."

Back in the arena, Alaric picked up The Anvil.

He looked at Jorah. He realized that swinging sideways was useless. Jorah was too stable.

'He's a nail,' Alaric thought. 'A big, stubborn nail.'

"Hey, Metal Man," Alaric called out.

Jorah raised his hammer. "Ready to give up?"

Alaric shifted his grip. He didn't hold the sword like a baseball bat this time. He held it vertically, tip pointing down.

"No," Alaric said, relaxing his shoulders. "I'm just going to do some construction."

Alaric charged.

Jorah braced himself. "Come on! I am immovable!"

Alaric didn't swing at Jorah instead he jumped.

It was a terrifying sight. Three hundred pounds of muscle leaping ten feet into the air.

Alaric reached the apex of his jump. He brought The Anvil down in a vertical smash, using gravity, his weight, and the Titan Capacitor's stored charge to accelerate the drop.

[Titan Art: Pile Driver.]

Jorah raised his hammer to block overhead.

CLANG.

The impact drove Jorah's feet six inches into the stone floor.

"Ngh!" Jorah grunted, his knees buckling. "Is that it?"

Alaric landed. He didn't stop. He lifted the sword and smashed it down again instantly.

CLANG.

Jorah sank to his shins.

"Wait—" Jorah gasped.

CLANG.

To his knees.

CLANG.

To his waist.

Alaric was pounding him into the earth like a fence post. The sheer, repeated downward force gave Jorah no way to disperse the energy.

He couldn't slide back. He couldn't roll. He could only go down.

"Stop!" Jorah yelled, realizing he was trapped in the rock. "I can't move!"

Alaric raised The Anvil for one final, massive strike. The blade glowed red with friction heat.

"One more for luck," Alaric grunted.

BOOM.

The final hit didn't strike Jorah. It struck the ground right in front of his face.

The shockwave shattered the surrounding stone, burying Jorah up to his neck in rubble and dust.

The Class A student was effectively planted in the arena floor, only his helmeted head visible.

Alaric exhaled, steam rising from his shoulders. He rested his sword on the ground.

He leaned down to look at Jorah's face.

"You're right," Alaric said. "You are immovable."

Jorah tried to wiggle. He was cemented in place.

"I yield!" Jorah muffled through his helmet. "Get me out of here!"

"WINNER: ALARIC OF CLASS F!"

….............…..

[Location: Class S Suite]

Prince Nero watched the screen. He wasn't breaking glasses anymore. He was perfectly still.

"He didn't try to break the armour," Nero whispered. "He used vertical force to restrict his mobility, burying him instantly"

Vance, who was nursing his burns, looked terrified. "How do we beat them, Prince? They seem to counter everything."

Nero didn't answer. He looked at the monitor showing the results of Match 4.

The screen showed Prince Nero vs. The Berserker. Duration: 12 Seconds. Result: Victory.

Nero had walked into the arena, dodged a single axe swing, and touched the Berserker's chest with a spell so fast the cameras barely caught it.

The Berserker had collapsed instantly, his mana flow paralyzed.

Nero stood up. He walked to the window, looking down at the three victors of Class F standing in the arena.

Lukas (Fire/Physics). Elena (Dual Affinity). Alaric (Titan).

"They are strong," Nero admitted. "But they are tired. Look at them."

He pointed.

Lukas was chugging another mana potion, his hands shaking. Elena was holding her shoulder. Alaric was limping slightly.

"They have shown all their cards," Nero said, his golden eyes glowing. "I haven't shown any of mine."

He turned to the door.

"SEMI-FINALS MATCHUP ANNOUNCED!"

The screen flashed.

[Semi-Final 1: Prince Nero (Class S) vs. Lukas (Class F)]

[Semi-Final 2: Alaric (Class F) vs. Elena (Class F)]

Vance frowned. "Wait. Shouldn't Lukas fight Elena based on the bracket?"

Nero smiled, a cruel, political smile.

"The Academy reseeds the semi-finals to 'ensure the best possible matchups.' Or rather... to ensure Class F destroys itself."

He looked at the screen.

"Civil war," Nero said. "Perfect. By the time I fight the winner of Alaric and Elena, they will be exhausted and heartbroken. And as for Lukas..."

Nero cracked his knuckles.

"I will extinguish him."

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