[Day 3 of the Tournament – Semi-Finals]

[Location: The Star-Reach Spire – Headmistress's Office]

Far above the roaring crowds of the Colosseum, the air was silent.

The Star-Reach Spire was the highest point of the Academy, a needle of white stone piercing the clouds.

In the circular office at the summit, Headmistress Astra stood by the window, looking down at the tiny speck of the arena below.

She wasn't alone.

Three figures sat in the shadows of the room. Their features were blurred, not by darkness, but by the sheer density of their aura.

They were the Hidden Guardians, the Academy's true defense system.

"You felt it," one of the shadows rumbled. A voice like grinding tectonic plates.

"The Void and Abyss signature," Astra nodded, her face grim. "It spiked three times. Once near the Iron Mines. Once near the Elven Capital. And now... here."

"The Twilight Association and Obsidian Cult," a second shadow hissed, its voice like wind through dry leaves.

"They are testing the seal. They plan to breach Tartarus during the Finals."

Astra walked to her desk. Lying on the polished mahogany was a scroll.

It wasn't made of paper; it was made of woven shadow mana. It had appeared on her desk that morning, bypassing 9th-Order wards without tripping a single alarm.

"We received a tip," Astra said, tapping the scroll.

"From whom?"

"He calls himself Zero," Astra replied. "He claims to be a savior of sorts. The message is simple."

"The same Zero that turned this world upside down the last 16 years"

She unrolled it. The shadow letters burned in the air:

"You handle the monsters outside. I will handle the rats inside. Do not interfere with the tournament, or you will scare my prey."

The third shadow, a figure wreathed in blue lightning laughed.

"A mortal giving orders to us? We should find this 'Zero' and crush him for his insolence."

"His intel is flawless," Astra countered.

"He gave us the exact coordinates of three Twilight cells. If we move against him, we'll lose our eyes."

She looked back out the window.

"Let the tournament proceed. If the seal breaks... we will be ready."

….........................…..

[Location: The Arena Floor]

The silence of the gods was replaced by the roar of the mob.

"BEGIN!"

Lukas didn't hesitate. He remembered Damien's order.

'Be a bomb.'

He didn't fire needles. He didn't run. He sprinted straight at Prince Nero.

The crowd gasped. A fire mage charging a close-combat specialist? It was suicide.

Nero watched him come. He didn't raise a guard. He didn't draw a sword. He looked disappointed.

"A frontal assault?" Nero sighed. "I expected better."

Lukas closed the gap. Ten meters. Five meters.

Nero raised a hand to flick Lukas away.

'Now!'

Lukas slid on his knees, ducking under the casual wave. He slammed both Salamander Gloves onto the ground, directly between Nero's feet.

"Burn!" Lukas screamed.

He dumped 100% of his mana core into a single burst. He didn't shape it nor did he aim it. He just released it as raw, vibrating thermal energy.

[Blue Flame Art: Flash Boil – Suicide Variant.]

Lukas expected an explosion. He expected the heat to expand, to engulf Nero in a sphere of blue hellfire, even if it burned his own arms off.

But there was no explosion.

There was only a sound like a match being snuffed out. Ffft.

Lukas opened his eyes.

Nero was looking down at him. The Prince's hand was outstretched, palm facing the ground.

A golden aura, bright, heavy, and terrifyingly oppressive, was pressing down on Lukas's fire.

"Heat requires movement," Nero said calmly. "Expansion requires chaos."

Nero's golden eyes glowed.

[Sun Magic: Absolute Order.]

"I deny your chaos."

The blue fire struggling to erupt from Lukas's hands froze.

It was compressed! The golden aura forced the thermal energy back down, crushing it into a tiny, super-dense sphere right against Lukas's palms.

"No..." Lukas gasped. "Let go!"

"You wanted to be a bomb," Nero whispered. "But you forgot one thing. If you are a bomb?"

"Then I am the Sun!"

Nero pushed his hand down an inch.

SIZZLE.

"AAAAAHHHH!"

Lukas screamed as his own fire was forced back into his gloves, overloading the runes and searing the flesh of his hands. Smoke rose from his palms.

But Nero wasn't done.

"You humiliated my classmate," Nero said, his voice devoid of emotion.

"You think you are clever because you know some physics? Or whatever that quack of a teacher Mozart taught you?."

CRACK.

Nero kicked Lukas in the face.

Lukas flipped backward, crashing into the dirt. Blood sprayed from his nose. He tried to crawl away, but Nero walked after him, leisurely, like a man taking a stroll.

"Get up," Nero ordered.

Lukas wheezed, scrambling to his feet. He raised his burned hands, trying to fire a needle.

THWIP.

A weak beam of fire shot out. Nero swatted it away with his bare hand.

THUD.

Nero punched Lukas in the gut.

Lukas folded. He vomited bile and blood onto the arena floor.

"Pathetic," Nero spat. "Is this the 'miracle' of Class F? Is this the best you have?"

Nero grabbed Lukas by the hair and hauled him up. Lukas's legs dragged uselessly.

"Let me show you real fire."

Nero's other hand began to glow. Not blue. Not red. White.

He pressed his glowing palm against Lukas's shoulder.

HISSS.

Lukas threw his head back and screamed, a sound so raw it silenced the entire stadium. The smell of burning fabric and flesh filled the air.

"Yield!" someone screamed from the crowd. "He's killing him!"

Nero pulled his hand back. He let Lukas drop.

Lukas lay in the dust, curling into a ball. He was trembling violently. His hands were charred. His face was broken. His shoulder was branded.

Nero looked up at the VIP box. He looked directly at Damien.

"Is this your strategy, Professor?" Nero called out, his voice amplified by magic.

"To send a sheep to the slaughter? To beg for pity?"

Nero looked back down at Lukas.

"I have no pity for the weak."

He raised his boot. It began to glow with blinding solar mana, heavier and hotter than anything he had used before. He aimed it directly at Lukas's head.

Lukas didn't move. He lay in a widening pool of his own blood, his eyes unfocused, staring blankly at the sky.

Nero brought his heel down.

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