The atmosphere in the Colosseum thickened with anticipation as the announcer's voice boomed through the arena. "Now stepping into the battlefield — the nation's top-ranked student for three years running, Braggon Vale's Riven Skorn!"
Cheers erupted like a wave. The crowd had waited to see him. Every student from every district leaned forward. From the elite to the underdogs, all eyes locked on the silver-haired boy walking calmly into the spotlight. No armor, no weapon. Just a loose black uniform and a look of pure indifference.
"And his opponent... Arvellen's very own powerhouse — Thren Ovale!"
The response was strong, but not thunderous. Thren was respected, not idolized. His dark dreadlocks were tied back, and his stance was coiled with tension. He cracked his knuckles, letting the sound echo. A calm storm of muscle, focus, and experience. He knew who he was up against, and he welcomed it.
Kenneth sat with the Velmora team, arms crossed. "This should be interesting."
Zarek nodded beside him. "We've seen what Thren can do. But this... this is Riven Skorn."
Cassian tilted his head slightly. "Transformation, right? What's the big deal?"
Kael, as usual, emotionless, replied flatly, "Not just transformation. Tactical replication of experience. That's more dangerous than raw power."
The signal was given.
Thren dashed in first, wasting no time, his body vibrating slightly as he moved. Every step shattered the ground beneath. Riven stood unmoved. And then — he shifted.
One second Riven was human. The next, he morphed mid-dodge into a great horned owl, wings spanning the air, twisting above the field. Gasps rang out. He hadn't even blocked; he'd simply flown over the attack. Before Thren could react, Riven morphed again — this time into a stone drake. Not a dragon — a heavier, wingless creature, skin jagged with earthen armor. He crashed down with a tremor, forcing Thren back.
"He can just switch like that?" Jaxon muttered.
"Oh, he hasn't even started," Aeron added coldly.
Thren didn't flinch. He tapped into his power — the ground around him vibrating violently. Then — a leap. He soared higher than expected, twisting midair and reinforcing his bones just in time to slam his fists into Riven's draconic skull.
Boom.
Dust exploded upward. The Colosseum floor cracked. The audience screamed as the force rippled out.
But from the smoke, something else emerged — a white tiger now, eyes glowing with feral hunger. Riven, still as calm as ever, rushed forward with animalistic speed. He tore past Thren, landed behind him, and in one seamless motion — transformed into a centaur wielding an energy bow.
Thren turned, vibrating the air to block what he expected was a charge. Instead — arrows. Dozens. Fired in the blink of an eye, each glowing faintly with blue fire.
Thren raised his arms, reinforcing them with bone, bracing.
They hit.
One. Two. Fifteen.
Each arrow exploded on contact. The shock pushed Thren to his knees, smoke curling off his skin. He tried to breathe. His limbs were shaking. "You're... just guessing forms now?"
Riven finally spoke, voice level and unhurried. "No. I'm eliminating styles that would take longer to win."
With that, he shifted into a humanoid wraith — his body half-tangible, sword made of shadow trailing behind him. The whole arena dimmed slightly. The air grew colder.
Thren forced himself up and surged forward in desperation. His body vibrated so fast he was nearly invisible. He unleashed a barrage of reinforced punches — each one strong enough to crater stone. But Riven dodged every strike with minimal movement. He seemed to flow like smoke around Thren's blows, landing glancing slashes that tore away more than just flesh — they seemed to eat away at stamina itself.
The crowd watched in stunned silence.
Zenya Lune from Arvellen stood among her team, a deep frown forming. "He's faster than we thought. He's adapting."
"No," one of her teammates whispered. "He's playing."
Thren tried to backflip away, buying himself a second. He panted, arms bruised and shoulders cut. "You're not winning because you're stronger."
"I'm winning because I fight smarter," Riven replied.
With that, he transformed again — this time into a creature no one recognized. Black fur, glowing red veins, massive claws. A hybrid of a beast from nightmares. It roared — and rushed forward.
One swipe sent Thren spinning. Another cracked his ribs. He managed to block the third, but the sheer weight of the blow launched him into the barrier at the edge of the arena.
Silence.
The barrier shimmered, fizzled... then held.
Thren collapsed, coughing blood, eyes wide. He tried to stand but slumped again. "I… give…"
The match was over.
The crowd erupted. Even students from rival districts couldn't help but clap, some with awe, some with fear.
"Riven Skorn wins! Braggon Vale takes the second victory!"
Kenneth watched as Riven simply walked off the stage, not even acknowledging the cheers. No emotion. Just another day. He didn't offer a hand to Thren, didn't look back.
Aeron leaned slightly toward Cassian. "And that's who we're supposed to face eventually."
Cassian didn't reply. For once, he looked unsure.
Kael blinked once. "Our odds against him are currently below twenty-eight percent."
Jaxon exhaled. "Well… this tournament just got real."
Back in the infirmary, Thren laid on the bed, hand over his chest. "He wasn't unbeatable," he whispered. "But I've never felt so... dissected."
From the shadows of the stands, the Firstborn Prince of the Vampire Kingdom narrowed his eyes. "So that's the human the nation worships," he muttered. "Interesting. But let's see how long their champions shine."
The games had only just begun.