The roar of the Colosseum of Caelora reached its absolute peak as the referee raised Elara's hand high into the air.
"Elara of Kozto!"
Her name echoed across the massive arena, shouted by tens of thousands of spectators until the crystal pillars surrounding the battlefield trembled from the sheer force of the celebration.
Yet amidst that glory, the victor herself felt the world spinning around her.
Elara collapsed to her knees, gasping heavily as her staff slipped from fingers that no longer possessed the strength to hold it.
The use of Lumen Cascade, amplified by the energy of the Bardfish Egg, had drained every last fragment of mana from the depths of her soul—
for the second time that day.
On the opposite side of the arena, Noah of Aquaris was in no better condition.
The Merfolk prince sat against the cracked ruins of the arena wall, breathing heavily while the waters surrounding him slowly receded. In his human form, his stamina had limits no matter how extraordinary his power was.
The final battle had forced him to push Abyssal Sword beyond its natural threshold.
Even so, he looked toward Elara with nothing but genuine respect in his eyes.
But then—
The joy of the audience abruptly died.
A terrifying anomaly spread across the arena.
The temperature plummeted sharply.
A rotten stench crept through the air from the direction of the players' corridor—a faint yet unmistakable scent of death that Fenrath Moongrim had already detected long before.
From the darkness emerged a figure who should have been under medical treatment after his defeat.
Lurk Sisilia.
Earlier, within the waiting chambers, the prince of Sisilia had fallen into complete despair.
For someone raised upon pride and ambition, defeat before thousands of spectators was humiliation beyond endurance.
And within that shattered state—
Numrath's whispers had reached him.
Dark promises.
Promises of power beyond light.
Promises of victory that would never fade.
Lurk had not resisted.
He had allowed the dark-purple Demon Aether to seep into his heart.
Now he walked into the arena once more.
His eyes no longer resembled human eyes.
Only horrifying violet light remained within them.
Every step he took left black fractures spreading across the marble beneath his feet.
The aura surrounding him no longer belonged to a skilled swordsman.
It was ancient.
Corrupted.
Monstrous.
"This victory…" Lurk growled, his voice layered with an unnatural metallic distortion, "should never have belonged to you."
Without warning—
he vanished.
His speed surpassed human limits entirely.
Dark mana exploded outward as a gigantic black greatsword materialized within his grasp—a twisted and corrupted form of his Forge Arsenal technique.
His target was obvious.
Elara.
Still kneeling.
Still defenseless.
"Elara! Run!"
Sylveras shouted from the spectator stands.
He leapt over the railing instantly, but even he knew he would never reach the center of the arena in time.
Just before the black blade descended—
two shadows intercepted Lurk's attack.
Kael Bereneth instantly encased his body in dense layers of stone.
"Gaia Form!"
Beside him, Drestan reacted purely on instinct. His skin hardened as shining dragon scales erupted across his body.
"Dragon Scale!"
Both of them unleashed their strongest defensive techniques without hesitation.
Not to win.
Not to fight back.
Only to protect their companion.
But Lurk—
now corrupted by Demon Aether—
released a level of power that defied reason.
BRAKKK!!!
The collision sounded like a mountain collapsing.
Kael's stone armor shattered instantly into fragments.
Drestan's dragon scales cracked apart as though they were fragile glass.
The demonic impact created a devastating shockwave that snapped the bones in both of their arms simultaneously.
The horrifying sound of breaking bones echoed throughout the silent arena.
Kael and Drestan were hurled dozens of meters away before crashing violently into the arena walls.
Both fell unconscious instantly.
Severely wounded.
They had sacrificed themselves merely to buy everyone else a few precious seconds.
Watching from afar, Sylveras felt his entire world collapse.
Lurk slowly raised his weapon again.
This time, the murderous intent surrounding him became undeniable.
But before the corrupted prince could strike Elara down—
a silver blur descended from above with terrifying speed.
Fenrath Moongrim had moved.
The Sage tore away his robe as he leapt from the council balcony.
Midair, his body transformed.
Silver fur erupted across expanding muscles.
His bones shifted violently as sharp fangs emerged beneath glowing eyes.
Humanoid Werewolf.
A monstrous silver beast landed directly before Elara and caught Lurk's gigantic blade with a single clawed hand.
"The stench of your corruption has been fouling this arena for quite some time, arrogant child," Fenrath growled.
His voice shook the very pillars of the Colosseum.
Then—
with terrifying reflexes—
Fenrath drove a single punch directly into Lurk's stomach.
The impact was catastrophic.
Lurk vomited dark-purple blood before collapsing unconscious instantly.
Yet the tension only deepened.
From the VIP stands, another figure suddenly descended into the arena.
Ashell.
For all this time, the demon had disguised himself as a noble among the kingdom's elite.
The moment his feet touched the arena floor, he tore away his noble robes and released the seal suppressing his true power.
BOOOOM!
A horrifying demonic aura erupted from his body, flooding the entire arena with scorching dust and oppressive heat.
Every member of the Sage Council rose to their feet in shock.
Even the Sages themselves stared with widened eyes.
A high-ranking demon had infiltrated the heart of Caelora.
"So this is your true form, demon spy," Fenrath snarled.
He lunged immediately.
But Ashell effortlessly dissolved into a swirling storm of burning dust, obscuring everyone's vision.
Within the chaos, he grabbed Lurk's unconscious body.
Neravos, the Sage of Time and a Dragonkin, acted instantly.
Within his soul resided a white dragon—a perfect symbiotic existence connected directly to his mind.
They shared thoughts.
Emotions.
Power itself.
Neravos raised his dragon staff and unleashed forbidden magic.
"Chrono Domain: Stillness of Eternity."
The world froze.
Dust halted motionless in the air.
Fenrath stopped mid-step.
The screams of the audience vanished completely.
Everything within the arena had been trapped inside halted time.
Neravos calmly stepped forward through the motionless world, intending to capture Ashell before he could escape.
Then—
his eyes widened.
Behind Ashell, within the frozen domain of time itself—
a black portal remained open.
And from that portal emerged something horrifying.
A colossal dragon.
Its body looked ancient beyond comprehension, like the rotting remains of a forgotten era. Crimson eyes burned dimly beneath layers of decayed scales, yet the pressure radiating from the creature was enough to crush the soul.
Inside Neravos' mind, the white dragon connected to him suddenly erupted in overwhelming terror.
For the first time in their lives together—
the dragon panicked.
"What… what is this?! Why can't I stop trembling?! Who is that dragon?!"
Its voice roared through Neravos' consciousness in pure fear.
The white dragon did not understand what it was seeing.
Its entire existence suddenly felt insignificant before the creature emerging from the portal.
"Its aura… it isn't affected by your time magic, Neravos! Don't approach it!"
The ancient zombie dragon remained completely silent.
It did not roar.
Did not threaten.
It simply existed.
As though frozen time itself meant absolutely nothing to it.
Slowly—
inevitably—
the dragon extended one massive claw into the suspended world, grabbed both Ashell and the unconscious Lurk, and pulled them into the black portal.
The creature moved as though it stood outside every natural law known to the dragons of the current age.
The instant the portal closed, Neravos was forced to release his spell under the crushing pressure assaulting his mind.
FWOOSH!
Time resumed.
Dust exploded through the air once more.
Fenrath landed in an empty space where his enemies had stood moments earlier.
At the center of the arena, Neravos remained frozen in place, one hand trembling slightly as he struggled to calm the fear raging within his dragon soul.
His eyes remained fixed upon the place where the portal had vanished.
The Colosseum of Caelora was now filled with dust, confusion, pain—
and silence.
Elara had collapsed unconscious from exhaustion.
Kael and Drestan lay severely wounded after sacrificing themselves to protect her.
And at the edge of the arena, Sylveras stood with trembling fists.
Because he recognized Ashell's aura.
It was the same aura—
the same darkness—
that had destroyed his village long ago.
The final match had ended.
But the Sages now understood one terrifying truth.
The world they knew had already begun to crack apart.
Their enemies had finally revealed one of their hidden cards—
including the power to command mysterious ancient dragons untouched by time itself.
The great war foretold for generations was no longer a distant legend.
It had arrived—
and it had already begun knocking violently upon the gates of Caelora.