Hopelessness

The attack, fueled by every ounce of Zyranel's spatial mana, was anticipated to last several minutes at the very least. Its sheer scale and power were such that the Colosseum's repair crews were already bracing for weeks, if not a full month, of reconstruction before hosting another battle. After all, an assault of this magnitude lacked precision and would devastate everything in its wake.

But to the shock of Zyranel and the countless viewers watching, the storm began to weaken after a mere thirty seconds. The once ferocious spatial lightning strikes flickered, their intensity fading, and the swirling chaos grew visibly unstable.

It was far too soon—several minutes earlier than anticipated. The sight made their hearts sink as dread gripped them, for there could be only one explanation. Somehow, Aron had interfered, his very existence now defying logic and overwhelming their worst fears.