A friend at last.
Azrael sheathed his sword, a sense of accomplishment and weariness settling upon him. With deliberate steps, he approached Ava, feeling the gentle caress of the setting sun upon his unmasked face, its warm rays offering a fleeting respite from the grim reality surrounding them.
"Shall we go?" Azrael inquired, his voice laden with both exhaustion and anticipation of a brief reprieve.
Ava, captivated by the ethereal beauty of the sunset, expressed her desire to linger a while longer.
"I want to stay here a bit," she murmured, her voice carrying a hint of tranquility amidst the chaos.
Azrael, respecting her wish, gracefully moved toward Ava, finding solace in the softness of her fur as he leaned against her. Side by side, they gazed upon the sinking sun, its golden hues casting a somber light upon the lifeless bodies strewn across the ground.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Azrael whispered, a mixture of awe and melancholy tingeing his words. "Even amidst all this bloodshed and death, it's still beautiful."
Yet, as the aftereffects of his god form surged through his being, Azrael's head began to throb with an intensity that threatened to overpower him. He could feel himself growing lightheaded, the strain taking its toll.
"I'm..." Azrael started, his voice faltering.
But before he could finish, Ava interjected, her voice gentle and assuring.
"I know. Rest. I'll keep watch," she reassured him, her unwavering presence offering comfort in the face of his fatigue.
"Thank you," Azrael uttered softly, his words dissolving into the void as he succumbed to unconsciousness, surrendering himself to the god form's backlash.
*3 days later*
The atmosphere in the entirety of the Lyrac Empire was ablaze with anticipation as the grand finals of Ozin's tournament arrived. People from every corner of the empire had gathered to witness the climactic showdown, eager to see the last four participants vie for supremacy.
Azrael, having returned to the capital just the previous night, stood among the fighters' section in the sprawling grand arena, which teemed with thousands of spectators.
Even the Emperor and other distinguished guests graced the event with their presence. Gunzal had already informed Azrael about his opponent for the upcoming match—Lucik Mazono, the son of the Emperor's concubine.
If Azrael emerged victorious, he would then face the winner between Ronald Fantano, the Emperor's sole daughter's suitor, and Lewis Marton, a strong member of the military.
Confidence coursed through Azrael's veins as he contemplated the impending battle. He harbored doubts as to whether any of the fighters would pose a true challenge to him.
It made him question the purpose of even continuing the tournament. His primary objective had not been victory, but rather the pursuit of formidable adversaries from whom he could draw dark ki.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you have all been eagerly awaiting has arrived!" boomed the announcer's voice, igniting a surge of excitement among the crowd. "After countless clashes, the weak have been separated from the strong, and now we stand at the pinnacle of this grand competition, where the ultimate champion shall be revealed!"
The audience erupted in a cacophony of cheers, their blood boiling with anticipation.
"And now, without further ado, let us introduce the first contenders for this round! We have Ronald Fantano, brandishing the icy daggers of doom!" The announcer's words reverberated throughout the arena, met with thunderous applause.
"And his opponent, none other than Lewis Marton—the embodiment of justice with his mighty sword!" The announcer's proclamation triggered a fresh wave of cheers from the electrified crowd.
"As for the second round, allow me to introduce the next set of competitors," the announcer declared, his voice amplified by the excitement in the air. "In this corner, we have Lucik Mazono, known as 'The Silent Blade!'" The crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause, acknowledging the renowned fighter.
"And his formidable opponent, the tenacious underdog, known far and wide as 'The Merchant of Death!'" As Azrael's name reverberated through the arena, a thunderous roar of applause engulfed the spectators, acknowledging his reputation as a fearsome contender.
"Now, I invite the fighters from the first round to step forward," the announcer proclaimed, signaling Ronald and Lewis to advance into the center of the arena, their determination evident in their eyes.
The tension in the grand arena was palpable as Ronald and Lewis stood face-to-face, ready to engage in a fierce battle. The crowd held its breath, eager to witness the clash between these two formidable warriors.
With a nod of acknowledgment, the fight began. The combatants moved with agility and precision, their sword and dagger dancing through the air in a symphony of strikes and parries. Each blow seemed to be met with an equally skilled defense, creating an atmosphere of balance and uncertainty.
As the fight progressed, Ronald's movements grew increasingly fluid and precise. He seemed to anticipate Lewis's every move, countering with unmatched speed and accuracy. The crowd watched in awe as Ronald's relentless attacks began to wear down Lewis, gradually pushing him on the defensive.
Sensing his advantage, Ronald unleashed a relentless barrage of strikes, his dagger whirling through the air with blinding speed. Lewis fought valiantly, desperately attempting to counter, but he was gradually overwhelmed by the onslaught.
The spectators erupted in cheers and applause, their excitement mounting as Ronald's dominance became evident. The chants of the crowd fueled Ronald's determination, and he prepared to deliver the finishing blow.
With a flourish, Ronald unleashed his signature technique, the "Slash of Absolute Zero." A chill filled the air as his dagger sliced through the space, leaving behind a trail of frost and ice. The lethal attack struck Lewis with pinpoint accuracy, freezing the very essence of his being.
The grand arena fell silent as Lewis, defeated and lifeless, crumbled to the ground. The crowd erupted in a mixture of astonishment and admiration, their voices echoing through the vast space. Ronald stood tall, his victory sealed, basking in the adulation of the spectators.
The battle had come to an end, and Ronald emerged as the victor, his prowess and skill etched into the memories of all who bore witness to the spectacle.
Ronald in a wave of triumph, basked in the adoration, his victory solidified, as his sword dripped with the blood of his fallen opponent, Lewis.
The announcer's voice boomed through the arena, proclaiming Ronald as the clear victor. The crowd's excitement reached a crescendo, their roars echoing off the walls. Ronald walked out the arena stage, a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction emanating from his every move.
As the lifeless body of Lewis was respectfully carried away, the arena prepared itself for the next battle, the highly anticipated fight involving Azrael. The crowd's anticipation grew palpable, their eagerness heightened by the thrilling spectacle they had just witnessed.