Chapter 201: A festival of animosity

The desolate wasteland arena stretched endlessly beneath an overcast sky, the wind howling across jagged rock formations and patches of dry, lifeless earth. The oppressive air was thick with tension, almost suffocating, as the group stood in a loose circle, their eyes locked on a single figure—Mikoto.

Victoria's eyes carried through the wasteland arena, sharp yet distant, as if she herself was unsure. The remnants of golden radiance still flickered in the air from where Octavia had casted a spell mere moments ago, but the true spectacle—the one that left the entire Colosseum in stunned disbelief—was not the presence of the Goddess.

It was him.

Mikoto stood motionless, his armored figure barely shifting under the heavy weight of the collective gazes boring into him. A single gauntleted hand rested idly on his hip, his posture casual, almost lazy, as though the divine presence that had just confronted him moments ago was nothing more than a passing breeze.

But to everyone else—that moment had been monumental.

A Goddess had appeared before him.

And he had scoffed.

He had walked away.

And Octavia had merely smiled.

Why?

The thought lingered in the air like a bitter aftertaste.

It was Victoria who first broke the silence.

"Seems you were right, Lady Guinevere..." her voice carried across the barren landscape, laced with something between intrigue and apprehension. Her sharp eyes lingered on Mikoto before they flickered toward the court mage.

Guinevere merely offered a casual shrug, though her keen eyes never left Mikoto. "An educated guess, I suppose." She waved offhandedly, "It matters not. Barring the woman with the black hair and red eyes, Verdantis had additional members not being the usual Inheritors they bring to the festival."

Lucinda, her eyes narrowed with thought, spoke next, her voice softer but no less firm. "I remember the spawns of the God of Darkness, the two of the God of Time and Space, the Goddess of the Sun, and the God of Strength, of course, but that only makes up five people." Her words carried a sense of familiarity—but even she found the current situation unusual.

Victoria crossed her arms, her mind already piecing together details. "There is the addition of Isabella and Reynard. Agatha and I encountered them back in Verdantis—Inheritors of the Songstress Goddess and the Goddess of the Depths and Freedom, respectively. That makes a total of seven Inheritors, along with three additional individuals... not counting the court mage, Lyra."

Mirabella, who had been silent for a time, finally spoke, though there was hesitation in her tone. The sting of Mikoto's earlier words still lingered in her chest like a wound that refused to close. But she forced herself to push past it.

"That… that girl with the teal-colored eyes. I remember her." Her hands clenched at her sides, her expression darkening as memories surfaced. "Back when those Ancestors attacked, there was this crazy pink-haired one… she beat me and Agatha. Yet that teal-colored girl beat her with one punch."

Silence settled for a moment before Astrid murmured, her fingers absently brushing against her chin. "My, what might. If she could defeat an opponent who bested two Inheritors, then we will be hard-pressed."

Victoria exhaled sharply, her gaze flickering toward the wasteland horizon before returning to the group. "Judging from her appearance, she is a spawn of the Goddess Astraea," she said with a frown. "That alone makes her an incredible threat. Astraea embodies the very realm itself—it is even said she is one with it. Her abilities would include utilizing the world's ley lines."

Lukas furrowed his brows, his usual anger momentarily tempered by caution. "What would that entail?"

Victoria's expression darkened. "Ley lines flow through the world—no, through the entire realm. They stabilize everything. They are rich with mana, an overwhelming abundance of it. They also record information—an archive of the world itself. She could use that information in battle. Do not engage her under any circumstances."

A cold shiver ran down Lukas's spine, but Fiona suddenly spoke up, shifting the conversation. "And what of the boy? The one with reddish hair?"

Victoria turned her gaze toward her. "He does not share her appearance, but his mana signature is unmistakable—that of the Goddess of Light. That means light magic, which excels in purification of any kind." Her gaze slid toward Adrian. "His magic would be especially effective against you."

Adrian merely nodded, his expression unreadable.

Victoria continued, "Also, he would possess incredible speed. He would be one with light itself. Should you encounter him, be on guard and focus on enhancing your senses."

A tense silence followed. Then, unexpectedly, Mai spoke up, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic weight. "There was someone in Vel'ryr I think you should all know about." That caught everyone's attention. The group turned toward her, sensing the gravity in her tone. Mai took a slow breath before continuing. "General Grimm." Her lips pursed slightly, her posture tense.

Astrid frowned. "The man in the black armor with red hair? He did seem imposing. Though… he is a general as well?"

Mai nodded grimly. "I've only heard stories of him. But apparently, when he was only nineteen winters old, he led the forces that overtook entire nations—Terra, Zephyria to name a few. They say he is a force of destruction." She hesitated before adding, "Though I do not know if it is an exaggeration, I heard he even took on armies by himself on occasion."

A heavy pause settled over the group, the weight of that revelation sinking in.

Victoria exhaled. "I wonder… since he's from Vel'ryr, there is an official term for them. Descendants of the Great Dragons."

Her gaze drifted toward two individuals. Mikoto and Lucinda.

Mikoto, who had been silent all this time, shifted slightly. A subtle movement, yet it drew everyone's eyes toward him.

Lucinda hesitated, her lips parting slightly as uncertainty crossed her features.

But before she could speak, Mikoto moved.

Slowly, he began walking away.

His pace was unhurried, casual even, as if he had lost all interest in their conversation. The others watched with growing unease.

"Hey, where the hell are you going?!" Lukas suddenly bellowed, anger already seeping into his voice.

Mikoto did not break his stride. "To fight."

Lukas, gritting his teeth, stormed after him. He reached out, his hand clamping down on Mikoto's shoulder.

"I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but we need to stic—"

He never finished.

Mikoto's movement was a blur. The air cracked as his gauntleted fist cut through it with inhuman speed.

CRACK!

Lukas barely had time to register the impact before he was sent flying backward. The sheer force of the strike shattered his nose, blood spraying through the air in a gruesome arc.

"Gah!"

He hit the ground hard, rolling across the dirt before finally stopping. His hands shot up to his face, blood seeping between his fingers as he groaned in pain.

Mikoto turned his head slightly, his voice venomous. "I distinctly remember telling you to stay out of my way."

A biting wind swept through the wasteland, carrying dust and the lingering scent of blood as Astrid rushed to Lukas's side. Her face twisted with unease as she knelt beside him, her gauntleted hands already moving to help him sit up. His breathing was ragged, his face contorted in pain, crimson streaking down from his shattered nose and staining the dirt beneath him.

"Lukas—!" she started, but no other words came.

He groaned, rolling onto his side, his fingers trembling as they brushed against his ruined face. Blood smeared across his chin and dripped onto his armor. His anger was gone—replaced by stunned disbelief. Mikoto had hit him. He had struck him with intent, with malice.

Astrid swallowed hard, trying to steady herself, but her mind flashed back—to Veron.

The kind-hearted boy who had listened to her when few others had. The boy who had spoken to her without expectation, without some noble formality dictating their every word. He was someone who understood her, who she had felt she could understand in turn. Someone she could have called… a friend.

But this boy standing before her now?

This was not the same person.

The sheer animosity radiating from Mikoto was suffocating, a dark, oppressive force that choked the air between them. His stance, his posture—everything about him reeked of hostility. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but his fingers flexed, as though barely restraining himself from striking again. The way his head tilted slightly downward, his eyes obscured beneath the shadows of his darkened helm, made it all the more unnerving.

Astrid parted her lips, desperate to say something—anything—but before she could find the words, a voice cut through the frigid tension.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Mirabella. Her voice was sharper than usual, laced with anger—but not just anger. There was something deeper, rawer, underneath it. Hurt.

She had recovered from Mikoto's earlier insult, though just barely. Despite her attempt to look furious, the faint tremble in her clenched fists betrayed her. Her brows were furrowed, her blue eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to pain.

"Why the hell are you acting like this so suddenly?!" She grit her teeth, storming toward him, refusing to let this slide.

Mikoto, however, barely acknowledged her. His body remained perfectly still, unmoving as the wind continued to stir the dust around them.

Then, finally, he moved.

His head tilted slightly, just enough for the faintest glint of his red eyes to be visible beneath the darkness of his helm. His voice came, low and venomous. "It ain't anything of your business, Mirabella." He spat her name out as if it disgusted him.

The moment the words left his mouth, Mirabella flinched. A barely perceptible movement, but it was there. She stopped, just a few paces away, frozen in place—not from fear, but from something far worse.

Betrayal.

Mikoto took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them ever so slightly. The space between them felt smaller, suffocating. "Go back to being a useless princess, yeah?"

The words struck harder than any physical blow ever could.

Mirabella's breath caught in her throat.

Useless.

That word. That damned word.

The very word she had fought so desperately to rid herself of. The very label she had sworn to prove wrong.

And Mikoto—Mikoto, the one who had once supported her, the one who had seen her at her weakest and stood by her—had used it against her. Someone who had helped her with that 'uselessness'.

She bit her lip hard, her hands trembling at her sides. She refused to let the tears sting her eyes. She refused.

But she wasn't done yet.

With a sharp inhale, she forced herself to step forward again, her voice softer now, but no less desperate. "Then tell us..." Mikoto remained silent. She clenched her fists. "Tell us what the hell you're going through!" Her voice cracked slightly at the end. She hated that. She hated sounding vulnerable. But she meant every word.

A scoff. A low, mocking scoff.

Mikoto turned his head slightly, but before he could respond, another voice joined in.

"Yeah..." Agatha. Unlike Mirabella, Agatha's voice was measured, controlled, but firm. She took slow steps until she was standing beside Mirabella, her sharp emerald eyes locking onto Mikoto's hidden ones.

"You extended the hand of friendship to me first," she reminded him, her voice unwavering. "I told you my woes, everything. You were the one who pestered me, who pulled me in despite my reluctance."

She took another step forward.

"So tell us, Mikoto. What's happening to you? So we can help you. As friends."

Not a flinch. Not a twitch.

Nothing.

It was as if their words simply did not reach him.

Lucinda hesitated, but then, despite her own apprehension, she spoke up next. "I... I agree," she murmured, though her gaze never lifted to meet his. Her fingers clutched at the alloy of her gauntlet, gripping it tightly as she struggled to steady her voice. "Your words back then… in Verdantis, and during the celebrations. They helped me, even if you didn't realize it. Even the smallest things you said…" she trailed off for a moment before forcing herself to continue. "You helped me more than most, Mikoto. You treated me as a friend when I needed one the most. So..." she hesitated, then took a slow breath. "Please. Let us help."

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating silence.

Victoria glanced at Fiona.

For someone who had known Mikoto the longest, Fiona did not look nearly as affected as the others.

There was something different in her expression.

Something… knowing.

She said nothing.

She simply waited.

And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mikoto spoke.

"Are you done with your little speeches?" His voice was mocking, dismissive. The words alone were enough to cause a visible reaction in those around him. "Good." He exhaled sharply, scoffing. "I also remember telling you I didn't want to hear some sappy shit." There was no hesitation in his tone, no flicker of remorse. And then, his voice dropped lower. "Help me?" He let out a short, bitter laugh.

"Don't make me laugh."

And then, colder, crueler—

"You useless shitbags could never."

A dagger through the heart. Even Guinevere, who rarely reacted to such things, winced slightly at his vulgar insult.

And the others?

Hurt flashed through their faces.

This wasn't just Mikoto acting strange.

This wasn't just a bad day.

The silence Mikoto left behind was absolute.

It clung to the air like a dense fog, wrapping around the group with an unbearable weight.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

The damage had been done.

Mirabella's breathing was uneven, shallow. Her fingers twitched slightly as though they wanted to curl into fists, but she couldn't find the strength. Her legs felt weak beneath her, but she stood rigidly, her head slightly lowered as her lips trembled.

Lucinda stood with her hands clasped tightly together, knuckles turning pale beneath her gauntlets from the force of her grip. She wasn't looking at Mikoto anymore.

She couldn't.

Even Agatha had nothing to say.

They had tried.

They had tried to reach out, to understand, to hold onto the fool who had once filled the air with his arrogance and humor and warmth.

But he had severed that hand without hesitation.

Mikoto turned away from them, the coat tail of his armor swaying behind him as he walked—slow, as if to drill in the fact that he was leaving them behind without a single shred of remorse.

Not one glance back.

Not one moment of hesitation.

The coldness of his departure felt more permanent than any wound could ever be.

Victoria's lips parted as if to call out to him.

She didn't.

Because what would she even say?

Nothing would reach him.

And then—

The world shifted.

A blinding flash of pure, blue light erupted beneath Mikoto's feet, so radiant and overwhelming in its brilliance. The very air shook, a deep, reverberating hum piercing through reality itself.

Mikoto's form vanished.

No dramatic motion. No resistance. He was simply gone.

The force of the teleportation ruptured the ground, the sheer purity of the mana leaving an intricate glyph seared into the earth where he once stood.

The group barely had time to react—

"What—" Mirabella's eyes widened.

"Where did he—" Agatha's breath hitched.

"Teleportation—" Lucinda barely managed to say before she froze, her crimson eyes widening in realization. "But this—this is too pure—"

Indeed, this was no ordinary teleportation.

It was beyond anything any of them had ever seen.

And for the first time since Mikoto had turned cruel, something shifted in them.

A deep, sudden, terrifying sense of dread.

--------------------

There was no transition.

One moment, Mikoto was walking away from the group.

The next—

He was falling.

High.

Too high.

His body twisted through the air, gravity violently yanking him down through a vast, endless sky. The wind howled in his ears, roaring as though he had been thrown from the heavens themselves. His armor glinting briefly against the light above.

But it wasn't just any teleportation.

No—this was too perfect, too absolute, too flawless.

He had mastered teleportation himself. He had torn through the very fabric of space with his own magic before.

But this?

This was purer than anything he had ever witnessed.

Someone had forcibly brought him here.

Mikoto exhaled through his nose, utterly unbothered by his abrupt displacement.

He wasn't afraid.

He was annoyed.

And then—

Something came for him.

Fast.

Blindingly fast.

A scorching golden light ignited in the distance, ripping across the sky like a shooting star. The heat that radiated from it was immense, a wave of searing mana that devoured the wind in its wake. Mikoto's red eyes flicked toward it, and in an instant, he knew.

It wasn't an attack.

It wasn't a spell.

It was a person.

He did not move.

Not out of arrogance.

Not out of hesitation.

But because he wanted to see who dared to strike first.

The entity collided with him in an explosion of pure force.

BOOM.

Their bodies ripped through the sky, and then—

CRASH.

They hit the first mountain.

The force was catastrophic, an earth-shaking impact that shattered the peak instantly. Rocks and debris exploded outward, cascading like a deadly rainstorm as the entire summit of the mountain ceased to exist.

Then—

CRASH.

They tore through the second mountain, its massive form barely offering resistance before it was obliterated.

Then—

CRASH.

The third mountain ruptured, caving inward as their bodies tunneled straight through it, the shockwaves of their collision splintering the land for miles.

Silence.

The dust settled.

Mikoto was unbothered. Unscathed. His black armor remained pristine, the sheer impact having done nothing to him.

But his gaze was different now.

It wasn't empty anymore.

It was focused. Lethal.

His hand shot out, lightning-fast, and he drove his fist into his attacker's stomach—a strike so precise that the air itself compressed around the impact point.

BOOM.

His opponent was launched backward, skidding across the earth violently, tearing up massive trenches as they tumbled before finally landing on their feet.

Mikoto touched down roughly, his sabatons cracking the stone beneath him.

And then, as he straightened—

The figure rose from the rubble.

A red-haired girl, eyes radiant as the sun itself, her aura burning with divine heat.

Lyraeth. The Spawn of the Sun Goddess.

Mikoto exhaled sharply.

And then—

Two more presences emerged from behind..

The Inheritor of the Goddess of the Sea, Depths, and Freedom.

The Inheritor of the Goddess of Light.

The three encircled him, their power humming through the atmosphere, divine pressure settling over the battlefield like an executioner's blade.

Mikoto rolled his shoulders, his crimson eyes gleaming beneath his helmet.

He wasn't surprised.

Not even remotely.

The festival had begun.

And he would welcome them all.