Chapter 204: The crowd goes wild
[Aethel]
[The Grand Colosseum]
A storm of voices erupted through the Grand Colosseum, shaking the very foundations of the massive area. The sky above shimmered with golden sunlight, yet it was nothing compared to the radiant, spectacle unfolding on one of the enormous magical screens that dominated the sky.
Millions of spectators roared in sheer exhilaration, their voices blending into a deafening cacophony that rivaled the very essence of battle itself. Fists pounded against seats, banners waved furiously, enchanted flares ignited in the stands—all in response to the absolute, unfathomable onslaught taking place before their eyes.
And at the center of it all—
A massive, high-resolution screen displayed a battle so ferocious, so blindingly fast, so devastatingly beautiful that the entire colosseum would speak of it for centuries.
A blazing crimson comet streaked through the heavens, tearing through the skies with overwhelming velocity. Enveloped in a crimson-red aura that roared like an inferno, Mikoto twisted, spun, and maneuvered through the endless barrage of destruction hurtling toward him.
Every inch of his body was tense with focus, his movements so precise, so razor-sharp that it seemed as though he had memorized every attack before it was even launched.
His opponents were not of mortal power.
They were something greater..
Before him, standing in the air like some divine queen, was Lyraeth.
Her dark skin shimmered beneath the intense golden glow, and her now long, fiery-red hair cascaded down her back, moving with an ethereal weightlessness, each strand alive with embers and raw, untamed power. Her eyes—piercing, golden-yellow orbs—gleamed with supreme confidence, radiating the presence of a living deity.
A magnificent golden headdress encircled her head, elaborate and wing-like, each detailed embellishment seeming to extend outward like the radiant corona of the sun itself.
Her ornate, gilded armor was a masterpiece of opulence, every inch sculpted with impossible craftsmanship—layered, overlapping plates adorned with embedded jewels that flickered like molten fire. The centerpiece, a corset-like chest plate, boasted a sculpted, layered design, its surface rippling with an almost liquid gold effect.
She was beauty incarnate. Power incarnate.
And in this moment—she was unleashing an apocalypse.
With a single, elegant motion, she raised her hand.
The air exploded.
From her palm, an unrelenting, cataclysmic surge of fire erupted, spanning the entire battlefield in a colossal, golden wave. The sheer intensity of heat melted the very air, creating a mirage-like distortion that warped space itself.
A heartbeat later—
B O O M
The wave descended upon Mikoto like the end of the world.
The colossal flames expanded outward, swallowing the vast battlefield, threatening to consume everything in a sea of burning annihilation.
But—
Mikoto did not stop.
A split-second before impact—he vanished.
A sonic explosion ruptured the atmosphere, and within the blink of an eye, Mikoto reappeared in the sky—above the fire, untouched, unscathed. His red mana surged in wild, chaotic ripples, the air around him distorting under the sheer force of his movement.
He was not just dodging.
He was outpacing the destruction itself.
Spectators leapt from their seats, unable to believe what they had just witnessed. Even the most hardened warriors, the most experienced sorcerers—all gawked in utter disbelief.
But there was no time to process.
Because in that very moment—
A golden streak tore through the sky in the screen.
A radiant blur shot through the heavens, moving beyond mortal perception—a figure bathed in resplendent, divine light, moving so fast it seemed as if time itself bowed to him.
It was the spawn of the Goddess of light.
His now long, flowing white hair streamed behind him like a veil, and his ornate gold armor gleamed with brilliance. His flowing, white cape-like garment rippled behind him, catching the golden radiance of the halo that encircled him. That halo-detailed with radiant lines and star-like formations—was no mere decoration.
It was a weapon.
Mikoto barely had time to react.
Vulcan descended upon him like a golden lightning bolt, his body moving at speeds that defied the laws of nature. The sky split apart from the sheer force of his momentum.
His strike came without hesitation.
A razor-thin arc of golden mana slashed through the battlefield, cutting through clouds, air, and the very concept of resistance.
Time seemed to slow.
A millisecond before impact—
He twisted.
A violent crimson vortex erupted from him, his red mana clashing with the divine golden radiance of Vulcan's strike. The two forces detonated upon impact, sending shockwaves through the air, splitting the battlefield apart.
And then—
Silence.
For a split second—there was nothing but the aftermath.
The smoke. The residual mana. The tension so thick it could suffocate.
And then—
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODDESS OCTAVIA DID WE JUST WITNESS?!?" The Announcer's voice shattered through the silence, his disbelief palpable. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—HAVE YOU EVER—IN YOUR ENTIRE LIVES—SEEN A BATTLE OF THIS MAGNITUDE?!"
The crowd went berserk.
Millions screamed. Stomped. Chanted.
The energy inside the Colosseum was beyond control, beyond reason, beyond sanity.
This—
This was no longer just a battle.
This was a war between beings beyond mere mortals.
-------------------
[???]
A scarlet streak tore through the sky, descending at blinding velocity.
BOOM!
The ground shattered violently as Mikoto slammed into the surface, his body hitting the desolate wasteland with enough force to trigger a seismic wave. The sheer power of his landing sent massive shockwaves rippling outward, carving jagged trenches into the earth, flinging debris and shattered rock into the air.
A massive dust storm engulfed the area, obscuring all visibility. Yet, within the swirling cloud of devastation—
Mikoto stood.
His black armor gleamed beneath the dying light, his form outlined by the pulsing, wild aura of red mana that still surrounded him like a raging tempest. His breath was steady, his crimson eyes narrowing behind his helmet as he lifted his gaze. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, as if he had barely exerted himself.
But the sky above him told a different story.
High above, three figures loomed in the sky like deities of ruin, their forms casting long, overwhelming shadows over the battlefield.
Lyreath hovered with grace, her fiery-red hair flowing like living flames, her golden headdress shimmering with radiance. Her golden armor glowed, each embellishment pulsing with immense mana. The air around her distorted violently as she gathered searing mana, her very presence setting the atmosphere ablaze.
Vulcan, but a golden blur flickered in and out of existence, moving too fast for the eye to follow. His ornate gold armor shimmered, his white cape rippling in the winds. The golden halo behind his head pulsed with might, star-like patterns shifting as he prepared to strike. He was silent, but his intent was deafening.
Then, there was Reynard.
Unlike the blinding radiance of Lyraeth and Vulcan, Reynard's presence was more void, a deep contrast. He stood tall, imposing, his form clad in a sleek, black and blue ethereal suit of armor. A deep, dark blue outline traced along his limbs, his movements effortless. His long, glowing blue hair flowed freely, defying gravity, illuminated like a phantom fire in the endless abyss.
A black helmet, its faceplate glowing with an eerie blue luminescence, concealed his expression. His very existence seemed to bend the space around him.
In his grasp—
A tall, intricately designed spear, its black frame etched with blue ethereal light.
The three of them descended.
Encircling Mikoto.
The entire world held its breath.
And then—
The first to move—was Lyraeth.
A single pulse of mana from her body annihilated the ground beneath her, sending a shockwave of golden flames outward. Her fiery gaze locked onto Mikoto, and in a single motion—
She summoned a weapon.
A radiant blade unlike any other—a colossal, uniquely sculpted golden greatsword, its form imbued with searing power. The intricate engravings along its edges pulsed, channels of molten mana weaving through its design, exuding an aura so intense it distorted the air around it.
Mikoto said nothing. He lifted a single hand. No grand motion. No elaborate stance.
Just a simple, almost casual flick of his fingers.
And then—
A silver blade materialized in his grasp.
Not his Saber.
Not some Divine Relic.
Just a simple, intricately crafted silver sword.
One that seemed almost mundane.
The contrast was staggering.
She charged.
He merely stood there.
Calm.
Silent.
His grip on the silver blade was lazy, one hand casually resting on the hilt, his posture completely relaxed. The difference in their stances was even more staggering. Lyraeth vanished. A sudden burst of searing golden flames erupted, her form disappearing into an incandescent blur of motion, the sheer force of her launch annihilating the ground beneath her.
In an instant—
She was in front of Mikoto. Her radiant greatsword cleaved downward in a colossal arc, a strike that could bisect mountains, the blade radiating an unbearable heat, distorting the very fabric of the air around it.
Mikoto moved.
Effortlessly.
With a single, almost lazy motion, he lifted his silver sword.
Their blades met.
And then—
Everything seemed to collapse.
A cataclysmic shockwave erupted from the point of impact, a force so monumental that the skies split apart. The planet itself screamed, the sheer force of their clash sending shockwaves rippling across the surface, carving out deep trenches miles wide. The atmosphere ignited, flames and wind whipping into a violent maelstrom, the sky becoming a chaotic storm of crimson and gold.
And yet—
Mikoto hadn't moved an inch.
Lyraeth's face twisted in delight.
Her full-powered strike, intercepted with ease.
Yet—
"How exciting!"
Mikoto tilted his head, his crimson eyes half-lidded behind his helm.
Then, without warning—
He pushed forward.
And Lyraeth was sent flying.
Before she could even react, Mikoto moved.
A crimson blur streaked across the battlefield, the red aura around him burning like a second skin. His silver blade flashed forward, a blur of razor-thin arcs seeking to carve through Lyraeth's golden armor. She twisted mid-air, her reflexes sharp, her radiant sword whirling around in a defensive flourish.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
A relentless barrage of steel-on-steel as their swords met in rapid succession, each strike unleashing torrential waves of destruction. Lyraeth countered with a vicious diagonal sweep, her blade igniting in a blinding crescendo of flames, the sheer heat enough to melt stone into slag. Mikoto ducked.
Effortless. Too fast. Too smooth.
He weaved around the deadly arc, his form almost casual, then retaliated with a sharp upward thrust. Lyraeth parried, barely. Sparks of gold and silver illuminated the battlefield as the force of the parry sent massive energy waves crashing outward, reducing the surrounding area to rubble. She retaliated, lunging forward with a brutal stab aimed straight for Mikoto's heart.
Mikoto sidestepped.
Just barely.
The tip of her blade grazed his armor, but in that same instant—
Mikoto flicked his wrist.
His silver blade slid along the length of her greatsword, slipping through the gaps in her defense—
And in a flash, the edge of his weapon stopped just a hair's breadth from Lyraeth's throat.
She froze.
For a single, fleeting moment—she realized she had lost that exchange.
Then—
Her mana detonated.
A massive pillar of fire erupted, engulfing both of them in a searing maelstrom of divine flames. Mikoto leapt back, his form a streak of crimson light, escaping the colossal inferno that swallowed the battlefield. Lyraeth shot upward, her greatsword now wreathed in a molten golden blaze, her mana surging to unimaginable levels.
Mikoto landed, his silver blade glowing faintly red, reflecting the flames around him.
Then he surged forward.
Their swords met again—
And the battle became an unrelenting blur.
Lyraeth's strikes fell like divine judgment, each swing of her blade cleaving through the air with thunderous force, setting the battlefield ablaze with golden radiance. Mikoto, still using one hand, countered with sheer power.
("This carrot top is way more skilled than me with a sword,") he mentally noted. Her skill was clear, yet it could not make up for the monumental gap in pure physical might.
Mikoto weaved through her relentless onslaught, his silver sword deflecting, redirecting, parrying each strike.
Not a single wasted movement.
Not a single misstep.
Lyraeth's excitement burned hotter, her strikes becoming wilder, faster, more vicious.
But he was still ahead.
And the battlefield bore the scars of their clash.
Every clash of steel fractured the earth.
Every dodge left a crater where Mikoto once stood.
Every parry sent shockwaves that obliterated the landscape.
And then—
Lyraeth unleashed a stronger attack, a colossal downward strike empowered by more of her strength, her sword glowing like a newborn star.
Mikoto hummed.
Then, in a blur of impossible speed—
He sidestepped.
Effortless.
Her blade slammed into the ground—
And Mikoto's silver sword pressed against her throat.
For the second time.
Lyraeth's eyes widened.
She had lost the exchange again.
She had used everything.
And yet—
Mikoto still fought with one hand.
Still casual.
Still ahead.
Her golden eyes flickered, still processing the overwhelming gap between them, her breath catching in her throat.
But Mikoto wasn't finished.
His body barely shifted.
Then—
BOOM.
With blinding speed, he pivoted on his heel, his red aura surging outward in a violent detonation, and in a single, fluid motion, he drove his foot forward. His sabaton slammed into Lyraeth's midsection. The impact tore the air apart. A monstrous shockwave erupted, shattering the already devastated ground beneath him, sending a crackling rupture of force rippling across the battlefield.
Lyraeth's golden armor cracked on impact, and before she could even register the pain—
She was launched skyward.
The force was astronomical.
Her body became a golden streak, shooting upward at such an insane velocity that the very air around her ignited, creating a pillar of fire that pierced the storm-ridden sky.
She didn't stop.
Higher.
Higher.
Higher.
Until she disappeared into the upper atmosphere, a golden speck swallowed by the blackened heavens.
A split second.
That was all the time Mikoto had before the others rebelled.
From across the ruined wasteland, Reynard stood tall.
And then—
He moved. It seemed he did not want Lyraeth to get caught up in his attack.
With graceful movements, Reynard slammed his massive spear into the ground. A deep, resonating boom rang out, reverberating through the battlefield like a decree. The force of the impact shattered the surface, sending cracks spiderwebbing for miles, fissures howling open as violent torrents of mana-infused water erupted from the depths.
The entire world trembled as—
Two titanic, mountain-sized hurricanes manifested into existence. They weren't ordinary storms. They were cataclysmic titans of the darkness. Colossal twisting spires of churning, blackened water, infused with Reynard's unfathomable mana, each one stretching so high that their peaks vanished into the stratosphere. The oceans themselves had been summoned forth to crush Mikoto.
The force of their formation alone was apocalyptic.
The surrounding terrain was instantly obliterated, the ground collapsing beneath the sheer weight of their gravitational pull. The pressure in the air skyrocketed.
Lightning crackled.
The winds screamed.
Reynard's voice boomed across the battlefield.
"TWIN ABYSSAL MONARCHS!"
"This feeling..." Mikoto's eyes narrowed beneath his helmet in thought. The sense of unease did not stem from the sheer scale of the hurricanes; rather, the power Reynard used seemed to be imbued with the Abyss. This was even ignoring the ominous name.
Meanwhile the hurricanes roared to life, surging forward. Their sheer velocity warped space, twisting the battlefield as the colossal whirlpools advanced, consuming everything in their path. The pressure alone was enough to crush mountains into dust. This wasn't just an attack. This was a force of nature. An unstoppable, apocalyptic surge of destruction.
And it was all aimed at Mikoto.
Mikoto exhaled.
Just one breath.
The hurricanes drew closer.
The howling vortexes devoured the battlefield.
The air distorted, the sky cracked, the heavens trembled.
And yet—
Mikoto stood still.
His expression remained the same behind his helmet.
Then—
He simply swung his blade.
A single, casual swipe.
No stance.
No preparation.
Just a lazily executed, horizontal arc of silver.
And then—
All Collapsed.
The very moment his blade cut through the air, an unimaginable force erupted. A monstrous, unseen pressure tore across the battlefield, warping the space in its path. The sheer force of his swing seemed to split the very fabric of reality.
The winds screamed.
The ground detonated outward.
The hurricanes—
They ceased to exist.
Not dispersed.
Not redirected.
They were simply dismissed.
Gone.
Reduced to absolute nothingness.
The sky cleared in an instant.
The winds stopped howling.
The lightning ceased.
The battlefield, once engulfed in a maelstrom of obliteration, had become deathly silent.
The sheer aftershock of Mikoto's attack flattened the surrounding terrain, leveling everything, parting the clouds in the upper atmosphere, and creating a wound in the world itself.
And Mikoto?
He hadn't moved.
His breathing hadn't even quickened.
He merely tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking onto Reynard.
A flicker of amusement. "Careful. Your little attacks might sting me." His voice was quiet. Calm.
But to Reynard?
It was terrifying.
Reynard's eyes widened behind his glowing blue faceplate.
He felt it.
He felt it.
The overwhelming disparity.
That attack—one of his strongest techniques—had been erased.
Not countered.
Not overpowered.
Dismissed.
Like it was nothing.
Like it was an inconvenience.
A bead of cold sweat trailed down his neck, despite the atmosphere.
They were attacking carefully.
They were holding nothing back.
Mikoto still wasn't taking them seriously.
This wasn't a fight.
This was an execution in slow motion.
And Mikoto was the executioner.
But it was not over just yet—
From above, high in the heavens, Vulcan watched.
A moment of stillness.
A moment of contemplation.
Then—
He raised a hand.
A single gesture.
And the skies answered.
A tremor shook the upper atmosphere as thousands upon thousands of radiant bolts of light ignited into existence, coalescing into a vast barrage. Like stars being torn from the cosmos, the bolts of divine radiance swarmed together, forming a luminous tempest that stretched across the heavens. Each individual bolt was blinding, a lance of pure, unfiltered light, superheated beyond mortal comprehension. The very air twisted and groaned beneath the collective mana surging above.
And then—
They fell.
A storm of destruction descended upon Mikoto. The air howled, ripped apart by their sheer velocity. The ground quaked, rupturing beneath the force of their descent. Each bolt carried the power to annihilate fortresses, yet now, thousands upon thousands of them rained down in unrelenting unison—
A merciless deluge of obliteration.
It wasn't over.
Far above, Lyraeth had recovered. Her body still ached from Mikoto's devastating kick, but she ignored the pain, her golden eyes smoldering with ecstacy.
"Now this is what I'm talking about!" She bellowed from on high.
This wasn't enough. They needed more. Her hands ignited. An infernal sphere formed between her palms, a single burning ember of raw, divine fire—
And then it grew.
And grew.
And grew.
The sphere expanded wildly, swallowing the sky in its ever-rising inferno, swelling into an unimaginably vast, molten mass. It was no longer just fire. It was more so a miniature sun. A burning celestial body that crackled and screamed with incinerating heat, its surface roiling with uncontrollable solar flares. The atmosphere around it distorted, melting into a wavy mirage of pure destruction.
Everything beneath it would cease to exist.
Lyraeth's voice echoed with command and thrill. "BURN IN THE FLAMES OF ANNIHILATION!"
And with that, she hurled the sun downward.
A cataclysmic force erupted, sending shockwaves rippling outward as the miniature star began its descent—
Falling alongside Vulcan's rain of light.
At the very center of it all—
Mikoto remained still.
He watched.
His crimson eyes flickered beneath his helmet, reflecting the combined onslaught of obliteration and solar destruction coming straight for him.
But—
There was no panic.
No fear.
Not even concern.
Instead—
He simply sighed.
And then—
He raised his blade.
Just slightly.
Just leisurely.
A tiny movement.
A simple, casual act.
Then—
IMPACT.
The moment the bolts of light and the miniature sun collided with Mikoto's raised blade, a monstrous, deafening explosion erupted, dwarfing everything that had come before. The detonation was instantaneous, unleashing an all-consuming tidal wave of destruction that rippled across the entire battlefield with unparalleled ferocity.
The entire planet quaked.
The atmosphere ruptured.
The blast's sheer magnitude sent a cataclysmic shockwave surging outward, carving an unimaginable crater into the ground and obliterating the very terrain beneath their feet. The sky turned white. A pillar of annihilation ascended into the heavens, piercing the stratosphere and extending beyond, its sheer luminosity outshining the actual sun. The ground shattered for miles, entire mountain ranges flattened in an instant.
A massive wall of dust and debris erupted into the air, a towering barrier of destruction so thick, so vast, that it swallowed the entire battlefield.
Everything was engulfed.
Nothing remained visible.
For a moment—
There was nothing.
No sound.
No movement.
Only a suffocating silence as the thick, impenetrable wall of dust loomed over the battlefield, concealing everything within its endless murk. The ground still trembled from the sheer force of the explosion, due to the monstrous power that had been unleashed.
Lyraeth descended as she landed beside Reynard and Vulcan, the three of them standing at the edge of the devastation, eyes locked onto the thick dust storm ahead.
Seconds passed.
A minute.
Two.
The tension was suffocating.
Then—
A faint shift in the dust.
A shadow.
A presence.
And then—
Mikoto emerged.
Slowly.
Calmly.
His ominous black armor, once pristine, now bore light battle damage.
A chip had been torn from his helmet, revealing one piercing, blood-red eye, sharp, beautiful and feminine—
And it glared.
Not with anger.
Not with irritation.
But with cold amusement.
And then, he mocked them.
"Is that really all?" His voice dripped with condescension, his crimson gaze unwavering, the sheer confidence in his tone utterly unnerving.
He rolled his wrist lazily, flexing his fingers as if warming up.
And then—
He tilted his head slightly.
His gaze, locked onto them, was calm.
Yet it was terrifying.
Because in that single eye, in that one mocking glance, one truth was made clear—
He wasn't even trying.
"Excitement."
"Necessity."
"Fear."
A impossibly wide grin spread beneath his shattered helmet, his single exposed crimson eye burning with eerie amusement. "I see…"
It was a simple phrase.
But the way he said it—slow, deliberate, dripping with smug amusement—sent a suffocating wave of unease crashing down upon his opponents.
Vulcan's radiant form shimmered, his armor practically glowing against the broken, smoldering terrain. But there was no glory in his form, no righteous fire in his stance.
Instead—
He merely sighed, tilting his head as the mask-like tarp flowing over his face shifted slightly in the wind. "Seems we've really gotten the short end of the stick here, huh?" His tone was exasperated, not fitting of a divine warrior.
It was as if he had been thrown into a fight he had no real interest in partaking in.
And perhaps, that was the truth.
Vulcan had seen many battles, fought countless adversaries, clashed with some of the most monstrous of beings as an Inheritor.
Yet this…
This was different.
This was like staring into the abyss and watching it grin back.
He could already tell. This was a fight he wanted no part in.
But Reynard?
Reynard was silent.
Not because he had nothing to say—
But because his mind refused to process what he had just witnessed.
The sheer effortlessness of it. The casual arrogance in the way Mikoto had dismissed their combined assault with a mere flick of his wrist.
He had known—everyone had known—that Mikoto was strong.
But this?
This was wrong.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
He could feel his own breath shuddering, his grip on his spear tightening, his thoughts scrambling for an explanation. ("He's just been using enhancement magic as well. Not even an offensive spell or anything.")
His throat felt dry.
Enhancement magic.
That was all he had been using?
Not even an actual attack spell?
A pit formed in his stomach.
This kind of power… this kind of absolute, overwhelming dominance…
It was unnerving.
No—
It was terrifying.
But while Reynard was locked in fear, Lyraeth was different.
She stood at the ready, grinning. Not just in nervousness—though it was there, flashing in her golden eyes—but in something else.
Excitement.
She licked her lips, fingers tightening around the hilt of her blade. Every fiber of her being screamed at her, told her that this was danger, that this was an opponent she should not be facing.
And yet—
Her body disagreed.
The heat in her core, the tingling anticipation flooding her limbs, the way her heart hammered just a little faster.
It was intoxicating.
Mikoto was terrifying.
Mikoto was absurdly powerful.
Mikoto was in control.
And she liked that.
She took another step forward, lowering her stance, readying herself to fight again.
Mikoto noticed.
His eye flickered to her—just for a moment.
A flicker of annoyance crossed his exposed features.
"Oh?" His tone was mocking, low and velvety. "Getting excited, really?"
Lyraeth coughed in her fist.
She refused to answer.
Instead, she simply grinned wider, baring her teeth.
But behind his arrogance, his pride, his utter amusement at their feeble resistance, Mikoto's mind was still analyzing.
Still calculating.
("The redhead is the only one here worth a damn.") He had already noticed it—her absurd destructive capabilities, the subtle intricacies of her combat techniques. It wasn't just raw strength.
No, Lyraeth was dangerous because she was smart.
She had placed charms in her earlier attack, something he only noticed after his armor refused to repair itself. ("The enhancements of my armor ain't working.")
She had taken note of that before the battle even truly began.
And even with that intelligence, with her raw, untamed might, if he ranked the Inheritors, she'd only be fifth.
Tied with that white-haired girl.
His excitement spiked.
("Seems she can't go all out though, but this is great.")
Everything was falling into place.
Arcane Ascendance was closer than ever before.
And these poor fools?
They were simply stepping stones.
Mikoto tilted his head back, inhaling deeply, savoring the moment.
"Come on then." His blade gleamed, raised at his side, his single hand gripping it loosely, lazily. "Show me something worth remembering."