Two

The atmosphere within the arena turned volatile—like a thunderhead waiting to burst. Wills clashed not just through fists or fire, but through fear, dreams, and fury. Every teenager on that scorched battlefield was a flickering candle against the wind of oblivion, fighting adversaries forged of metal and madness—twisted humans gifted with enhancements and soulless intent.

In a cracked corner of the ring, Ynara squared off against a lithe young man, auburn hair flaring like embers. His eyes shimmered with chaotic delight as he danced over gravel and blood, half of his limbs glinting with alien technology. Every strike was an eerie whisper of grace and violence.

Ynara's breath hitched—rapid, sharp. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm, and something inside her stirred: a flicker of energy—not quite fire, not quite light. It was potential. The kind you didn't choose but that chose you in moments where life tried to snuff you out.

"I won't let you take me!" she shouted, her voice trembling despite the strength behind it. The truth was more fragile—fear gnawed at her resolve, unraveling her focus. Something strange had awoken within as she felt her insides burn like they were part of her rage. By now… they hesitated but exploded from her fingers with such a blast that threw her opponent meters away from her. She was surprised and uncertain; she stood again, more certain of herself in the moment than she had been all her life.

Her opponent didn't seem to be the least surprised as he quickly closed the distance between them.

A spinning kick crashed into her skull, and the world exploded into stars. Her knees buckled. Darkness pressed at the edge of her vision. Her opponent stared at her and was fixing his hair, preparing for a final blow as Ynara lay helpless and half-conscious. He was enjoying the moment. Just as his fist, crackling with humming electricity, came down with intended annihilation, Ynara closed her eyes in surrender to defeat to death. 

"Look out!" a familiar voice cried. Opening her eyes, Ynara saw nothing but molten metal on the spot where her opponent had stood. Turning her head to see who her savior was, she saw a teenager just like her. The face of her sister, Elise, was the last she saw as she passed out.

Elise's green eyes, wild with desperation, grappled with two enemies who came at her after she had attacked Ynara's opponents. She fought with such confidence that it screamed experience. With a cry, she released a burst of flame, her powers roaring to life and scattering the shadow-like opponents momentarily. She moved like fire itself—uncontained, unapologetic. 

But fire alone wasn't enough for her opponents, who closed in.

One opponent—wearing an advanced gauntlet—unleashed a bolt of violet energy. It struck Elise in the leg, and her scream cracked the air. She dropped, clawing at the dirt, eyes wide with disbelief. Her flames flickered as pain stormed through her body.

"No-not like this…" she whispered, her voice breaking.

But even in pain, Elise resisted. Her palm ignited in a final effort—flames spiraling upward into a glowing shield. It blazed for a moment, forcing her attackers to recoil.

"Get—back!" she gasped.

But the strike came anyway—two precise blows extinguishing her brilliance. She collapsed in silence, her fire gone cold. Then they proceeded to remove her head, lifting it by the hair in victory. Nearby, another teen crumpled, swallowed by the rising tide of death and despair as a sandstorm from his opponent disintegrated him down to his head.

Across the field, a young adult, Nareth, fought as though born into battle—but he was alone. Two mechanized enemies stalked him, their movements flawless, each attack choreographed like a war ballet. Steel claws gleamed in the dimness, and their precision cornered him without effort.

Nareth panted, pivoting, dodging—but they anticipated every move. "Think… think!" he muttered, panic gnawing at him.

Then it came—that ancestral thrum. Energy crackled in his bones like awakened thunder. His ability came alive.

With a raw cry, he unleashed it—electric pulses rippling from his hands in arcs of brilliant blue. They collided with his enemies, short-circuiting one's movement. For a second, hope returned.

But it was a mirage.

One recovered instantly, blade flashing. It tore across Nareth's side—a scream escaped him as warmth bled from the wound. He staggered back, hand pressing to his torso.

"No," he rasped. "Not yet…"

But the pain grew. He fell, eyes wide with disbelief, his light swallowed by the storm. Shadows surrounded him, patient and cruel, consuming his breath. Lifting his arms, he directed every energy he could muster towards his opponents standing over him as he succumbed to the shadows.

Elsewhere, the battle burned hotter.

Nyra squared off against a girl with hair like a wildfire. The red-haired opponent wielded flaming needles not just as a weapon but as an extension of her rage, spinning it like a dancer commanding the air itself. Nyra's pulse stuttered.

But she didn't flinch.

From her hands, darkness bloomed—tendrils of shadow coiling like silk, forming barriers that absorbed the fire's hunger, rendering the needles useless. "I won't cower!" she shouted. She had seen others like herself fall.

The two forces collided—flame and shadow, hope and fear. But Nyra could feel it—her strength thinning as the shadow energy from her ate into her. The needles from each infernal strike chipped away at her defense. The heat was unbearable, her shield fraying.

She faltered, breath caught in her throat as fire surged too close. Her enemy grinned, reveling in the unraveling.

Nyra's feet stumbled over cracked earth. Shadows pulsed one last time… and then failed. Flame surged inward, engulfing her. She screamed in sync with her opponent's victorious screams as her hands went up in defense—but only ash answered. And it wasn't hers.

And in the trembling silence that followed, the earth moved.

Vess stood, a figure both small and immovable. Three enemies faced her—two armored predators and one cloaked in temporal darkness, a being able to pause time like turning pages in a book.

Fear curled in Vess's gut, but she didn't let it own her. She knelt and placed her palms to the soil.

Breathe.

Roots stirred.

Vines erupted, twisting around her enemies with wild abandon. One was dragged downward, shrieking in confusion as its hair clung to Vess's vines, merging into them. The other two leapt back, startled.

She smiled as strength filled her up, feeling the pulse of the earth, the rhythm of resistance in her bones. "I won't be moved."

But then—

The figure cloaked in shadows stepped forward. Time fractured—flickering like broken glass. Vess gasped as her vines halted mid-motion. Her connection to nature shattered as something cold and void wrapped around her.

"No…" she whispered. The shadows tightened. Her power—once vast—now felt like air in a clenched fist.

She screamed, straining, but it was no use. The dark was consuming her when streaks of earth rained, pummeling both Vess and her opponents underneath. Surviving fighters only watched, unable to move. 

The battlefield was quiet again.

Scorched. Splintered. Holy in its sorrow.