Chapter 14.2: Semifinal Part 2

The arena was engulfed in an unnatural darkness. Torches flickered and extinguished along the stone walls. The crowd's roar faded into frightened whispers as shadows deepened beyond the typical night.

Karsil stood at the heart of the pit, arms raised toward the vaulted ceiling. Dark energy poured from his fingertips like liquid smoke, thickening the air with the stench of opened graves.

"Behold true necromancy," Karsil's voice echoed inhumanly. "Death itself answers my call."

The sand beneath his feet cracked as a rift tore open in reality, jagged edges bleeding raw death energy into the arena. The temperature plummeted by twenty degrees in an instanst. Spectators pressed back against the stone seats, terror replacing their bloodlust.

From the abyss came something that had never been human.

The Harbinger crawled forth on limbs that bent unnaturally. Bone and sinew twisted into a grotesque mockery of life. Its skull was elongated, the jaw unhinged to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. Arms stretched too long, ending in claws that carved grooves into solid stone.

Leon's breath misted in the sudden cold. His wounded body trembled as the creature's presence pressed against his mind like ice picks behind his eyes.

The monster stood eight feet tall, its movements were fluid yet alien—predatory grace mingled with insectoid precision. When it turned toward Leon, its eye sockets blazed with the same void that had birthed it.

Leon's undead faltered. His assassin stumbled, her precise movements becoming jerky. The Mage Zombie's blue fire dimmed to barely visible sparks.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Karsil laughed. "Fifteen years I have waited to summon this beauty. It devours magic itself."

The Harbinger moved—not running, but flowing across the sand like spilled oil. Leon fired twice. His mana rounds struck the creature's torso and vanished without effect. The shots did not even slow it down.

Claws swept toward Leon's throat. He threw himself backward, the steel-sharp talons missing his jugular by mere inches. The creature's follow-up strike carved four parallel grooves into the arena wall.

Leon's assassin attacked from behind. Her knives found gaps between ribs, plunging deep into rotted flesh. The Harbinger did not flinch. It backhanded her across the pit, and she struck the stone barrier with bone-breaking force, collapsing in a heap.

The Mage Zombie launched spectral bolts. They struck the monster and fizzled into smoke—no damage, no effect. The creature's presence consumed magic like a ravenous void.

Leon rolled between the Harbinger's legs as massive claws slammed down, sand exploding where he had just been lying. He sprang up, firing his remaining shots into the creature's spine.

Nothing. The rounds might as well have been flower petals.

The monster spun with impossible speed, its elbow striking Leon in the ribs and lifting him from the ground. He flew six feet before crashing hard, fresh blood filling his mouth.

Leon struggled to his knees. His gun was empty, and his undead allies lay useless. The creature stalked toward him with a leisurely confidence.

Despite his failing body, Leon's mind raced. He watched Karsil directing the monster with subtle gestures. When the necromancer pointed left, the Harbinger moved left. When Karsil raised his arm, the creature struck high.

The monster was not autonomous; it was a puppet dancing to Karsil's will.

The Harbinger loomed over Leon, its claws descending toward his face. Leon rolled aside, stone chips flying as the talons attack.

He needed one clear shot at Karsil, but the necromancer stood twenty feet away, protected by his summoned nightmare.

The creature seized Leon's leg, its grip crushing muscle against bone. He screamed as it lifted him into the air, dangling him like a broken doll.

Karsil stepped closer, savoring his victory. "Any last words, pretender?"

The Harbinger drew back its free claw for the killing blow. Leon hung upside down, blood rushing to his head as the arena spun around him.

Karsil's attention was fixed on the spectacle, his control over the monster relaxing slightly as he basked in triumph.

Leon had been palming his combat knife during throughout the fight. Now, he drove the blade into the Harbinger's wrist—not to wound it, but to make it flinch.

For one heartbeat, the creature's grip loosened. Leon twisted free and dropped hard onto the sand, his ankle screaming in protest as he hit the ground awkwardly.

The Harbinger reached for him again. Leon rolled between its legs, coming up behind Karsil. The necromancer spun, eyes wide with sudden alarm.

Leon pressed his empty mana gun against Karsil's chest, triggering the emergency overload function. The weapon's mana core detonated in a burst of blue fire.

The explosion hurled Karsil backward, blood erupting from his chest as magical energy tore through his heart. His scream cut off mid-breath as he slammed into the arena wall.

The Harbinger's scream shattered the silence. Its form wavered like smoke in the wind. Without Karsil's will to bind it, the creature began to unravel.

Spectral flesh peeled away in burning strips, and bones cracked and dissolved. The monster clawed at empty air as it was dragged back toward the rift.

The void collapsed with a sound reminscent of reality tearing apart. Darkness fled from the arena as torches reignited, restoring normal light and leaving only scattered ash to mark the Harbinger's passage.

Leon fell to his knees, his overloaded gun a twisted ruin of metal and crystal. Smoke curled from the wreckage.

Karsil lay motionless against the wall, blood pooling beneath his still form. His chest did not rise or fall.

The crowd sat in stunned silence, having witnessed something beyond ordinary combat—a glimpse into powers that should not exist in civilized society.

Medics rushed into the pit, loading Leon onto a stretcher despite his weak protests. Pain coursed through him, and his vision flickered in and out of focus.

As they carried him toward the exit, the tournament master's voice echoed through the arena: "Winner by elimination—Leon Graves advances to the final!"

Cheers erupted from some sections of the crowd while others remained silent, still processing the spectacle they had just witnessed.

Leon fought to stay conscious, but exhaustion pulled him down. His undead had dissolved when the Harbinger's presence faded, and the assassin's broken form was swept away with the other debris.

Through blurred vision, Leon caught sight of a figure in the upper gallery—someone wearing a plain mask observed from the VIP section reserved for tomorrow's final opponent. The figure was tall and athletically built, and there was something familiar about his standing. Leon struggled to focus, but darkness claimed him before recognition could dawn.

The medics carried him through stone corridors toward the treatment area. Behind them, cleanup crews worked to erase all traces of necromantic battle from the blood-soaked sand.

Tomorrow will bring the tournament's climax—the final match determining everything.

Leon's last conscious thought was of his mother, pale in her hospital bed. One more fight. One more victory. Then, the healing elixir would be his.

In the gallery above, the masked figure turned away from the pit. Familiar green eyes studied Leon's unconscious form, revealing complex emotions—recognition, regret, and perhaps even respect.

Damian Falken pulled his mask closer and vanished into the crowd.