Chapter 38 – Clash of Champions

The arena was a colossal coliseum suspended in an endless void, its boundaries defined by shimmering barriers of ancient magic. The ground beneath was scarred and torn — jagged rocks, rivers of molten lava, and patches of ethereal grass glowing faintly under the unseen light. From above, the enormous floating platforms and towers formed vantage points for observers, while the crowd's distant roars echoed like a cosmic storm.

Here, the multiverse's fiercest combatants gathered — warriors from distant galaxies, ascended mages, primal beasts, and elusive assassins — all unified by a single goal: survival. Only one would claim ultimate victory, and with it, a wish powerful enough to reshape reality.

Zavier Von Drakaryn soared low, his silver-scaled wings beating steadily against the charged air. His newly transformed dragon form felt foreign yet invigorating — a perfect blend of power and grace. His eyes, a shimmering mix of every color, scanned the battlefield as he dodged a devastating punch from the towering Titanborn warrior charging him head-on.

The Titanborn was a hulking figure clad in crimson battle plates, veins pulsating with primal energy. Each fist he swung seemed to shatter the very earth. With a bellow, he unleashed a sweeping blow, forcing Zavier into a narrow dodge that nearly cracked the rock beneath his claws.

Breathing hard, Zavier summoned the strength Seraphine had taught him to harness. Gathering mana, he wove it along his wings and tail, enhancing his speed. He dove with precision, claws slashing the Titanborn's armored chest, sending sparks flying. The Titanborn grunted in pain but retaliated with a ground-shaking stomp that split the earth, sending jagged fissures toward Zavier.

Every movement was a test of will and skill — both fighters pushing their limits, fueled by the stakes that weighed on their shoulders.

Across the arena, shadows moved like living smoke. The Voidborn assassin — slender, with midnight-black skin and glowing azure eyes — melted into the darkness. Her lithe figure was adorned in seamless armor crafted from void essence, blending perfectly with the surrounding gloom.

She stalked her prey: a group of lesser fighters scrambling near the shattered remnants of a once-mighty tower. With swift, silent strikes, she incapacitated one after another, blades flashing like whispers of death. Her movements were poetry in motion, fluid and deadly.

Suddenly, a shimmer betrayed her position. A Springblade hunter, agile and sharp-eyed, lunged with a serrated spear. The assassin twisted mid-air, barely evading the strike, then countered with a lethal slash across the hunter's throat. As he collapsed, the assassin's eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction — a predator in her element.

Near the molten rivers winding through the arena's core, the atmosphere crackled with raw energy. An Ascended Celestial mage — tall and radiant, draped in flowing robes etched with star-like patterns — lifted his hands to the sky. Cosmic energy coalesced above him, a swirling sphere of shimmering light.

His opponent, a fierce Ascended insectoid hive lord, covered in chitinous armor that gleamed like black obsidian. Multiple limbs ended in razor-sharp claws, twitching in anticipation.

The hive lord charged with terrifying speed, claws striking like lightning. The mage conjured barriers of pure light, absorbing the blows, then retaliated with blasts of cosmic fire. The hive lord's exoskeleton smoked and cracked but held firm as it continued the assault.

The battle was a dazzling clash of elemental forces — cosmic light against primal might. Around them, the terrain bore scars of their fury, rivers steaming and rocks shattered.

Outside the arena's shimmering walls, the mood was tense but quieter.

Lyssira, her emerald hair catching the ambient glow, stood on a raised viewing platform. Her slender frame was tense, lips pressed into a thin line. Although she had chosen to sit out the arena, her heart pounded with worry for Zavier. Her eyes never left his silver-scaled figure as he danced through deadly strikes.

"Stay focused, Zavier," she whispered, voice barely audible over the distant clashes. "You can do this."

Beside her, Freya sat cross-legged, arms folded, eyes sharp and calculating. Her dark leather combat attire, etched with subtle tribal markings, contrasted with her pale skin and fierce amber eyes.

"I'm not fighting, but I'm not just watching either," Freya muttered, her mind racing through strategies and possible interventions. "If things go south, we'll need a plan. This arena isn't just a test — it's a slaughter."

Lyssira nodded grimly. "We've got to be ready."

Back in the arena, the combat escalated.

Zavier felt fatigue creep into his muscles but refused to yield. The Titanborn opponent was relentless, each blow heavier than the last. Summoning every ounce of will, Zavier unleashed a powerful roar, channeling his draconic energy into a sweeping blast of wind and flame.

The Titanborn staggered but quickly recovered, eyes blazing with fury.

Nearby, the Voidborn assassin vanished into a swirl of shadows, reappearing behind a group of assailants. Her blades sang a deadly song, cutting down enemies with merciless precision.

The celestial mage summoned a constellation of stars overhead, raining down meteoric strikes that scorched the battlefield. The hive lord responded with a deafening screech, summoning swarms of smaller insectoids to overwhelm the mage.

As the battles raged on, spectators from across the multiverse watched breathlessly — each fight a story of survival, ambition, and raw power.

Amidst the chaos, one truth remained clear: only one champion would rise, and the multiverse itself would tremble at their wish.