The stadium had fallen into an eerie silence. Day Seven of the National Tournament had ended in chaos and awe, the crowd still shaken by the monstrous eruption that had been Kenneth Prince. Where once there had been cheers and chants, now there was only subdued murmuring, the kind that crept beneath the skin and left a bitter taste in the mouth.
Zarek Volen remained unconscious in the medical ward, monitors beeping quietly at his side. The healers hovered aroun nod him, unsure of how to treat damage inflicted by such sheer brutality. His mind flickered in and out of the present, and though he stirred once or twice, his body refused to respond. Every movement came with sharp flashes of pain. He had seen something that no one else understood, something buried in the blood-soaked cracks of the arena. Something ancient.
Kyros Drelm, on the other hand, wasn't moving at all.
He lay in intensive care, barely clinging to life. No one spoke it aloud, but the fear was palpable—the fear that he might never wake up again. Braggon Vale had fallen silent in shame and uncertainty.
The tournament standings were now clear:
1st: Velmora
2nd: Braggon Vale
3rd: Draxil
4th: Arvellen
But the competition had stopped feeling like a game. It had become something far more dangerous.
---
In the shadows of the stadium's administrative chambers, Kiro Vant approached a high-ranking official. Or rather, he who wore Kiro's face.
"I want a match with Kenneth Prince," the imposter said calmly, the voice smooth like silk soaked in venom.
The official furrowed his brows. "That's not permitted. The bracket doesn't allow for one-on-one challenges outside the predetermined match-ups."
"Is that so?" Kiro (the fake) asked, his tone dripping with feigned surprise. Then, his crimson eyes locked with the official's.
There was a shift in the air.
A whisper. A flicker. A compulsion.
"You will arrange the match," the fake Kiro said softly.
The official's pupils dilated.
He blinked. Nodded slowly. "I... will arrange the match."
And just like that, the final match was born in the dark.
---
The next morning, an emergency broadcast echoed throughout the campus: "By special arrangement, the final match of Day Seven is to commence. Velmora's Kenneth Prince versus Braggon Vale's Kiro Vant."
Confusion exploded.
Kael Drayven stood still, eyes narrowing as the name hit his ears. "That wasn't on the schedule," he muttered.
Cassian scowled. "Did Kenneth agree to this?"
No one knew. No one had answers.
In the medical ward, Zarek groaned as his eyes fluttered open. He heard the announcement. His lips moved, dry and cracked.
"Stop... him..."
But his voice was a whisper drowned by pain.
---
Kenneth Prince entered the arena again.
The air was colder now, despite the midday sun. He walked alone, the blue of his eyes duller than usual, like a storm building behind the iris. No cheers greeted him. Only stunned silence and a thousand unspoken questions.
Across from him, Kiro Vant strolled into the arena, calm, regal, and disturbingly content.
Cassian watched nervously. "That's not the same Kiro I knew. There's something wrong with him."
Kael didn't blink. "That's not Kiro Vant at all."
Cassian turned. "What?"
"Just watch."
---
"BEGIN!"
Kenneth sprang forward, his fists igniting with fire and sparks of frost laced between his knuckles. He moved with precision, unleashing blow after blow, never holding back.
But he didn't transform.
He wouldn't.
He couldn't afford to lose control.
Kiro blocked the strikes effortlessly, slipping past each attack with uncanny fluidity. His crimson eyes glowed unnaturally.
Then he struck.
Kenneth flew backward, crashing into the arena wall. He gritted his teeth, coughing blood, and charged again.
Flames surged.
Ice followed.
Still, Kiro danced through it all. With a flick of his hand, tendrils of blood whipped from his palm like living spears.
Kael's eyes widened slightly. "That's not elemental control... that's something else."
Cassian watched in horror. "What is that?"
Kenneth was struggling now. His attacks became desperate. His movements more reckless. Each clash left him broken in more places.
His body was screaming to shift.
Golden tried to creep into his eyes.
He shoved it down.
But Kiro didn't stop. His blood attacks became a symphony of pain, forming claws, blades, and spears that tore at Kenneth's skin. The arena was stained crimson.
Kael clenched his fists. "He knows blood magic. Only one other person I know of can wield that..."
Cassian stood. "I'm stopping this!"
He leapt down from the stands.
But before he could touch the ground—
A surge of blood mist swallowed the arena floor.
The figures of Kenneth Prince and Kiro Vant were consumed in an instant.
Gone.
Vanished into crimson fog.
Cassian halted midair and crashed to the arena floor, scanning wildly. "KENNETH!"
The mist dissipated slowly.
Only silence remained.
---
Back in the official's box, chaos erupted.
"We... we lost visual!"
"Tracking abilities aren't responding!"
"Is this part of the match?"
A separate official stormed forward and grabbed the mic. "Due to unforeseen circumstances, the National Tournament is hereby suspended until further notice."
Gasps rang out through the stadium.
---
Reactions flooded the stands.
Cassian stared at the arena, trembling. "He was right there. I could've..."
Kael remained still. "That wasn't a match. That was an abduction."
From the medical ward, Zarek stared at the ceiling. A tear slipped down his cheek.
"He wasn't ready..."
---
The prince was gone.
And the blood crown had begun to call him.