The throne room was now void of all authority.The king had left, the nobles had scattered, and the Foundaments had each stepped forward, one by one, facing their respective opponents.
In the heavy silence, Canon walked with heavy steps, his massive war axe slung over his shoulder — its black handle and crimson blade gleaming in the flickering torchlight. Even the flames seemed to waver in fear at his approach.
Facing him stood the small silhouette of Seyra Vanyrel, fists clenched, holding her ground without flinching. Her red twin-tails swayed slightly, and in her electric-blue eyes danced sparks of thunderous tension.
Canon stopped a few meters from her and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not seriously about to fight a little girl, am I?"
He didn't see the punch coming.
Seyra's metal-clad fist struck his chest with such violence that the sound of warped armor echoed in the room. The hulking warrior was launched backward, his axe slipping from his shoulder. He crashed through the wall in a storm of shattered stone and landed in the ballroom below, knocking over a chandelier.
Seyra leapt after him, diving through the hole in the wall like a bolt of lightning.
"Don't ever call me a little girl again!"
Canon stood up, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He let out a low chuckle as he picked up his axe again.
"Alright, kid. Let's play."
The fight began.
Seyra darted toward him with terrifying speed. Her glove sparked to life.
"Volt Strike!"
A bolt of lightning burst from her glove and surged into Canon's chest. He staggered two steps back, smoke rising from his armor — but he remained standing.
He stomped his feet into the ground.
"Anchored Stance."
His boots seemed to root themselves into the stone floor, granting him monstrous stability. He swung his axe in a wide arc.
Seyra rolled across the ground, narrowly avoiding the crimson blade. A thin line of blood trailed down her cheek.
She leapt again.
"Fulminating Dash!"
She appeared to his right, striking the arm joint, then vanished to his left to strike the flank. Her movements were far too fast for the eye to follow.
"You hit hard for a runt," Canon spat.
Seyra gritted her teeth.
"I'm 28, you moron."
Canon looked at her, amused.
"Shame you're so tiny. You might've been a worthy opponent otherwise."
She clenched her fists tighter.
"I'm 4 foot 8, you degenerate golem."
Canon opened his mouth.
"Flame Spit!"
A cone of fire erupted from his mouth. Seyra shielded herself with her forearm and rolled again. Her sleeves caught fire — she ripped them off in one swift motion.
Canon activated another skill.
"Armed Arms."
His forearms darkened into a hardened, metallic substance. Each strike shattered the ballroom tiles beneath them. He crushed a nearby column in a single blow. The clash of titans had truly begun.
Seyra backed up, breathing heavily.
"I'll need to hit harder..."
She focused energy into her fists.
"Hands of Fulmen!"
Electric energy wrapped around her metal gloves. Lightning danced across her skin like a serpent of thunder. She raised her fists, ready to unleash fury.
"Supersonic Barrage!"
She struck him in rapid succession — shoulder, abdomen, chin — each hit sharp and fast, but even so… he remained standing.
Canon raised a hand, forming a translucent shield.
"Celestial Shield!"
Seyra struck it head-on but was repelled as if she had punched a mountain.
"Why won't you fall?!" she shouted.
"Because I'm not one of your toys," Canon snapped.
He raised his axe.
"Time to stop playing."
He charged, breaking the ground beneath him. His axe fell toward Seyra like inverted lightning. She dodged at the last second, but her shoulder was clipped. Blood spattered the floor.
"Oblique Bolt!"
With a final push, she channeled her lightning into a single strike aimed at his throat.
The hit landed… but Canon turned just in time. He was wounded — but not defeated.
His gaze darkened.
"Bad move."
He raised his axe and spun it in the air.
Seyra tried to move — but she was mid-air, vulnerable.
Canon jumped.
A dull impact.
A brief cry.
And silence.
The crimson axe came crashing down.
Seyra's body, pierced clean through, dropped to her knees, then collapsed to the floor, eyes still open — frozen in one final spark of anger.
Canon stared at her for a moment, his hand still gripping the black handle of his bloodied weapon.
"You weren't half bad... for a little girl."
He lit a cigarette. The scent of tobacco mingled with the warmth of fresh blood in the ballroom.
And the battle was over.