Chapter 10: Wildclash Tournament (Part Three)
"REJECTED!!!" the combat orator said, with shock on his own face.
All eyes pierced at the statue like she had just set a new record.
Dravik stood motionless, looking at the remains of his opponent, drenched in sweat. He couldn't do anything in his state — even if he could, I'm sure he wouldn't dare attack Saerah, because that would be the end of both him and his race.
Brimel, the Avatar to the Celestial God Primarch, rose from his throne. The arena, still trembling from the last clash, fell into an uneasy silence. The stench of scorched blood lingered where one fighter — broken and half-alive — still knelt, gaping in shock as his body was slowly healing at eye speed.
Brimel's gaze settled on him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"My, what devotion," he began, his voice smooth and echoing through the air. "You clawed your way through death itself, didn't you? Limbs failing, spirit cracking — yet still you stand before the Almighty Saerah Kealthron, the mistress of the wild, expecting a pardon from the heavens."
Laughter — light and cruel — rippled from the stands of certain races, though many others dared not breathe.
Brimel stepped forward, the floor beneath him fracturing with each movement. "Tell me, did you truly think the heavens reward desperation? No… the heavens reward dominance." His tone sharpened, every word cutting through the air like a blade. "You survived, yes — but survival is not victory. The gods do not bless those who crawl."
He turned his gaze toward the gathered races. "Let this be a reminder to you all — strength without worth is nothing. Endurance without power is an insult to creation itself."
He raised his hand. Light gathered at his palm, soft at first — almost merciful — before it flared into something terrible. "The Celestial Primarch sees your struggle…"
His smile widened. "…and rejects it."
A sound like thunder split the air. The fighter's body disintegrated into dust before a single scream could escape him.
Brimel lowered his hand, the light fading as quickly as it came. "Let the next match begin," he said quietly, and turned away as if nothing had happened.
"LIGHT???" I whispered. "What in the heavens — the Celestial Gods at Nexora only used Time Law. Why on earth would they hold the Light of Devastation?"
LIGHT OF OBLIVION — I had only seen it in books back at the LI clan, but it was rather purple-colored than gold. It originated from the Light of Absolute Annihilation, also known as the Janitor of Existence, cleansing the void space of its inhabitants.
Now the incomplete form of the Light of Devastation was in the hands of a wild creature.
I took a deep breath and brought my mind back to the present. The remains of the contestants had left, leaving only three rearranged sets: me and Prime Aris, Yura and Kaen, Rynn and Azrel.
The combat orator announced the next match.
---
Next Match — Yura of the Windborn vs Kaen of the Stoneblood Giants.
Yura floated down like a feather. Wings of translucent air spread behind her; every movement was silent. Kaen, meanwhile, towered like a fortress, his skin cracked stone and veins of magma pulsing through his arms.
"Speed against endurance," I murmured, then turned to look at the judges — and this time Saerah wasn't looking away. I turned toward where Veyl and Morik were sitting but couldn't find Morik. I took a deep breath and continued watching the match.
The horn blared.
Kaen struck first — his fists crashed like meteors, each blow carving craters. But Yura danced through them, twisting, gliding, her feet barely touching the ground. Every time Kaen swung, she vanished into the wind, only to reappear behind him, slicing with blades made of compressed air.
The fight became a blur. Kaen's patience broke; he slammed both fists into the earth, creating a shockwave that shattered the platform.
For a moment, it seemed he'd won.
Then the dust cleared, and Yura stood behind him, her blade piercing through his neck — silent, elegant, final.
No cheers this time. Just awe.
Yura, after finishing her opponent, bowed slightly toward the judges and was qualified. That's when the crowd finally cheered, and applause echoed through the arena.
The combat orator announced a brief break and said the match would continue after a few hours.
Little did he know that would be his last words.
He shrieked in pain, holding his head and begging for mercy, but the elder from the Seeker race wasn't the type to grant it.
A few seconds later, the orator's head was blown to pieces. The arena went calm — no one dared move a muscle.
And just like that, the break was canceled. No one was allowed to leave — even to take a dump would be seen as defiance, and death would inevitably be the judgment.
A mysterious voice took over for the orator and called out the next match.
---
The second-to-last match will be starting now — Rynn of the Bloodborne vs Azrel of the Hollow Ones.
The arena lights dimmed to red. The crowd quieted; even the wind seemed to vanish.
Rynn walked out barefoot, skin etched with crimson runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Her race was known to burn their life force for power — every second of combat was a countdown to death.
Her opponent floated — a Hollow. Pale, hollow-eyed, his body half-transparent. No breath, no emotion, no sound.
Rynn drew a blade that dripped with her own blood. "Let's see if emptiness can bleed."
The Hollow didn't reply. It simply raised its hand, and the ground decayed beneath her.
Their fight was terrifying. Each strike Rynn took fed her fury; each hit she landed dissolved through the Hollow's shifting form. It was life fighting death itself.
She screamed, burning her blood to pure flame, the arena trembling under her defiance. The Hollow cracked, body flickering like glass.
At the final moment, both collapsed — her body still aflame, his form dissolving into smoke.
Silence. Then a Seeker stepped forward. "Draw."
The crowd erupted — half in praise, half in horror.
"You should have left when you had the chance," the old Seeker said.
And by slightly raising his hand, he commanded the two to give him a winner, or they'd both lose and face the same fate.
Azrel, looking at Rynn, took pity and admitted defeat. He stood up from the stage and started walking out.
"Wait!!" the elder called out, staring coldly at Azrel. "Who said you could leave?"
Azrel, realizing his fate, quickly took action and walked into thin air. Shortly after, he appeared right in front of the elder.
Even after realizing he was dead meat, he kept struggling and managed to land a blow.
Then everyone went quiet. Azrel was lifted into the air and watched his own hollow life fade.
Now back to Rynn. The elder turned to the statue. After a brief moment, he looked at Rynn and gave her penance.
"Though you won't be entering the Wild, your reward is your life." After a brief pause, he gave her permission to leave, then walked through the air and appeared at his throne.
Then the mysterious voice came again:
"As for the concluding match — Kull from the Inner Wilds vs Prime Aris of the Celestial Gods."