Chapter 11: Wildclash Tournament — The Final Duel
As for the final match — Kull from the Inner Wilds versus Prime Aris, the prodigy of the Celestial God Race, third grandson to the Celestial God himself, and already leading in establishing his own rings within Nexora.
My intro wasn't peak, but I expected it. Originally, my plot was to destroy every being in the Wild—but that plan would have to wait. I had to get stronger first.
I walked into the stage as Aris emerged from the opposite side, tall and radiant in his clean robes, etched with gold, white, and silver intricates.
"You must be someone special," he said, studying me with that perfect figure and calm arrogance.
"No, I'm no one special," I replied. My voice was calm as ever, but inside, my heart pounded. It felt like my lungs would explode, yet I kept my cool—waiting for the orator to begin the match.
"BEGIN!" a mysterious voice declared.
The arena was silent—too silent. Even the wind seemed afraid to breathe.
Prime Aris stood across from me, robes glowing faintly beneath the divine light that crowned the battlefield. His eyes held that calm, celestial arrogance—the kind born from a race that thought itself above mortality.
I could feel it. His presence alone bent the air.
Time itself rippled faintly around him—seconds hesitated before passing; breaths lingered too long in my lungs.
I gripped the hilt of my sword tighter. My pulse was steady, my breathing sharp, but my mind whispered caution.
The horn blared.
He didn't move at first. He simply watched. Every inch of his stance said, Show me if you're worth my time.
Fine.
Dark mist began to gather around my feet—soft, grey tendrils weaving through the cracked obsidian floor. My Death Law wasn't complete, but I had my mist abilities. Hopefully, that would be enough.
I covered myself in the dark mist and vanished from sight.
I dashed forward, sword cutting through the haze like lightning. Aris barely tilted his head—my blade met empty air.
He'd already shifted—time skipping him a step backward before my strike could land.
I pivoted, slashing again. Another miss.
He smiled, faint but real. "Predictable."
His palm lifted. The world froze. My heartbeat stopped—literally stopped. The color drained from everything; sound shattered into silence. Then, as time resumed, pain exploded across my shoulder. His hand had already struck, glowing with divine force.
I stumbled back, biting down a groan.
He didn't press the attack—just studied me, like a teacher grading a student.
So that's how he wanted to play it.
I inhaled slowly, gathering my mist tighter. The field dimmed; visibility vanished. My footsteps echoed in a dozen directions at once, shadows flickering.
He turned slightly, following a sound—the wrong one.
I appeared behind him, sword already descending. The blade grazed his cheek, drawing the faintest line of golden blood.
His eyes widened—just a little.
Then everything broke.
The air around him cracked, time itself fragmenting like glass. A dozen Arises flickered before me—each a second apart, each moving differently.
Before I could react, one struck from my left, another from behind. Every motion was delayed yet simultaneous, each strike perfectly timed to land where I had been—or where I would be.
I couldn't dodge them all. A fist slammed into my ribs; a kick sent me sprawling. My mist broke apart. The crowd's roar returned, distant and cruel.
I spat blood and pushed to my feet.
"Not bad," I muttered, wiping my lip.
Aris tilted his head. "You should yield, mortal. This is mercy."
"Mercy?" I raised my sword. "I don't recall asking for any."
I exhaled—and the mist turned singularity black, absorbing the surrounding light.
It wasn't normal mist anymore. It was heavy, suffocating… cold. The kind that whispered of graves. My incomplete Death Law stirred awake, devouring what little calm was left.
For the first time, Aris's composure faltered. "What is—"
I moved.
The scythe formed mid-swing—steel stretching, bending, twisting into that cursed weapon that hummed with my souls. The floor cracked beneath me.
The scythe screamed as it cut through the air, meeting his spear in a burst of divine light.
The shockwave tore through the arena.
We both slid backward—his feet barely shifting, mine carving deep furrows into the stone. The power gap was breathtaking.
I noticed Brimel and the elders' shock as my sword transformed, but I couldn't afford distractions now.
He blinked, surprised that I could still stand. "That weapon… it reeks of death."
"It's not the weapon you should fear," I said through clenched teeth.
I lunged again, letting instinct take over. Each swing carried fragments of my Death Law, eroding the very light around us. Sparks turned black, the air curdled. He deflected every blow, but his golden aura dimmed—flickers of exhaustion creeping in.
He finally frowned. "Enough."
He raised his hand, and time folded. My movements slowed; my body felt like it was sinking into syrup. I could see his spear approaching—leisurely, inevitable.
But I smiled. Because for once, I didn't resist.
The moment his spear reached me, I let death flow. My soul detached, flickering in and out of existence. The spear passed through an afterimage—my body fading into the mist itself.
Then I was behind him.
The scythe slashed.
Golden blood sprayed, brief and blinding. It wasn't much—a wound across his shoulder—but it was enough to draw a gasp from the crowd.
He turned, calm gone. "You dare—"
I didn't let him finish. I charged, death's whisper roaring in my ears. Every strike grew heavier, faster, more desperate. My vision blurred, my ribs screamed, and still I pressed on.
Our weapons collided again and again—spear against scythe, light against decay. Time fractured, mist howled, the ground melted beneath our feet.
Then came the flash.
I felt my chest rupture before I saw the spear.
It had pierced me clean through, radiant light bursting from my back.
My scythe fell. My knees hit the ground.
Aris stood above me, breath steady, the wound on his shoulder already closing with divine glow.
"A commendable effort," he said quietly. "You almost made me use both hands."
Blood filled my mouth. I grinned weakly. One of my souls was dead—I could feel it.
"Almost… huh?"
Death pulsed once more inside me, unbidden, wild. The mist surged, wrapping around my fallen weapon. The scythe lifted itself, floating, its blade humming softly.
Aris took a cautious step back.
I looked up, voice a whisper. "You shouldn't have turned your back."
The scythe swung—by itself. A final arc of darkness slashed across his golden aura, dimming it for a heartbeat. It wasn't enough to wound him again, but the crowd saw it—the gods saw it.
A mortal had touched divinity.
I collapsed completely, vision fading into black mist. The last thing I heard was the statue's cold, hollow voice announcing the result.