The cheers hadn't even faded when the sky trembled.
It wasn't thunder—no. It was pressure. A weight so immense it made the floating arena's protective runes groan in protest. The crowd's excitement turned into silence, the kind born from an instinct older than fear.
Eryndor's grin faded. Kaelus straightened, eyes narrowing. Every elder in the viewing deck stood up at once.
A ripple tore through the sky—like reality itself had been ripped open. From within the split stepped a figure.
He wasn't radiant like a hero, nor ominous like a monster. He simply was.
Tall, golden hair falling just past his neck, eyes a shifting violet hue that glimmered like a prism in sunlight. He wore a sleeveless black tunic traced with faint, glowing sigils—marks not of mortal magic but of something deeper, something divine.
His voice, when it came, was calm.
"Eryndor Nasarik. The heir of the Voidborn Lineage."
The crowd went cold.
Zephyr Nasarik's eyes narrowed. Aldric rose from his seat instantly. "No… that energy—"
The man stepped fully onto the arena's airborne platform, his boots leaving shimmering ripples with every step.
Kaelus felt his throat tighten. His instincts screamed run, yet his body wouldn't move.
Eryndor exhaled slowly, one hand sliding into his pocket. "You're not on the guest list," he said casually.
The stranger's eyes flicked toward him. "I am Rein Clark, God Candidate of the Dominion Seat. And you… are an anomaly in our design."
What is a God Candidate?
There are not many who even dare to whisper the term.
A God Candidate is a mortal who has survived the Divine Resonance—a process where the fractured will of a sleeping god seeps into a chosen host. Each candidate embodies a fragment of a divine law—Authority, Dominion, Judgement, Chaos, Creation—and carries the potential to one day ascend beyond mortality.
But until they do, they exist as half-breeds between divinity and man—too divine to be human, too human to be gods.
Each God Candidate stands far above normal cultivators or warriors. The weakest among them rival Transcendence Tier, and the strongest touch the borders of the Mythic Aether Tier, capable of bending natural law through will alone.
They are forbidden from interfering in mortal affairs.
But Lazarus Solvik had found a way to twist that rule.
The air pulsed. The floating platforms of the coliseum dimmed as Rein's aura flared outward.
A tidal wave of divine pressure struck the arena. Everyone—patriarchs, heirs, even Aether Tier cultivators—felt it claw at their lungs.
Then Rein vanished.
A blur of gold and shadow streaked across the platform—
and Kaelus didn't even see it.
The next thing he knew, he was flying backward, blood spraying from his lip as Rein's heel connected square with his face. His body crashed into the barrier, leaving spiderweb cracks across the surface.
Eryndor's lightning flared in an instant. He appeared beside Kaelus, helping him up.
"Well," Eryndor muttered, brushing dust from Kaelus' shoulder, "that must've hurt."
Kaelus wiped blood from his mouth, smirking even through the pain. "You think?"
Eryndor tilted his head, eyes narrowing as Rein's aura thickened. "Wanna have a go at him?"
Kaelus' smirk widened. "Why not?"
The Storm and the Zephyr moved as one.
Lightning cracked as Eryndor launched forward, the air splitting behind him. Kaelus followed, moving like a phantom wind through his wake.
Rein's expression didn't change—his violet eyes flickered, and golden rings of divine energy formed behind him, rotating like celestial wheels.
Eryndor appeared first, swinging a left jab toward Rein's jaw. Rein parried effortlessly, ducking under the strike—only to catch Kaelus' kick from behind him without even turning.
With a flick of his wrist, he threw Kaelus aside like paper. Eryndor used that same motion, using Kaelus' trajectory as a feint, lunging low and slamming his palm toward Rein's ribs—lightning bursting from his hand.
"Tempest Form — Breaker Pulse!"
The impact detonated in a flash of blue-white light.
Rein slid backward only a few feet—barely fazed—but the tiles beneath him shattered.
Eryndor stepped back, spinning midair to avoid a counterpunch that passed close enough to shear strands of his hair.
Kaelus reappeared in that moment, his body splitting into afterimages.
Wind blades swirled from his legs as he attacked in a rotating storm pattern.
Rein raised one arm, palm open. The wind bent around him.
"Pathetic," Rein murmured, his voice low and dangerous.
He flicked his finger. Kaelus' entire cyclone shattered, sending him sprawling.
Eryndor's eyes flashed. Lightning arced down from the sky above the arena.
He slammed his hands together, forming a circle.
"Astral Sky: Null Convergence."
The lightning bent—not just the air, but the space around Rein. Everything seemed to warp inward as if dragged toward an invisible center. Rein's eyes flicked upward, his expression for the first time showing surprise.
Kaelus didn't waste the moment—he shot forward, a blur of emerald energy, kicking off Eryndor's shoulder midair and spinning into a dropkick that cracked the divine sigil halo behind Rein.
The explosion threw all three of them apart.
From the stands, Zephyr rose. "That's not a mortal fight anymore," he muttered. "That's the power of a god fragment."
Aldric's hand hovered near his sword. "If Rein is here, then Lazarus is moving his pieces early."
Back in the ring, Eryndor straightened, exhaling slowly. Lightning hissed around him. His clothes were torn, skin bleeding at the edges of his knuckles.
Kaelus coughed once, grinning through the pain. "He's toying with us."
"Yeah," Eryndor said, voice calm. "But I'm not done yet."
They moved again—
No words. No hesitation.
Kaelus feinted high, spinning into a low kick while Eryndor dashed from the opposite side.
Rein blocked Kaelus' strike with his shin—but that was the bait.
Eryndor's right fist collided with Rein's ribs at the same moment Kaelus' wind compressed, amplifying the shock.
The sound wasn't thunder this time—it was something breaking.
Rein stumbled half a step back, his expression finally changing—just slightly.
Eryndor smirked. "Guess gods can bleed too."
Rein's aura erupted.
Golden wings flared from his back, radiant and terrifying.
"You think yourselves strong?" he said softly. "Then endure this."
A single strike—nothing more than a casual swing—sent both of them crashing through the barrier, lightning and wind exploding outward like meteor trails.
The coliseum trembled.
But before Rein could follow up, the sky roared.
A voice, ancient and layered in echo, drifted across the clouds.
"Enough."
Rein froze mid-motion, divine light flickering uncertainly.
He looked up. The entire heavens shimmered with a faint, runic seal—something older than the gods themselves.
Rein clicked his tongue. "So the Ancients still meddle in mortal affairs."
He glanced at Eryndor—half-conscious but still standing. Kaelus beside him, body trembling, grinning faintly.
"You'll understand soon," Rein said. "The gods do not choose without purpose."
And with that, he stepped backward into the rift—and was gone.
The silence after was heavy.
The elders didn't speak. The crowd didn't breathe.
Kaelus leaned against Eryndor, laughing weakly. "So, still think I should've sat this one out?"
Eryndor chuckled, his eyes flickering faintly with silver light. "Nah… it was fun."
But deep in that smirk, something colder lingered—something that knew Rein's words weren't just a threat.
They were a promise.