The silence in the colosseum was a physical presence, thick and heavy. It was the silence of a universe witnessing a new, unsettling law of physics. The awe had faded, replaced by a deep, collective unease. Zero's victory was not inspiring; it was a pronouncement.
He stood over Jade's broken form, not as a triumphant gladiator, but as a scientist observing a concluded experiment. The faint, neon hum of Gesshilla was the only sign of the cataclysmic power that had just been wielded. He slowly lifted the odachi's tip from Jade's chest, the motion as deliberate and final as the severance of the singularity.
The Curator's voice cut through the silence, smooth and approving, devoid of any comfort. "Axiom confirmed. The duel is concluded."
With a casual wave of his hand, the magnificent colosseum dissolved. The stone seats, the sandy arena, the obsidian throne—all unraveled into streams of light, returning the candidates to the vast, open floor of the Sanctuary. The sudden return to normality was jarring.
Jade lay on the cool, seamless floor, whole and unmarked. Every broken bone, every scorched nerve, every drop of spilled blood had been restored by the Tower's magic. But the healing was only skin-deep. His body was pristine; his spirit remained in the ruins of the arena. His eyes were open, staring at the featureless ceiling above, seeing nothing. The echo of Alter Jade's verdict—"You will always be weak"—repeated in his mind, a scar no magic could erase.
Zero did not offer a hand. He did not speak. He simply turned and began to walk toward the archway that led to the residential quarters, his message delivered. They were partners by decree. They were not companions.
"Wait."
The voice was frail, scraped raw from screaming, but it held a sliver of defiant will. Zero paused, not turning around.
Jade pushed himself onto his elbows, his movements sluggish, as if his soul weighed a thousand tons. "This… doesn't change anything." He was lying, and they both knew it. It changed everything.
Zero glanced over his shoulder, his silver-green eyes as impassive as ever. "It changes the only thing that matters. You now know the truth. What you do with that knowledge is your own burden."
He continued walking, leaving Jade alone in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the murmuring, staring crowd.
The reactions were a spectrum of pity, curiosity, and cold calculation. The human girl from the Armory took a step forward, her face etched with concern, but hesitated, held back by the invisible wall of Jade's palpable despair. The arrogant Dragon-folk sneered, now categorizing Jade as definitively inferior. The Titan female's gaze followed Zero with a mix of lust and strategic interest.
The Vampire Countess, however, watched Jade. Her crimson eyes saw past the healed body, into the deep, fertile soil of his suffering. A garden of exquisite despair was blooming within him, and she found it… beautiful. She made a subtle gesture to her attendant, a clear command to continue monitoring him.
Before Jade could fully process his isolation, a soft, cool light enveloped him. A system prompt, gentler than the Curator's announcements, appeared before his eyes.
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It was a mercy he hadn't expected. A small, private room shimmered into existence against a far wall, its door outlined in light. It was a cage, but it was a cage where he could lick his wounds without an audience.
As he staggered to his feet and moved toward it, a final, more personal message flashed, this one in a deep, sanguine crimson text.
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The message vanished, leaving a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. He was broken, but he was not forgotten. He was a project for the Tower, and prey for a Vampire.
He stumbled into the small, sterile room, and the door sealed behind him. The silence there was different from the arena's. It was the silence of a tomb. He slid down the wall to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest.
He had lost. Not just the fight, but the argument. His resolve, his very reason for fighting, had been proven to be a weakness. What was left?
Outside, Zero stood before his own quarters, identical to Jade's. He placed his hand on the door, but did not enter immediately. He looked down at Gesshilla. The divine hum had quieted, but the power it had tasted, the essence it had stolen from Jade, remained. A single, traitorous thought, born not of his void, but from a forgotten human memory, echoed in the silence.
'The boy on the veranda… would he be proud of the monster in the courtyard?'
He dismissed it. It was sentiment. A chain.
He entered his room, the door closing to seal him in perfect, solitary silence. The path to vengeance was clear. He had a tool, a partner in name only, and a Tower to conquer.
But in the quiet of his own cell, Jade finally lifted his head. His eyes, hollow and red-rimmed, were no longer staring at nothing. They were fixed on the blank wall before him, and in their depths, a single, chaotic ember refused to die.
It wasn't the fire of hope. It was the colder, harder fire of pure, undiluted spite.
The ashes of his old resolve began to stir.