Mount Olympus – Alpha Quadrant
Just minutes earlier, the arena had shaken under the deafening roar of millions. The stands trembled with anticipation, convinced they were about to witness the final, decisive clash of the tournant: Kronos, the chief god himself, against Morgana, the Earth’s strongest champion.
It was the battle everyone had awaited—the embodint of two factions’ pride colliding at the heart of Olympus.
Then it happened.
A blinding white light erupted at the center of the stage, so radiant that even seasoned magus shielded their eyes. The blast swallowed the arena, drowning sound in its brilliance.
When the light faded, silence replaced the thunder of cheers.
The arena floor was empty.
No Morgana. No Kronos.
Confusion spread like wildfire. Voices that had once cheered now faltered into gasps and murmurs.
Klea’s heart pounded as she extended her divine senses, desperately probing for Morgana’s aura. Nothing. Not even the faintest trace.
Julian and Thrax stepped into the arena and also found nothing. Across from them, Kronos’ Magus erupted in the sa frenzy. Even the Magus Alliance officials descended from their high seats, whispering urgently among themselves.
Minutes passed. No answers ca.
The arena boiled with unrest. Millions of spectators raised their voices in demand. Hers, usually able to ta crowds with his silver tongue, struggled to calm the chaos. Even Iris’ radiant presence faltered against the rising anger.
Finally, the Magus Alliance officials rose and spoke as one, their voices echoing through divine amplification.
"The battle has ended without a victor. Both combatants have vanished. The match is declared a draw."
The judgnt struck like a hamr.
Boos and cries of disbelief thundered through the arena. Yet no one could dispute the officials. With both combatants gone, no other conclusion was possible.
The scoreboard updated: Earth, nine. Kronos, eight.
One fight remained.
Gasps and murmurs surged as the implications sank in. Even if Kronos’ last champion secured victory, the best they could achieve was a tie. To win outright was no longer possible.
Hers had lost his usual charm. His voice, normally light and playful, now carried a heavy edge as he announced.
"Earth and Kronos, present your final champions."
From Kronos’ side, Perses stepped into the arena. A decorated grand magus veteran, he was built like a war god—towering, broad-shouldered, his gauntlets glowing faintly with cosmic power. His expression was sharp with annoyance, his steps heavy enough to crack the stone. It was clear he was eager to vent his frustration on whoever dared face him.
Across the field, the Earth faction faltered.
Their only nas left were Octavius, Titus, and Arnius—brave warriors, but not even magus. Against Perses, they would be walking to certain death.
Klea’s heart twisted. She stepped forward, eting Julian’s and Thrax’s eyes.
"There is no need for sacrifice," she said, voice tight. "We cannot win this match. Let us surrender and end this duel with a draw."
Silence fell among the Earth side. They knew she was right. A tie, though bitter, was survival. Kronos’ faction would surely twist the result to their advantage. Still, they have no other option.
Klea’s thought of Ery once again, but reality was before her: they had no one left. She was ready to announce their surrender when—
A sudden figure leapt from the stands into the arena.
The man landed hard, cracks spreading beneath his boots. He was broad and muscular, nearly Perses’ equal in build. His voice thundered through the coliseum:
"I WILL FIGHT FOR EARTH!"
The man’s voice bood, and his aura flared—a cosmic presence, a grand magus realm.
Shock rippled across both factions.
The officials darted forward, faces stern. "This is an official duel! You cannot simply join!!" There are rules!"
But Klea, Julian, and Thrax stared, hearts pounding. The man’s back, broad and scarred, was one they rembered. A presence they had not seen in years.
Slowly, the mysterious figure turned, his eyes blazing with stormlight.
"I know the rules. I am Fjolnir—Earth’s first-generation magus!"
Gasps erupted.
"Senior Fjolnir!"
The arrival of Fjolnir sent a wave of cheer through the Earth faction.
A senior they thought lost now returned at their darkest hour, and he radiated the strength of the grand magus realm.
Hope surged in every heart.
On the other side, the Kronos faction seethed. Their protests lasted only a minute before officials confird Fjolnir’s origins. His Earth roots were undeniable, and so he was granted the last open spot on the roster.
Klea’s face lit up with joy, though unease tugged at the back of her mind. Why had her senior appeared now of all tis? Could this be connected to Morgana’s sudden disappearance?
She had no ti to dwell—the final match was already beginning.
Perses stepped forward, eager for once. Unlike his previous contempt for weaker opponents, now he faced soone of his own realm. His gauntlets swelled with domain energy, the air vibrating as if each fist carried the weight of a mountain.
Fjolnir answered with silence. He raised his arms, eyes closing in solemn rembrance. The sky rumbled as a thunderbolt descended into his body, shaping itself into a colossal battle axe wreathed in stormlight.
Under his breath, he spoke nas of lost comrades of old.
"Izta... Enkidu... Myrdin and Fuxi"
"For you all... I fight again."
Then they clashed.
The arena quaked as Perses’ mountain-crushing fists t Fjolnir’s sky-splitting strikes, each collision sending shockwaves that rattled the coliseum. The roar of impact drowned even the cries of millions watching.
For long minutes the fight beca less a duel and more a clash of living gods. So fierce was the contest that the spectators forgot the stakes entirely. For an hour they were held captive by sheer spectacle:
At last, with one final cry, Fjolnir struck his axe in one decisive strike that cleaved Perses’ gauntlets apart, hurling the Kronos veteran to the ground.
Finally, as dust and thunder cleared, only one figure remained standing.
Fjolnir.
The arena shook with the declaration:
"Earth faction wins!"
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