The moment the distortion around Arata stabilized, everything changed—not with an explosion, not with a surge of visible power, but with a silence so absolute it felt wrong, unnatural, as if the flow of existence itself had been interrupted and forced into obedience under a higher authority, and in that instant her Absolute Field manifested, not merely as an ability but as a layered suppression of reality where time no longer moved freely but bent, fractured, and reassembled according to her will, an impossibility at her level of cultivation, something that should not exist in the hands of a Sky Walker, yet it did, and the moment it took hold the entire Celestforge Coliseum seemed to hesitate as though even the laws governing the arena needed a fraction of a second to adjust to her presence, and across Nyxara Dominion countless warriors felt it through the projection systems, a subtle disruption that made instincts flare, because this was not just power, this was control over a fundamental law, and that realization alone sent unease rippling through even the most experienced observers.
Draxion Vale felt it immediately, and for the first time since the battle began his expression cracked, not into fear but into something far rarer for someone of his caliber—uncertainty—as his movements slowed not because his body failed him but because the sequence of cause and effect around him no longer responded the way it should, his reactions delayed by fractions of a second that should not exist, his timing thrown off by an invisible distortion that he could neither see nor fully comprehend, and as he attempted to move forward, to reassert dominance through sheer Star Warrior pressure, the resistance increased, subtle but undeniable, like moving through an unseen current that resisted his every action.
Arata stepped forward.
There was no rush in her movement, no wasted motion, only calm precision as her Void Katana hummed in her grasp, the blade emitting a low resonance that seemed to synchronize with the distorted flow of time around her, and when Draxion reacted, releasing a surge of compressed elemental force in an attempt to destabilize her control, the attack collapsed before it could even fully form, its structure breaking apart mid-execution as the timing required to sustain it fractured under the Absolute Field, dispersing into harmless fragments of energy that faded into the air like a failed thought.
That was the opening.
Michael moved.
He did not hesitate, did not question, did not allow the weight of the moment to slow him as he launched himself upward, his body cloaked in unstable light energy that flickered violently along his form, his Eclipse Rod expanding in his grip as layers of condensed power spiraled around it, the weapon growing denser, heavier, its presence bending the surrounding air as if space itself struggled to contain it, and as he reached the peak of his ascent his expression hardened, every ounce of focus compressing into a single point before he brought it down with overwhelming force.
"Eclipse Cataclysm—Ruinfall Descent."
The impact was catastrophic.
The rod crashed into the formation of the five enemies like a falling star, the force splitting the arena floor beneath them as cracks spread outward in violent patterns, shockwaves tearing across the battlefield and forcing the four Skywalker members to scatter instantly while Draxion remained at the center, bracing himself with everything he had as he crossed his arms and reinforced his defense with pure Star Warrior energy, the collision driving him backward violently, his feet carving deep trenches into the surface as the pressure continued to push him, cracks forming across his defensive aura as the strain reached its limit, and then—blood slipped from the corner of his mouth.
But he did not fall.
That single moment proved his strength.
And that single moment cost him everything.
Kyra was already there.
She moved like a shadow given intent, her presence subtle yet precise as she closed the distance without drawing attention, her strikes sharp, controlled, and calculated, each movement targeting the fractures created by Michael's overwhelming attack, forcing Draxion into a defensive rhythm that he could not break out of, disrupting his ability to command the battlefield as the pressure mounted from two directions simultaneously.
Behind them, the remaining four members of Voidfang Dominion attempted to regroup.
They never got the chance.
Arata intercepted.
Under the Absolute Field, her movements became something far more dangerous than speed or strength—they became inevitable, each step aligning perfectly with disrupted timing, each strike landing at moments where defense became impossible, her blade cutting through their formation with suffocating precision as Velka Ryn fell first, her guard collapsing under a strike that bypassed her defense entirely as if it had never existed, followed immediately by Toren Kael whose attempt to create distance failed as his movement lagged just enough for Arata to close in and deliver a decisive blow, the disruption in temporal flow breaking his rhythm completely.
Syrix Nol and Maevra Lune tried to coordinate, tried to recover the formation through teamwork, but the Absolute Field made synchronization impossible, their actions misaligned by fractions that turned cooperation into hesitation, and in that hesitation Kyra reappeared, her presence slicing through their defense as her precision strikes dismantled their structure piece by piece, until within moments the battlefield shifted completely, the Obsidian Star Legion pressing forward without pause, eliminating the four members one after another until only one remained.
Draxion Vale.
He stood battered, his breathing heavy, his aura unstable yet still fierce, his body marked by the strain of continuous impact yet his eyes remained sharp, unwavering, refusing to yield even under overwhelming pressure, and when he moved again it was not in retreat but in defiance, launching counterattacks with everything he had left, forcing Michael and Kyra to fully engage as their clash intensified, blows colliding with explosive force as the battlefield trembled under their exchange.
Michael met him head-on, Eclipse Rod striking against reinforced defenses as sparks of energy burst outward with every collision, the force behind each swing increasing as his control sharpened, his newly strengthened spirit anchoring his focus, allowing him to remain steady under pressure that would have broken him before, while Kyra circled from the side, her movements unpredictable, her strikes disrupting Draxion's balance at critical moments, forcing him to split his attention in ways that steadily wore him down.
Still—he endured.
Still—he fought.
And that was when Arata decided to end it.
She stepped back.
Only slightly.
But the shift was enough.
Her expression changed, a cold determination settling in her eyes as she raised her Void Katana, the blade trembling as energy surged violently through it, the air around her distorting under the pressure as if struggling to contain what was about to be released, and without hesitation she threw the weapon upward, her body following in the same motion as she leapt into the air, spinning with controlled precision before delivering a powerful kick with her right leg, striking the hilt of the ascending blade and sending it crashing downward with terrifying speed.
The air split.
The velocity multiplied.
And in that same instant her hands moved again.
Four pillars of condensed cosmic energy erupted around Draxion in perfect formation.
"Chrono-Graviton Lock."
The pillars activated.
Gravity collapsed inward.
Time fractured further.
Draxion's body locked in place, his movements suppressed under the combined weight of gravitational force and temporal distortion, his resistance slowing just enough—just enough—for the descending Void Katana to reach him.
It struck.
Directly.
The impact was absolute.
Energy surged through his meridians, destabilizing his entire structure as the force erupted outward in a devastating explosion that tore across the Celestforge Coliseum, the shockwave rippling through the arena as silence followed, heavy, suffocating, broken only by the stunned reactions of countless spectators across Nyxara Dominion who struggled to process what they had just witnessed—the complete annihilation of a 19th batch team by a rising group from the 20th.
The Obsidian Star Legion stood at the center of the arena.
Victorious.
The crowd erupted.
Their name spread.
Their presence solidified.
But Michael did not move.
He stood still, his grip loosening slightly around his weapon as the weight of what had just happened settled over him, his thoughts clashing in quiet conflict as he looked at the battlefield, at the place where they had just fought, where they had just ended lives—because to him, this was not just victory, it was contradiction, a system that demanded growth through destruction, that forced warriors to kill under the justification of strength, and the unease it brought did not fade.
And then—
Reality shifted.
The impossible happened.
The enemies reappeared.
Whole.
Unharmed.
Standing exactly where they had fallen as if nothing had occurred.
Michael froze.
Confusion replaced everything else.
But the others… did not react.
Because they understood.
And when they returned to their assigned sector within Nyxara Dominion, the truth was explained, not without chaos as J and Pink attempted to speak over each other until MOMO asserted control, clarifying with calm precision that Nyxara Dominion was not a normal city but a living construct formed from Salara within the Umbrilion Expanse, a realm anchored by the Primordial Weaver of the Void whose existence governed the laws within it, allowing restoration, reconstruction, and temporal correction without destabilizing the greater balance, a system designed to allow continuous combat without permanent loss, ensuring that battles could reach their full intensity without consequence to existence itself.
The understanding settled.
Slowly.
Heavily.
And as it did, the Primordial Rise Bracket continued.
Not for them—but around them.
Wave after wave.
Battle after battle.
Hundreds of groups clashing across the Celestforge Coliseum as the structure progressed toward its conclusion, each fight raising the stakes, each victory reshaping the rankings, the atmosphere within Nyxara Dominion growing heavier with anticipation as the strongest groups emerged and collided in battles that shook the arena itself, the Obsidian Star Legion watching, observing, refining, their single victory already enough to shift perception across the Dominion.
They were no longer overlooked.
No longer dismissed.
They had entered.
And their presence… was now undeniable.