"WELCOME BACK, CITIZENS OF THE EMPIRE! I TRUST YOUR APPETITES ARE SATIATED, BECAUSE WE ARE ABOUT TO SERVE A MAIN COURSE OF PURE DESTRUCTION!" Joe's voice thundered, the mana-amplifiers turning his roar into a physical tremor in the stands.
"EMPTY YOUR BLADDERS AND STEADY YOUR HEARTS NOW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—BECAUSE ONCE THESE GATES OPEN, THERE WILL BE NO REPRIEVE! WE ARE DESCENDING FROM THE PEAK INTO THE ABYSS! PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR THE CLASH OF TITANS!"
"THEY'VE ARRIVED! THE PRIDE OF OUR BORDERS, CONNOR AND HIS BAND OF BROTHERS, STEPPING ONTO THE SAND TO CHALLENGE DESTINY ITSELF! THEY FACE THE UNDISPUTED FAVORITES, THE ROYAL ACADEMY'S FINEST—A CLASH OF RAW MILITARY MIGHT AGAINST ARISTOCRATIC PERFECTION! CONNOR DOESN'T CARE ABOUT REPUTATIONS, FOLKS! HE'S HERE TO PROVE THAT ON THE BATTLEFIELD, RANK IS EARNED IN BLOOD, NOT BESTOWED BY BIRTH!"
"AND THEIR OPPOSITION? THE MAN WHO OWNS THE VERY AIR YOU BREATHE! THE LORD OF SPACE HIMSELF, MARKUS BLACKWELL! TWELVE TIMES HE HAS STEPPED ONTO THIS SAND, AND TWELVE TIMES HE HAS LEFT ALONE AT THE TOP! ZERO DEFEATS. ZERO WEAKNESSES. HE LEADS THE ROYAL ELITES INTO BATTLE NOT TO COMPETE, BUT TO CONQUER! BOW DOWN, VALERIA—THE KING HAS RETURNED TO HIS THRONE!"
Markus's lips twitched—a rare sign of genuine unease. Is the announcer suicidal, or just trying to get me executed? Calling him a 'King' while the Emperor's shadow literally covered the arena floor was a special kind of stupidity.
He made a mental note to have a very quiet, very firm conversation with Joe about vocabulary—provided the Imperial Guards didn't arrest him the moment he stepped off the sand.
Markus stepped out, the afternoon sun catching the sharp lines of his silhouette and casting a long shadow across the arena floor.
The roar of the crowd hit them like a physical wave, but he didn't flinch. He walked with the heavy, deliberate grace of someone who knew the ground beneath him already belonged to the Blackwell name. The "Clash of Titans" had officially begun, and Markus was moving to take his throne.
Markus's gaze remained fixed on Connor, his expression a mask of Blackwell ice. "Your sister told me not to embarrass you too much in front of the cameras," he commented, the words dripping with a mocking, high-tier grace. "I told her I'd do my best to hold back."
A vein bulged near Connor's eye, a frantic pulse that betrayed his sudden spike in cortisol. The "hero" persona Markus wore for the cameras didn't fool him—not after Illinois City.
Two weeks ago, Connor had read the after-action report, and the descriptions of Markus's "surgical efficiency" had kept him awake for three nights. Being told he'd "hold his punches" wasn't a joke to Connor; it was a terrifyingly plausible promise from a man who slaughtered beasts by the dozen.
The teams were locked in their starting positions—Connor's men entrenched within the castle's defenses, eyes narrowed behind their visors, and Markus's team poised like a firing squad in the center of the arena. The "Siege" format had drawn a line in the sand between the Empire's shield and its sword.
Every finger hovered over a trigger, every throat held a half-formed incantation, all eyes tracked the mechanical hiss of the signal array. The countdown had reached zero, and the "Clash of Titans" was one heartbeat away from becoming a bloodbath.
"Boom!"
The moment the red light kissed the sand, the Military Academy moved with the lethal synchronicity of a firing squad.
Jax's mana flared a deep, loamy brown as he dragged the foundations of the castle upward, swallowing the iron gates in a thick crust of obsidian-hard earth.
He provided the mass, and Connor provided the soul; with a sharp, downward gesture, the Commander anchored the entire structure with a localized gravity well.
Any attempt to breach the front would now require fighting the very weight of the planet itself.
[Spatial Domain]
Markus claimed the air. His spatial laws unfurled like a dark cloak, enveloping the castle and suffocating the gravitational field that Connor had fought so hard to establish.
It was a clean, clinical execution; the crushing pressure snapped like a brittle thread, leaving the Military Academy's team staggering as their own "Anchor" was turned into a weightless ghost.
The gate was no longer pinned by the planet's heart—it was held only by Jax's stone, and without Connor's gravity to hold it, that stone was now vulnerable.
The backline of Connor's squad flared with a precise, clinical light. They were punching far above their weight class, utilizing buffs that should have been beyond their reach.
The threshold for such magic was a wall most never climbed, but the Military had found a way to bridge the gap.
In an instant, the defenders were faster, stronger, and more resilient. The amber light coating their armor wasn't just a boost; it was a defiant statement that they wouldn't be dismantled easily—even by a Blackwell.
[Overwhelming Presence]
[-800 Mana]
[+15 Strength]
[+15 Agility]
[+15 Constitution]
A radiant, incandescent glow settled over the military unit, giving the defenders extra confidence facing the coming assault.
They dug their boots into the stone, eyes narrowed, and teeth gritted, watching the sunlight distort around Markus as they braced for a collision that promised to shake the very foundations of the Empire.
[Starlight Bow]
Markus raised his bow in a singular, fluid motion, the air around the string distorting as he drew back a bolt of pure, condensed starlight.
He didn't aim at the wall; he aimed at the souls behind it. With a rhythmic thrum, he unleashed a volley of silver streaks that didn't just fly—they bypassed the intervening distance, flickering in and out of the spatial fabric.
[-200 Mana]
[-200 Mana]
[-200 Mana]
To the military supporters, it looked as if the stars themselves had been plucked from the afternoon sky and hurled toward them with murderous intent.
"JAX!" Connor's roar was a desperate command that cut through the whistling death of the starlight.
Jax didn't hesitate; he slammed his palms against the ground with a force that cracked the stone. In a heartbeat, the very floor beneath the support mages groaned and surged upward, a jagged slab of reinforced bedrock rising like a shield.
[Terran Wall]
[-800 Mana]
The starlight arrows hissed as they buried themselves into the raw earth, the smell of scorched minerals filling the air as Jax stood as the only thing between his team and a celestial execution.
The starlight barrage had served its purpose—the Military's eyes were on the sky, and their hands were full of earth.
Down at the base of the fortress, the girls moved in for the kill. With a synchronized surge of mana, they struck the weakened seam of the gate.
The stone, no longer pinned by Connor's gravity, groaned and surrendered. A singular, violent pulse of energy tore through the barricade, scattering Jax's granite reinforcements like autumn leaves.
By the time Connor looked down from the battlements, the "Iron Anchor" had already been breached.
"Game over," one of the mages whispered, his voice trembling. "We're cooked."
The Royal Academy hadn't just broken the gate; they had broken the Military's momentum. The "Iron Anchor" was sinking, and the water was rushing in.
Mika ignited. Her previous loss to Markus hadn't just bruised her ego; it had left a jagged, burning hole in her pride. She blurred into a streak of kinetic fury, her footsteps cracking the stone floor as she lunged toward the breach.
She wasn't just rushing; she was throwing her entire soul into a strike that carried the weight of every second she'd spent replaying her defeat in her head.
{Ice Lance] x 3
[-600 Mana]
The ice lances struck with the force of ballistae, blooming across the supporters' chests and locking them into frozen stasis.
Suddenly isolated, Connor and Jax became the subjects of a clinical masterclass in Tier-S combat. The girls didn't rush; they dismantled. Every strike was a counter, every movement was a trap.
It was a three-part symphony of destruction. First came the gale, a churning vortex of Wind that buffeted their shields until the metal groaned.
Then came the frost, a relentless tide of Ice that crept into the joints of their armor, seizing their movement.
Finally, the Lightning arrived—not as a single bolt, but as a constant, humming cage of high-voltage intent.
Connor and Jax fought for every inch of floor, their "Aegis" remnants flickering like dying candles against a hurricane.
When the white flag finally went up, it was a mercy; they weren't just defeated—they were physically spent, dismantled by a storm that didn't know how to tire.
Before the minute-hand could even twitch, the castle's interior had gone silent, the military's elite beaten into the dirt before the Empire's true heirs.
**
The second half of the match concluded with a chilling symmetry. Without Connor's gravitational tether to anchor the reality of the arena, the Military Academy's assault was like trying to punch the wind. The Royal Academy's defense wasn't just a wall; it was a spatial distortion that turned every charge into a scenic detour.
As the final seconds bled from the clock, the Military team stood exhausted and hollow-eyed before a gate that remained pristine. They had the heart, and they had the fury—but without the power to lock Markus's space into place, time simply ran out on their ambitions.
**
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YOU ARE WITNESSING A PURE MASTERCLASS!" Joe's voice tore through the stadium speakers, crackling with a manic, high-octane energy.
He was leaning so far over the announcer's desk that he was nearly airborne.
"This wasn't just a display of raw, elemental synergy—it was a surgical, tactical execution! The Royal Academy didn't just break the gate; they broke the very concept of the 'Iron Anchor'! Absolute! Royal! Dominance!"
Across the Valerian cities, the air itself seemed to fracture under the weight of the cheers.
It was a coordinated explosion of joy that bypassed walls and crossed neighborhoods, a roar of "Blackwell!" that turned every street into a victory parade.
From the humblest alley to the highest balcony, the message was clear: the people had their champion, and the sound of their approval was loud enough to reach the heavens—and perhaps even the Emperor's throne.