The arena was silent, the smoke from the burning Dark Forest still choking the sky. In the center of the cracked stone stage, the boy in the black hoodie stood motionless.
Rax tilted his head, his eyes glowing with an unsettling violet hue. "Tell me," he whispered, his voice carrying through the magical amplification of the stadium. "Are you the son of an Arcon?"
Kin, the Lightning Striker, straightened his back. Even though his instincts were screaming at him to run, his pride held him steady. "Yes. I am Kin, son of the Arcon of—"
"Let me finish those words for you," Rax interrupted, a cruel smile stretching across his face. "Hope. You are the son of Hope. And it is my duty to ensure that this hope dies today."
In the audience stands, Cindar stood up abruptly. His S-Rank senses were flaring like a siren. "Something is wrong," he muttered, his hand gripping the hilt of his blade. "That boy... he isn't human. He's a glitch in reality."
Rax didn't care who heard him. He threw his head back and began to laugh—a jagged, manic sound that made the wind itself stop blowing. "Finally! FINALLY! I found you... the Spark of Hope!"
With a sudden, violent motion, Rax lunged. " [DESTRUCTION ART: GALAXY-LEVEL FIRE BLAST]!"
A pillar of absolute incineration erupted from his palm. The heat was so intense the stone floor turned to gas instantly. Kin stared at death, his lightning-speed unable to react to a move that ignored the laws of physics.
BOOM!
The impact didn't hit Kin.
A blur of violet and silver had dropped from the VIP section like a falling star. Mayanee stood there, her red umbrella held closed like a staff, the Fire Blast dissipating against her Electro-Gravity barrier.
"Are you okay, kid?" Mayanee asked without looking back. Her voice was calm, but the ground beneath her feet was cracking from her sheer mass. "Let me handle this."
Mayanee narrowed her eyes at the boy in the hoodie. "Who are you? You don't belong in this dimension."
Rax didn't look afraid. He looked ecstatic. "I never thought I would see you here... The Strongest Arcon of Today."
"You know me?"
"In the Army of Destruction, we are taught to memorize the obstacles," Rax said. He reached for his hood and pulled it back, but he didn't stop there.
His skin began to tear. Massive, pale-blue wings erupted from his back, and his body elongated into a terrifying, armored form. Horns curved from his skull, glowing with the same violet energy as the Monarch himself.
[SYSTEM ALERT: ENTITY 'RAX' HAS EVOLVED]
[SPECIES: DESTRUCTION DRAKE — LOW CLASS]
"FIREWALL!" Cindar roared from the stands, slamming his hands into the ground. A massive barrier of S-Rank flames rose to protect the civilians, but as the Dragon-Rax breathed, the firewall simply crumbled into ash. It didn't break—it was deleted.
Mayanee turned to the Wind Arcon, who was shaking with rage. "Rescue everyone! Get the civilians out of here. I have to fight him before he levels the city."
"He tried to kill my son!" the Wind Arcon screamed, his eyes bloodshot with 'Standard' arrogance. "I am an Arcon! I will punish this beast myself!"
"You'll die if you try," Mayanee warned, but the guards were already moving, frantically ushering the 200,000 spectators toward the exits.
In the chaos, Cindar grabbed Techyon's hand with a grip that felt like iron. "Run. Now!"
Techyon stumbled, looking back at the burning arena. "Why are we running?! We have to save them! You're an S-Rank, Cindar! You can help Mayanee!"
"A single S-Rank is nothing compared to the Army of Destruction," Cindar hissed, his face pale. He pulled Techyon toward the hidden tunnels.
'This is bad,' Cindar thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. 'If a Low-Class scout is already transforming... then HE is coming. The Monarch didn't send a soldier to win a tournament. He sent a soldier to clear a landing zone.
'Mayanee didn't wait for the Dragon to finish his roar. In the "Outerverse," speed wasn't just about movement; it was about the manipulation of the space between two points.
Rax lunged, his massive claws glowing with incineration energy, aimed directly at Mayanee's throat. But before the claw could even graze her skin, a flash of violet lightning sliced through the air.
SHING!
A clean, surgical cut.
Rax's massive draconic hand spun through the air, hitting the stone floor with a heavy thud. For a second, there was no sound—only the sizzling of cauterized flesh. Then, the scream hit.
"GRAAAAAAAH!"
The Dragon's shriek wasn't just loud; it was seismic. The entire arena began to buckle. The ivory seats in the VIP section shattered, and the stone pillars holding up the Gale Barrier crumbled into dust. Rax clutched his stump, his violet eyes burning with a murderous, wounded rage.
"You... woman!" Rax hissed, his dragon voice grating like grinding metal. "What do you think you are?! To dare touch a soldier of the Monarch?!"
Mayanee didn't even draw a weapon. She simply stood there, her red umbrella resting on her shoulder, her hair blowing in the wind of the destruction she had just caused. She looked at him with the boredom of a person swatting a fly.
"What do I think I am?" Mayanee's voice was soft, but it echoed in every corner of the stadium. "I think I am the Strongest."
Rax froze. Then, he began to laugh.
But as he laughed, the sound started to warp. The high-pitched cackle of the Dragon began to deepen, layering with a second, heavier sound. It was an echo—a voice vibrating from another dimension, bleeding into the air of the "Standard" world.
The Dragon's body went rigid. His jaw unhinged further than biologically possible. When he spoke again, it wasn't Rax. The voice was cold, ancient, and heavy enough to make the gravity in the arena triple.
"You, woman..." the voice vibrated through the ground, through the air, and through the very souls of the survivors. "You think you are the Strongest? Then you haven't seen Me."
In the VIP box, the Wind Arcon—the ruler of a nation—stopped breathing. He began to tremble, his regal robes soaked in cold sweat. He stared at the Dragon's mouth, his eyes wide with a terror that bypassed all logic.
"Tha... That... That Voice..." the Arcon stammered.
His knees buckled. The "Strongest of the Wind" fell to the ground like a common beggar, his crown rolling into the rubble. He didn't even try to stand. He simply looked at the sky, his voice a broken whisper.
"No way... He is coming... This voice... this is the MONARCH OF DESTRUCTION."
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: REALITY CRACKING]
[PRESENCE DETECTED: LEVEL ???]