The battlefield no longer resembled an arena.
It looked like a war had ended—and maybe, in a way, one had.
Lucavion stood at the epicenter of ruin, surrounded by smoldering stone, melted glyphs, and a crater wide enough to swallow the dreams of anyone who had once believed themselves peerless. The air still vibrated with leftover force, mana threads snapping like overstretched cords in the aftermath of his final technique.
[Balance of Destruction] had not just ended the duel—it had rewritten the terrain.
Char-blackened stone stretched in every direction, the mana clash between Lucavion's nullfire spiral and Seran's radiant dominion leaving behind a ravaged scar through the center of the arena. Cracks veined outward like shattered glass beneath divine pressure, still smoking faintly. The spire in the distance, once untouched, now stood lopsided, leaning under the weight of its proximity to that impossible clash.
