Chase stood amidst the shattered remnants of the arena, his breathing ragged, each exhale sharp and burning in his lungs. His clothes were torn and scorched, clinging to his bloodied skin, drenched in golden ichor that shimmered like liquid starlight. Cuts ran across his arms and legs, his lip was split, and one of his eyes was nearly swollen shut. But his stance was firm, and his gaze was unbroken.
He wasn't supposed to fight like this.
This was supposed to be a sparring event. A test of prowess and skill within defined limits. But the rules had shattered the moment Aurora, Ash, and Apollo launched their coordinated strike—pure beams of elemental magic cascading toward him in a devastating tri-beam of radiant incomprehensible light, deathly shadowfire, and absolute solar fury.
