Day seven of the National Tournament began with a storm of tension still lingering in the air after the previous matches. The atmosphere was volatile, electric with anticipation. Whispers ran like wildfire through the crowd, each person still trying to process Kenneth's eerie silence, Zarek's brutal defeat, and the now-questioned legacy of Arvellen's Zenya Lune.
The current standings reflected the tenacity and fire of each district: Braggon Vale stood proud at the top. Velmora, fueled by a mix of calculated strength and raw rage, followed close behind. Draxil clung to hope. Arvellen struggled under the weight of expectations.
The stadium trembled as the next match was announced: "Kenneth Prince of Velmora versus Kyros Drelm of Braggon Vale."
Kyros, confident, cool-headed, and known for his devastating heat vision and overwhelming duplication technique, stepped into the arena with a calm grin. The sunlight caught the edge of his uniform, and as he adjusted his gloves, six perfect replicas shimmered into existence around him, all mimicking his stance, all brimming with the same quiet arrogance.
Across the battlefield, Kenneth Prince walked into the arena slowly, almost distracted. His mind wasn't on Kyros. It wasn't on the match. It was still replaying the moment Zarek fell and the cold stare from Kiro Vant—or whoever that imposter truly was. Malrik's warning echoed in his head, and for the first time since the tournament began, Kenneth truly felt alone.
"Malrik... what would you do right now?" he thought, his blue eyes lifting to meet Kyros's. He could sense the power radiating from the Braggon Vale student. But that wasn't what set him on edge.
Kael watched from the stands, his expression blank as always. "He's distracted," he said to Cassian, who sat beside him, fidgeting with the edge of his coat.
"Yeah, and he better fix that fast. Kyros isn't playing."
The match began with an eruption of chaos. The six duplicates charged in, each with matching speed and strength. Kenneth fought back with precision, dodging punches and retaliating with bursts of fire and ice, but the numbers were overwhelming. Kyros stayed back, eyes glowing red, unleashing torrents of heat vision that kept Kenneth on the defensive.
The crowd roared as Kenneth stumbled, struck by a barrage of punches and a searing blast of heat that sent him skidding backward.
"Kyros is dominating!" one announcer shouted. "This could be Velmora's fall from grace!"
Then, Kenneth locked eyes with Kiro Vant.
Time slowed.
That scent. That hauntingly familiar gaze.
Memories of Zarek's broken body. The predator's grin.
Snap.
A switch flipped inside Kenneth. Power surged. His aura flared like a solar explosion. The air shimmered, warped by his presence.
Burns and bruises vanished as muscle tightened beneath his skin. Blue irises sparked bright like lightning—and a low growl escaped his throat. Claws sprouted from his fingers, bone-white and glinting with deadly sharpness.
Cassian stood up, stunned. "Oh no... he's losing it."
Kael simply said, "It's beginning."
Then Kenneth moved.
No... he vanished.
A Kyros duplicate's chest exploded in blood before it even registered what happened. Kenneth appeared behind it, eyes glowing, claw slick with crimson. Another duplicate charged—he swiped through it with terrifying ease, then broke another's spine over his knee with a crack so loud it echoed like thunder.
Kenneth didn't just attack. He hunted.
Kyros launched waves of heat vision in panic, but they hit nothing. Kenneth was too fast, too erratic, too angry. One moment he was beside Kyros, the next he was above, driving a clawed fist into his ribs and slamming him into the dirt.
The real Kyros screamed, crawling backward.
Kenneth didn't stop.
He lifted Kyros by the throat with one hand and pummeled his stomach with the other in brutal, rhythmic blows. Each punch sent shockwaves through the arena floor. Bones cracked. Blood spurted.
Spectators were frozen. Even the commentators couldn't speak.
The official began to shout, "Match over! Kenneth Prince is—"
But Kenneth didn't hear it. The rage drowned everything.
Kyros fell. But Kenneth stood over him, claws raised, eyes ablaze, ready to end it permanently.
A gust of wind. A roar.
Riven Skorn had entered the arena, transformed into a towering beast with obsidian scales and molten breath.
He lunged at Kenneth.
Kenneth didn't flinch.
He dodged mid-lunge and elbowed Riven across the jaw. Riven spun from the force, crashing into the arena wall.
Kenneth dashed again—appearing behind him and driving him into the ground. Twice. Three times.
He grabbed Riven's wing and tore it before hurling him with such force that Riven bounced across the ground like a ragdoll.
"That... that was Riven..." someone muttered in disbelief.
"Riven never stood a chance," said another.
Kael leaned forward, voice devoid of tone. "He's not just awakened. He's becoming something else."
Kenneth stalked forward, claws dripping, muscles taut with fury. But then—
Her voice.
"Kenneth... my little prince."
His mother's voice. Gentle. Loving. Painful.
Kenneth stopped.
He gasped for breath as clarity returned. He looked at his hands, trembling, covered in blood. He looked at Riven, who groaned but lived. At Kyros, now unconscious and unrecognizable.
The rage ebbed.
Silently, Kenneth turned and walked out of the arena.
Everyone watched, silent. Awestruck. Horrified.
Kiro Vant, watching from the highest seat, smiled darkly. "Yes... now I understand. He's not the heir to be erased. He's the weapon to be claimed."
Cassian muttered, "He's worse than he was against Xen. Much worse."
Kael blinked slowly. "He's no longer afraid of himself. That's dangerous."
The stadium erupted in delayed frenzy, though no one dared celebrate.
Kenneth Prince had arrived.
And the monster within him had stirred.