Purple and black flames of Soul Weaver energy engulfed me as Alaric cloaked himself in darkness that spread rapidly, swallowing the arena until visibility was all but gone. I could scarcely see more than a hand's distance away. Shrill cries erupted from the audience, though I couldn’t tell if it was from the shroud encasing the stage or the darkness creeping toward them.

  A small smile tugged at my lips. Darkness? He thought that was a weakness of mine? He clearly hadn’t seen my fights in the last Colosseum. Closing my eyes, I let my other senses extend outward.

  Alaric moved too quickly for me to pinpoint his location, but I felt the moment he shifted his trajectory toward me. My blade, pulsing with Soul Weaver energy, met his holy dagger in a deafening clash. The resulting explosion hurled me backward, my feet skidding to a halt at the stage’s edge.

  Just a single exchange had nearly knocked me off the platform.

  Alaric, despite his higher energy realm, wasn’t unscathed. Through the darkness, I sensed his energy scattering backward, followed by a grunt of pain. Then, the unmistakable sound of metal clattering to the ground—the sound of a discarded dagger.

  After all, despite what I’d led Alaric to believe, this wasn’t a fight of divinity. His dagger’s divinity was not going to overpower the holy energy in my sword - it couldn’t. My blade did not actually have any divinity. It was barely more than an enchanted slab of steel.

  It was his loss in that regard as the flames of my soul weaver energy would no doubt eat away at the holy energy the dagger was radiating, sucking it dry.

  The darkness shifted abruptly, solidifying into a crushing force that encased me like a coffin. Distant, muted screams reached my ears as the pressure mounted. Pain exploded through my shoulders and knees as bones cracked and ligaments tore. My attempts to absorb the darkness with Soul Weaver energy failed; it resisted, unyielding.

  I screamed as the coffin tightened further, squeezing me toward oblivion with the pressure to turn me into nothing more than a pile of skin, bones, and blood.

  The necromantic energy I'd awoken against the Hydra stirred deep within me, desperate to be unleashed.

  No! I clenched my jaw, forcing the dark energy to stay dormant. Not now. Not here. I didn’t fully understand the divots on my core, nor had this body's core been properly attuned to the necromantic power infusing it. The risk of exposing such energy—especially before this crowd—was far too great. I doubted my new body could withstand the use of that much necromantic energy twice in the span of a few weeks.

  I was quickly running out of time. Second passed and the situation only got worse.

  The coffin continued to press against my Soul Weaver energy, and my reserves of lunar energy were nearly spent, most of it having been absorbed by the earlier rush of Soul Weaver energy. Desperation forced my hand. Channeling every last drop of remaining lunar energy from my core, I unleashed it in a massive burst, amplified by the Soul Weaver flames.

  The darkness cracked. My moonlight—less potent than sunlight, but still an adversary of darkness—pierced the shroud like shattered glass. As the cracks widened, I flooded my body with Soul Weaver energy and surged forward. The coffin exploded into a rain of shards all around me as I stumbled into the sunlight, shielding my eyes and heaving to finally fill my lungs with air.

  My instincts screamed and I dove to the side, narrowly avoiding Alaric’s strike to dislodge my arm, but then my legs threatened to buckle, the strain of escaping the coffin reaching over the adrenaline that kept me going. I increased the energy pumping through my body, but the damage was mounting. I could only artificially stem the decrease in strength and endurance so far or for so long. My left knee—likely broken. Cracked ribs. A fractured ankle. Dislocated shoulder. Sprains and strains everywhere.

  Gritting my teeth, I rolled to grab my sword from where I'd dropped it at some point while encased by Alaric's darkness-attributed energy. My shirt squelched against the stone floor, leaving an imprint of my back with the blood soaking through it.

  Alaric approached with a measured stride, his face impassive and stoic, though confidence burned in his eyes.

  “I’m impressed you stayed conscious,” he said, nodding slightly. “Most have their minds crumble under within darkness.”

  I snorted, forcing myself to stand despite the pitiless agony. “I’ve faced far worse darkness than a lack of light.”

  He twirled his blade, his tone almost casual as he ignored my taunt. “Do you forfeit?”

  It took me a moment to process his question. When I finally did, a chuckle escaped my lips. Then, I laughed—a hard, bitter laugh that echoed across the arena.

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  “Forfeit?” I sneered, forcing myself to stand tall, resisting the urge to wince as every fiber in my body screamed in disagreement. My lips curled into a snarl as I locked eyes with Alaric. “You will learn, as others have, that there is no surrender in my soul. Not while I live, and not even after I die.”

  The instant Alaric’s brow arched in confusion, I acted. Every last scrap of energy—raw, lunar, and soul weaver—flooded my core and exploded outward into what was currently my most powerful skill. My sphere of Authority surged outward, expanding into a shimmering sphere that engulfed the stage.

  A sharp spike of pain lashed through my mind, spinning my vision in dizzying circles. The use of so much energy strained my mind, pushing it close to insanity, but I held firm. The sheer strength of my Will kept me anchored to reality.

  Alaric responded in kind, his Authority erupting from his core to push back with surprising strength. His legs trembled under the strain, though his lips twisted into a cocky smirk. “Your Will is impressive, Lady Lilliana. But even you can’t hold this for long.” He gestured to the space around him. “And without breaking through mine, you can’t touch me.”

  My mind raced, desperately running through every route, every plan, every situation, every possible path to victory.

  Without tapping into necromantic energy and endangering Lilliana’s body, I was pretty much out of options. I might have disguised its use by overwhelming its presence with a surge of another energy, but even that carried the risk of exposure—albeit a smaller one.

  When I checked my core, it was empty—except for that small corner holding the remnants of necromantic energy from my old core.

  An idea came to me, then. Although I lacked the raw amount of energy that Alaric had, it was nearly impossible to use Authority and energy simultaneously. If we stayed locked in a stalemate of Authority spheres, I could fight him without energy. A battle of pure skill.

  The real question was whether I could sustain Authority and fight simultaneously.

  “I will do whatever I must,” I growled through gritted teeth.

  Alaric sighed, his eyes never wavering from mine, even as my grip tightened around the enchanted blade and I stepped forward. He raised his free arm, palm open to the sky. With a flash of white light and a sharp pop, a silver sphere materialized, hovering above his hand. Six heart rings appeared in rapid succession, circling the floating silver core.

  “You must know you don’t stand a chance,” Alaric said, his confidence unshaken despite his heavy breathing and haggard expression. He seemed to almost be struggling to maintain his Authority. “You’ve fought harder than I imagined possible for someone with only two rings. You’ve even demonstrated long-distance energy attacks, which shouldn’t be possible at your core level. Everyone watching this fight would agree—you’ve done more than enough. But it’s over. You are outmatched.”

  Six heart rings? I almost laughed. Six? In the silver realm? That meant his heart was enduring a strain comparable to the late gold or early platinum realm, even with the silver core’s protection.

  Four rings were impressive. Five was remarkable. But six? That was simply foolish. The higher the realm of someone's core, the purer the energy, and the more pressure would be applied on the heart. Without a core, a warrior might wield fifteen heart rings without dying due to the quality and quantity of energy actually in the rings. But in the silver realm? Alaric was begging the heavens to strike him dead.

  If I could grab ahold of him, I could condense my Authority into a smaller, denser area. The closer I got, the better my odds. Close enough, and I might force his heart to falter with the sheer pressure of my condensed Authority sphere.

  The risk didn’t matter. Whether he lived or died, I would face the consequences later. For now, I refused to accept defeat.

  Pushing my Authority to its limits, I let out a battle cry and charged. The area of effect for our spheres of Authority clashed, the two fields straining against each other as I closed the distance and my blade arced toward Alaric's neck. He blocked with what seemed like disguised ease, his soft grunt a betrayal of his effort involved. I was wearing him down—but not yet as fast as he was wearing me down.

  Relentless, I unleashed a torrent of martial strikes. Each killing blow flowed seamlessly into the next, a violent storm of precision and power. My attacks left no room for him to counter, no chance to catch his breath. My body continued to deteriorate as I pressed Alaric, but I ignored it. Even if I was rendered completely immobile, I would win.

  Alaric’s confidence cracked, replaced by intense concentration. He was likely wishing he could use his darkness attribute. But the moment he did, his Authority would falter, and mine would crush him. Unless he could wield Authority and energy attacks simultaneously—a feat so rare it was nearly unheard of. Even I could only do it in a very limited capacity.

  I adjusted my rhythm, deliberately leaving a half-step opening in my next assault. Alaric noticed the gap immediately but failed to spot the trap it concealed. His eyes flashed with triumph as my blade skimmed over his head by mere inches. He lunged forward, plunging his bloodied sword toward my gut.

  Instead of pulling back to block, I released my sword entirely and stepped into his blade’s path. A sickening squelch tore through the air as the weapon sank deep into my stomach. Pain racked my body, but I ignored it and forcefully shoved myself closer, driving the blade to the hilt.

  Alaric’s eyes widened in shock, his jaw slack.

  I grinned through the agony. “Got you.” With my free hand, I reached up and cupped it roughly against his cheek, finally making the physical contact I needed.

  Summoning every ounce of strength, I condensed my Authority into the smallest possible space, enough to envelop only the two of us.

  Then I screamed, echoing the agony that ripped through my core as I forced it to go beyond its limit. Alaric’s face twisted in similar agony, his sphere of Authority shattering under the overwhelming pressure of my condensed Authority. It tore like wet paper, unable to bear the weight of my Will to win.

  His cries mingled with mine, a cacophony of shared torment, until the world spun and I found myself staring at the sky.

  A moment later, the sky faded, and I drifted back into the darkness of Nothingness.