The Cloaked One hadn't moved until now.
No noise. No breath. Just absence on legs.
Then it began to glide across the scorched arena floor, the very heat recoiling from its path. Lava dimmed. The Hybrid hissed in its direction once—then turned and flung herself into the magma willingly rather than be near it.
Kael backed toward a ridge of cracked basalt, chest heaving, blade slick with drake blood. The Knife trembled faintly in his grip.
"Null energy increasing. Influence field destabilizing nearby relics. Suggest immediate distance—"
"No time," Kael snapped. "Suggestions?"
"Bait it."
Kael dug into his pouch. Found it.
A relic he'd kept out of superstition more than strategy: a broken stabilization core from a collapsed containment engine. Cracked down the center. The whispers inside it had always been wrong—fragmented, glitching, barely sane.
Now… they were silent.
Core pulsed once inside him.
"Offer it. See who flinches."
Kael stepped into the open, holding the corrupted relic high. The crowd above began to murmur. Someone recognized the shape—divine officials whispered in tongues.
The Cloaked One halted.
It tilted its head.
Kael didn't blink. "You recognize this, don't you? You should. You're kin to it."
No answer.
He took a step forward. "You're a failed Core, aren't you?"
Still no response.
But the space around the Cloaked One quivered.
Kael placed the relic gently on the obsidian slab between them and stepped back.
"Take it," he said softly.
The Cloaked One reached out—
And the moment its fingers brushed the relic—
The world inverted.
A single note of negative energy exploded outward, soundless, but devastating. The relic collapsed inward like a neutron star in miniature. The Cloaked One twitched, no longer gliding, and crumpled like paper soaked in oil.
Its cloak fell flat.
Nothing beneath.
The Knife gasped. "Gone. No remains. Nothing left to cut."
Kael's skin crawled. "I didn't know it would do that."
Core pulsed once, warm and amused.
"You lied well. Next time, lie louder."
Silence fell over the arena.
Then, a low, disbelieving cheer.
And then—thunder.
Gods don't cheer. They don't clap.
But they reacted.
Something ancient had just died. Again.
And Kael was still standing.