Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne

He stepped onto the arena with his head held high, but every step betrayed the tension in his body. Caius couldn’t hide it. His hands were clenched, his breathing uneven. Maybe he looked confident to the crowd, but every master in the stands could see one thing: the boy was scared.

And he had every reason to be.

Calista walked slowly, calmly. Not like a warrior... more like someone arriving to hear music. Her movements held no aggression, no hesitation. Only silence. And that silence suffocated more than any Qi.

Caius cracked.

"I won’t hold back just because you’re a woman!" he shouted. "I’ll give it everything I’ve got!"

Calista tilted her head.

"Like your father did when he made you?"

For a split second, the arena froze—then muffled chuckles erupted. Some tried to hide their amusement, others didn’t bother. Sylphia covered her mouth with her hand, pretending not to laugh, but her eyes betrayed her. Thalos froze mid-breath, his jaw twitched, and one brow spasmed.

Caius turned crimson.

He lunged forward, launching with everything he had. His fist sliced through the air like a blade, wreathed in blue Qi that sparkled like condensed flame. Calista twisted her hips, letting the punch sail past.

Another strike—an uppercut meant to take her head off. She dropped her chin, curled her waist, and the fist hit nothing but wind.

Caius didn’t stop. He spun, his leg slicing horizontally, Qi bursting like frost on a winter gale. Calista took a half-step back—his kick swept past her chest, not even ruffling the air.

One more move. Caius clasped his hands, his Qi spiraling around them like twin blades. He hurled it like a spear—three blue streaks howled across the arena, aimed at her throat, chest, and stomach.

Calista moved at last. One step. Another. A spin—like a dancer led by rhythm. The blades passed her harmlessly, not even brushing her robes.

Caius gasped. He was fast, and his attacks had power. But... he hadn’t touched her.

And Calista only watched.

When he finally stopped, panting and wiping sweat from his brow, she looked at him with a mixture of amusement and pity.

"Even Kaen said the Fifth Stage can defeat the Seventh," she said calmly. "But only under the right conditions. With the right mindset."

Caius gritted his teeth.

"And you? You jumped in first. No knowledge of my techniques. No strategy. No brain. If you were even a little smarter, you would’ve waited your turn. Let me tire out. Watched my movements, found patterns, flaws. Then, when my Qi was shallow and my focus cracked, you’d strike—not head-on, but from the shadows. That’s how someone fights when they know their limits. That’s how someone fights to win, not just to show off."

The crowd went silent.

"If I were half-dead, bleeding in the dirt with one eye in the mud... you still wouldn’t scratch me," she hissed, voice laced with scorn so thick the silence deepened. "You have nothing in you that could hurt me. No strength. No strategy. No pride. Looking at you, all I see is a child screaming to be heard because no one ever listened."

Her smile was a knife’s edge.

"Go on. Prove you deserve to share this arena with me."

Caius roared and charged.

Calista didn’t move an inch. As his fist cut through the air, racing toward her face, she twisted her hips with the grace of a dancer. Her foot sliced through space in a sudden arc—no warning, no mercy. Her kick struck Caius square in the jaw with a crack like splintering wood. His head snapped back, eyes rolled, and his body launched upward like a ragdoll.

He flew.

And then—smack!

He slammed into the barrier. Right in front of the sector where Thalos and his family sat. He crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Kaen let out a long sigh.

"The duel is over."

Calista was still standing in the exact spot where she’d begun. Not a single step taken—as if the entire fight had been nothing more than a breeze. She didn’t even fix her hair.

"Who’s next?" Kaen asked.

Thalos rose from his seat.

"I am."

Silence. No one dared speak.

"Of course," Calista whispered. "Who else but daddy would come down to save the family's face now?"

Thalos didn’t reply. His gaze dropped to his son—crumpled like a dead dog, face-down in the dust. Without a word, he descended from the stands and walked straight toward him. He bent down, grabbed Caius by the collar, and with one smooth motion, tossed him like a ragdoll toward the sector where his daughter sat.

"Take care of him," he said coldly.

Only then did his aura begin to rise. Heavy. Harsh. Crushing. Like all the fury he had bottled up beneath the mask of a father had just been unleashed.

Calista smiled faintly.

"I promise you’ll get more than your son did. At least you won’t have to worry about him doing anything stupid again."

Thalos moved first—no shout, no warning. He just shot forward like a drawn blade. With every step, the ground beneath his feet cracked softly, as if it couldn’t handle the weight of his Qi.

Calista stepped back half a pace, shifting into a defensive stance. This time, there was no casual air to her. Her eyes narrowed. Her body tensed. 

Thalos struck low—at her knee. Calista leapt aside, but before she could land, his elbow was already at her ribs. She twisted mid-air, blocked with her forearm, but the force sent her skidding back across the arena floor.

He was fast. And precise. His strikes weren’t wild—every one had purpose. Every one had rhythm.

He gave her no time.

His Qi erupted like fire around him—not wild, but shaped, controlled, like a flame he’d spent years mastering. A barrage of punches. A sweeping leg. A spiral of Qi unleashed from his fingers, trying to coil around her ankles.

Calista broke free just in time. She leapt back, but one of his blows grazed her arm—the first contact in a long time. The first sign that this opponent was no warm-up.

Their clash resembled a dance—but not a graceful one. It was brutal. Predatory. When she retreated, he advanced. When she pivoted, he was already there.

"Hmph," she muttered, clashing against his fist. She leapt back before he could reinforce the blow with his other hand.

His eyes were sharp. Not like his son’s—no rage, no frustration. Only focus. 

And then... Thalos halted.

He lifted his head and said,

"That’s enough of a warm-up."

His voice was calm, but heavy. Dense with certainty.

"Let’s start the real fight."

Then—Thalos truly struck.

He froze for a heartbeat, and the Qi within him ignited into real fire—not metaphorical, but living, pulsing heat erupting from his body like a dormant volcano awakened. The air around him trembled, and the arena’s temperature surged, as if the very flame of the world had been summoned.

From his back, tongues of fire burst upward, spiraling into the sky. They formed a swirling column of flame, and at its center—forged from fiery essence and pure spiritual will—a colossal burning sword emerged.

It didn’t have edges. It didn’t need them.

Every motion scorched the space around it. Every spark left behind a glowing scar in the air.

Each swing of that fiery blade was a bell tolling the end of all things. Its presence alone dimmed the sky, as if even the sun had stepped back.

Thalos raised his hand slowly... then brought it down with the full weight of a warrior who didn’t launch attacks—he delivered verdicts.

The sword of living flame fell from the heavens with terrifying speed, tearing through the air like a comet. Its path burned white-hot, and its roar echoed like a thousand thunderclaps.

The strike raced toward Calista—as if it wasn’t just meant to destroy her, but erase everything it touched.

Sylphia stood up, shouting:

"CALISTA, LOOK OUT!"

And then... Calista closed her eyes.

There was no fear. No desperation. Only silence.

Flames danced in her lashes. The air around her rippled with heat, the arena trembling like reality itself tried to flee.

And she... simply stood there.

At the heart of the storm.

Eyes closed.

As if none of it existed at all.