In the vast colosseum at the heart of the Riversong Empire's capital, Amon and Zephyra stood on opposite ends of the arena. Per the official R.S. Advanced Academy duel regulations, the match was hosted within a Mirror World, ensuring the real world remained untouched by the coming destruction.
Zephyra stretched her arms, her posture overflowing with supreme confidence. "You know, one of the reasons I called you out is because you give off the exact vibe as Miss Khalia," she taunted, her voice dripping with amusement.
"I have no interest in your motivations, Senior," Amon replied smoothly. He extended his right hand and summoned his wand into his palm with a crisp flick of his wrist. "My sole concern is ensuring you never bother my sister."
"Aw, look at you, playing the protective little brother," Zephyra grinned, her eyes glinting with feral excitement. "I guess the Crown family isn't made entirely of cold, unfeeling monsters after all."
"15% Gravitas."
The moment the words left Amon's lips, fifteen ethereal blades materialised behind him, humming with a dense, oppressive purple aura.
He thrust his wand forward. The blades locked onto Zephyra and launched instantly, accelerating to speeds that fractured the localised flow of time.
In the Divine Worlds, every entity possessed movement capable of shattering temporal boundaries by default. Reality didn't collapse into temporal chaos because infinite, stacked time-field layers of reinforcement existed.
Yet when a combatant pushed their speed beyond normal limits, those protective layers strained and shattered around them—leaving visible fractures of broken time trailing in the wake of Amon's blitzing swords.
"How cute," Zephyra scoffed, swaying her body with fluid grace to slip past the initial flurry. Reaching out with a wild grin, she threw a heavy right hook into a stray blade—only for her eyes to widen in shock. The moment her knuckles made contact, a crushingly dense gravitational weight slammed down onto her, forcing her instantly to one knee as the arena floor shattered beneath her stance.
Before she could adjust her balance, Amon blurred into her open guard. A swift, brutal roundhouse kick caught her full in the jaw, launching her backwards through the air.
Zephyra dug her boots into the earth, skidding to a halt—but Amon was already there, stepping out of the distorted air directly in front of her. His wand was already levelled at her chest.
"Singularity Gravitas."
A sword of gravity erupted from the tip of his wand, striking her square in the abdomen and propelling her violently upward into the open sky.
The blade was laced with the spell Gravity Death, a spell that twisted the temporal field into a hyper-dense vortex, generating a pressure capable of erasing anything caught within its threshold physically and temporally.
Amon lowered his arm, his blindfolded gaze tracking her ascent into the clouds as the sheer force of the blast tore through the upper atmosphere.
"How disappointing," Amon sighed softly, resting his wand at his side. "I expected a far greater challenge from an upperclassman of her reputation. It appears I was mistaken."
"She'll crash down in a moment and start taking this seriously," Amon thought, casually turning his back to the sky.
Right on cue, a thunderous boom shook the colosseum as Zephyra smashed into the arena floor. Dust flared around her, revealing a noticeably sharpened expression and a thin trickle of blood running down her chin. The air around her turned heavy, thick with a far more oppressive Magium signature.
"I severely underestimated you, junior," Zephyra spat, wiping her lips before dropping into a low, predatory stance. "I suppose I'll give you fifty percent."
"That still won't give you an edge," Amon replied, his back still turned. "You either go all out, or—"
Before the word fully left his mouth, Zephyra blurred through space, instantly manifesting behind him to drive a brutal left hook toward his temple.
Amon spun on his heel with terrifying precision, his bare hand snapping out to catch her full by the face, completely halting her momentum.
"Are you stupid?" Amon asked coldly, maintaining his grip on her jaw as he delivered a bone-crushing kick straight into her ribs. "As I told you, anything less than your maximum is entirely meaningless against me."
He hurled her across the arena like a ragdoll and levelled his wand without missing a beat. "Singularity Collapse."
A pitch-black sphere tore into existence, its gravitational pull warping light and sound as it dragged Zephyra directly into its crushing centre. A second later, the void snapped shut, erasing every trace of her presence and leaving the arena in total silence.
Then, the world warped.
Cracks tore across the sky like fractured glass. Reality itself splintered into jagged mirror shards, shattering outward from a single point in the air to reveal Zephyra stepping through the broken seams of space.
Amon watched the illusion collapse around them, a genuine, pleased smile touching his lips.
"So, you actually managed to break through the effect of my Personal Magic," He murmured gently. "Impressive, Senior."
Zephyra slammed onto the arena floor directly before him, her aura turning distinctly menacing. "Cut the parlour tricks, Crown!"
She drove a devastating axe-kick downward, shattering the figure in front of her into glittering, glassy shards—revealing that the Amon she struck was merely another phantom layer.
Out from behind the fractured space, the real Amon materialised. He flicked his wrist, launching a volley of razor-sharp gravity blades that whistled through the air, but Zephyra effortlessly wove past every single strike.
"I understand it now," Amon said, his tone laced with genuine intrigue as he observed her movements. "You possess a trait that nullifies Magium itself—an Anti-Magium property. Without a counter of that nature, unravelling the influence of my Personal Magic would have been impossible"
Before he could finish his analysis, Zephyra closed the distance extremely fast, unleashing a blistering barrage of rapid-fire strikes. Amon was forced onto the defensive, barely dodging backwards as jagged trails of fractured time rippled through the air in the wake of her fists.
"It appears my deduction was spot on," he remarked with a faint, amused chuckle.
"Even if it is, your little game ends here," Zephyra warned, her voice thick with aggression. "Forcing me to draw on my Inherent Skill and Personal Magic is a blunder you'll regret for the rest of your days."
"And who decided that?" Amon asked, a subtle smile playing on his lips as he flicked his wand, vanishing it back into thin air.
"False Visionary."
A narrow rift tore open beside him, revealing the hilt of a weapon. Amon reached into the void, gripping the sword and pulling it cleanly into the light with a single, fluid arc.
The blade shimmered with the incandescent, crimson glow of a dying star. Its translucent crystal body tapered into flame-like serrations, ending at a point fine enough to pierce a shadow. At the centre of the crossguard, a crescent moon of deep-red light rested within a spiky silver housing, casting a faint, celestial haze around the grip. Crimson nebular wraps bound the hilt, terminating in a pommel where a miniature glowing orb floated within a silver cradle, surrounded by slow-spinning orbital rings of Magium.
"Since casting spells against an Anti-Magium Inherent Skill will prove inefficient, I shall rely on bladecraft," Amon said, his tone as pleasant and composed as ever. "Do try not to fall too quickly, Senior."
"How long can you maintain that insufferable posture, Crown?" Zephyra snarled, pure murderous intent radiating from her body. "A pretty sword won't bridge the gap between us."
"Arabelst Fists."
Zephyra's hands ignited with an ominous, blood-red aura as she blitzed forward, her speed instantly snapping through temporal boundaries. She closed the distance and drove a heavy right hook straight toward his face.
Amon shifted his weight to slip the blow, but mid-strike, Zephyra fluidly altered the fist's trajectory, slamming her punch directly into his abdomen.
The raw impact shattered his guard, knocking the wind from his lungs and forcing a spray of blood from his lips as he was hurled backwards across the arena floor.
Before he could even adjust his momentum in mid-air, Zephyra materialised directly behind him.
"Decollate Kick."
Her right leg blazed with the same ominous crimson light as she delivered a lethal, sweeping kick to the side of his head, sending him plummeting violently in the opposite direction.
. . .
Sophia slammed open the heavy double doors of the Duelling Hall, her presence radiating a suffocating, lethal aura. Her eyes burned with a raw, terrifying fury that instantly muted the chatter in the arena galleries.
"Which fucker permitted this duel?!" She demanded, her voice echoing off the high stone walls. The surrounding students shrank back, nervously eyeing the enraged Student Council President.
Scanning the elevated spectator boxes, her glare locked onto Professor T.S. Khalia and Professor Melissa Souls, who were sitting comfortably behind an administrative table, casually sharing tea. Sophia marched straight up the steps, coming to a sharp halt in front of their desk.
"Why is Amon Von Crown allowed in that arena right now?" Sophia asked, her voice dangerously quiet, laced with absolute venom.
"Because he requested it," Khalia replied smoothly, setting her teacup down with a light clink. "He asked me personally to oversee the match. I brought Professor Melissa along to ensure proper protocol was maintained."
"Amon woke up from a week of bed rest today, you retard," Sophia spat, discarding every shred of formality. "As a faculty member, your sole obligation was to shut this circus down before it started!"
A thick vein throbbed violently on Khalia's temple as her composure cracked. "You would do well to watch your tone, Student Council President," she hissed, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. "Being the daughter of Grand Duchess Crown does not grant you impunity to insult someone of my stature."
"Your stature?" Sophia scoffed, leaning over the table to stare directly into Khalia's eyes. "Your title as Director of Magic Research holds zero sway over basic academy regulations. As a Professor, you don't command a single drop of my respect. Your duty here is safeguarding my brother's well-being—and you are actively failing at it."
Khalia's face contorted, looking as though she were on the verge of slaughtering Sophia where she stood.
A thick, suffocating wave of killing intent flared around her, and it was painfully obvious that it took every single drop of her willpower to restrain herself from mangling the Student Council President right then and there.
Before the tension could snap into a physical brawl, a familiar figure casually approached and placed a firm hand on Sophia's shoulder.
It was Jeanne Nova.
"Now, now, Madam President," Jeanne said, a small, teasing smile playing on her lips. "Hurling vulgarities at a Professor violates several academy bylaws—I'm certain you're well aware. Letting your emotions cloud your judgment and disrespecting Professor Khalia over a duel she only sanctioned because your beloved brother insisted... isn't that a bit over the top?"
"Remove your hand, Nova," Sophia commanded, her voice dropping into a dangerously menacing register without her even turning around.
"And if I don't?" Jeanne chuckled softly, her grip tightening on Sophia's shoulder as a subtle flare of her own Magium flared in response. "Are you going to strike me?"
Her tone was a sharp, intoxicating mix of pure mockery and unshakeable arrogance.
Professor Melissa instinctively opened her mouth to defuse the situation, but quickly shut it. She knew this had escalated far beyond her authority. The tension in the hall was suffocating, crackling like an untamed lightning storm. If someone didn't step in to pull Sophia back, Jeanne was about to find herself in unimaginable danger.
Snap.
A crisp, sudden finger-snap cut through the heavy air.
In the very next second, radiant cosmic chains materialised out of thin air, coiling tightly around both Jeanne and Sophia. The glowing links hummed with an ancient, celestial aura, instantly locking their Magium in place.
"It is truly remarkable to witness what absolute animals you two turn into the moment Master is involved," Tiamat spoke, her voice devoid of a single drop of warmth. "Especially you, Sophia."
"Release me this instant!" Sophia roared, her face twisted in pure fury as she strained against the cosmic bindings.
Tiamat didn't even blink. Stepping smoothly into Sophia's guard, she brought the edge of her hand down in a swift, precise neck-chop. Sophia's eyes rolled back, her body immediately going limp as darkness took her.
"Well, can you really blame her, Tiamat?" Amou materialised at her side, a mischievous, playful smirk etching across her face. "He is far too charming for his own good. So much so that his own sister dreams of becoming his bride and bearing his heirs."
"That is entirely irrelevant to the current situation," Tiamat stated flatly, glancing at Amou with a blank, unamused stare.
The surrounding students could only stare in dead silence, their minds reeling from the sheer absurdity and danger unfolding before them. The situation had spiralled completely out of control, and there wasn't a shred of stability left in the room.
"I have no idea where you pulled that absurd delusion from," Jeanne let out a heavy, tired sigh, adjusting her shoulders against the glowing chains. "I don't hold a single shred of romantic interest toward Amon."
"Oh, absolutely," Amou waved her hand dismissively, letting out an airy, amused chuckle. "You have zero interest in Master. Whatever you say."
The heavy layer of mockery in Amou's voice was sharp enough to make even Jeanne's eye twitch. A fiery retort surged to her lips, but she forced herself to swallow it down—realising instantly that a reaction was precisely what the mischievous familiar was fishing for.
Tiamat dismissed the cosmic chains, allowing the celestial links to dissolve into faint stardust. Released from the restriction, Jeanne adjusted her uniform with a subtle, composed gesture.
"My thanks," Jeanne said, offering a brief nod of politeness before stepping away. Turning her attention back toward the central projection, she fixed her focus entirely on the chaotic clash between Amon and Zephyra.
Tiamat offered no response. Her expression remained impassive, but beneath her cold exterior, a lingering question was gnawing at her—a paradox that had troubled her ever since the moment Amon had summoned her into this world.
Amou, answer me something. Tiamat spoke directly into her fellow familiar's mind, establishing a secure telepathic link to keep their dialogue hidden from the surrounding crowd. How can Sophia and Jeanne possibly be two of Master's designated soulmates? Sophia in particular—is she not his blood relative?
Ah, that is a conundrum I have pondered myself. Amou's voice echoed back through the mental link, laced with its usual airy amusement.
What on earth do you mean by 'pondered yourself'? Tiamat demanded, genuinely baffled. Is Wisdom not your Original Virtue?
It certainly is, Amou replied smoothly. And I do, in fact, possess the exact answer to your inquiry.
Then why speak as though you were ignorant? Tiamat snapped telepathically, an imaginary vein throbbing against her temple.
Because it amused me to do so, Amou shrugged within her mind space, her tone insufferably playful. Regardless—Sophia's status as one of Master's soulmates stems directly from the anomalous nature of Master's soul itself. That is the full extent of what I am permitted to divulge.
Tiamat fell silent for a long moment, processing the cryptic reply before offering her conclusion.
I presume you are withholding the complete truth simply because it is a matter Master must reveal to me himself, she communicated back.
Well, regarding the anomalous nature of his soul, yes. But as for the mechanism behind choosing his soulmates? Even Master himself cannot answer that, Amou chuckled in response. Regardless of what secrets his soul hides, it doesn't diminish a single drop of my devotion to him~
Nor does it change mine, Tiamat replied flatly. Though I hesitate to call your brand of affection 'love.' It resembles a pathological obsession—an absolute compulsion to belong to him completely.
Oh, look at the pot calling the kettle black~ Amou teased, her mental voice dripping with playfulness. You are every bit as obsessed as I am~ In fact, wasn't it you whimpering Master's name out loud the other night, assuming you were entirely alone~?
... Tiamat went completely rigid, her mindscape falling into dead, icy silence.
There is no need to be embarrassed, Amou offered through the link, her tone lingering on a wicked edge. I, too, have indulged in self-pleasure while picturing doing things to Master. But I must admit... I was delightfully shocked to discover just how utterly down-bad you truly are. And here I assumed that I was the one embodying the Original Sin of Lust~
. . .
"Stand proud, Zephyra Valkaress," Amon said softly, his voice graceful and serene as he stood over the broken upperclassman. He held the blade of False Visionary mere inches from her throat, its radiant crimson light bathing her bloodied, trembling form.
Aside from a thin ribbon of blood trickling down the side of his forehead, Amon looked utterly untouched—his clothes pristine, his breathing calm and steady. It was like Amon hadn't struggled at all against his fight with Zephyra Valkaress, the Crimson Tyrant.
Zephyra lay on the cracked, scorched earth. She stared up at his blindfolded gaze, panting heavily as the sheer weight of her defeat settled in.
"You put up a commendable effort," Amon added gently, a faint, polite smile gracing his lips. "You truly were strong."