A sentry of ground erupted where Luthar had crashed; the sand exploded into a dome of glittering grit that fell like brown rain. When it settled, both fighters were breathing hard, their faces masks of resolve and fatigue. The sound of the crowd faded until only the wind remained, sweeping through the silent arena like a whisper of judgment. Everyone was frozen, eyes wide, hearts racing, watching two forces collide beyond their understanding.

Luthar's eyes were dark embers now, burning with pride and fury. "You'll die," he hissed. "No one."

Nolan cut him off with a movement that looked more like a ritual than an attack, a calm, deliberate palm to the chest that felt like the closing line in a confession. Luthar staggered backward, breath breaking from his lungs. The ring of sand around them trembled and curved inward, carving itself into a shallow moat where all the tension and violence of their clash seemed to gather.

"Not today," Nolan said, his tone softer, but every word landed with finality. "Not for her."

Then he launched forward once more, not with the rage of a brawler, but with the precision of a seasoned warrior. His steps were light but fast, his body a blur of disciplined grace. He feinted left, spun right, and came through with a strike so sharp it seemed to slice the air itself. The clash of fist and bone sounded like thunder. Each connection, each motion, was deliberate, sharp, and devastating. Every hit carried the weight of everything Nolan had endured.

Luthar stumbled back, boots skidding through the sand until his spine met the cold stone of the arena wall. The engraved runes etched into the ancient blocks began to glow faintly, reacting to the force of their battle. Dust rained from above as the arena itself trembled. Luthar pushed back with every ounce of strength and pride he had left, his roar echoing like a beast refusing to bow. He wasn't fighting to win anymore, he was fighting not to disappear.

He drew in his breath sharply, his chest glowing crimson as energy surged outward, raw and unstable. The crimson light spread across his armor and burst forward in a storm-like shockwave. "I'll crush you!" he screamed, charging with reckless speed, gauntlet extended, his fury spilling into the air like wildfire.

Nolan didn't flinch. He met that explosion of power with something colder, stillness, focus, resolve. He intercepted the gauntlet with both hands, the impact forming a tremor that tore across the battlefield. Sand lifted in spirals around them, and the pressure cracked against the barrier of mana that protected the stands. The clash sent sparks flying between their locked forms, metal grinding against flesh and will.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stop. They were motionless, locked in a test of everything they were. Muscles strained, veins bulged, teeth grit. Then, with one sharp turn, Nolan twisted his body and redirected the force, using Luthar's own momentum against him. With a clean, devastating throw that blended power and precision, he sent the champion flying.

Luthar's body arced through the air, his silhouette framed by the glowing lights above. He crashed into the ground with a sound that echoed through the entire arena, shaking the walls and hearts alike.

Silence fell like a curtain. For a moment, no one breathed. Then a single voice cried out, and the arena erupted. The sound was deafening, the cheers chaotic, trembling between awe and disbelief. Some screamed Nolan's name; others shouted in shock, unable to process what they had witnessed. It wasn't just a fight, it was a clash of worlds.

Luthar lay on the sand, his chest rising and falling with heavy, labored breaths. His body trembled, caught between pain and denial. He tried to rise, growling through gritted teeth, but his limbs refused. The air itself pressed down on him, as if the arena no longer obeyed his will.

Nolan stood over him, not smiling, not celebrating. His expression was calm, absolute. He had won, but it wasn't triumph that filled his eyes, it was the weight of everything he had done, and everything he still had to do.

He looked down at Luthar, the man who had once stood untouchable, and for a long, quiet moment, nothing else existed. The arena, the crowd, the world itself, all seemed to hold its breath, balanced on the thin thread between vengeance and mercy.

Then Nolan turned away, his cloak trailing behind him like a comet's tail. The sound of the crowd flooded back, and the emissary's trembling voice filled the silence as he began to announce the outcome. But Nolan didn't listen. His heart was elsewhere, on the promise that had led him here, on the face of someone who might still be waiting beyond these walls.

But something wasn't right.

The air shifted again. The cheers seemed to warp into something colder, the noise twisting until it felt more like a hum from behind a cage. Tens of thousands of eyes stared down from the stands, yet it felt suffocating, like the gaze of creatures behind glass. The metallic scent of blood and iron filled Nolan's lungs. His instincts screamed: Something's wrong.

He turned and saw Luthar moving.

Slowly, the fallen champion pushed himself up, his movements uneven, trembling. Then came the sound, a low, guttural growl that silenced even the loudest cheers. His aura was changing, rippling through the arena like dark fire.

"I thought Chiron was weak…" someone whispered, disbelief spreading through the audience. Luthar's shadow stretched unnaturally across the ground. His breathing quickened, rage pulsing through every muscle. He hadn't wanted to reveal it, but the thought of defeat burned deeper than pride. He couldn't lose, not here.

"I didn't want to use this form," he growled. "But now, none of that matters."

His body began to convulse, cracking, reshaping. Bone tore and reformed, muscles swelled, fur rippled through his skin as his face contorted into something monstrous. The transformation was horrifying yet mesmerizing, raw power and madness woven together. When it was done, he was no longer a man.

He was a werewolf.

Massive, hunched, and gleaming under the arena lights, he stood at the center of the ring, every movement radiating murderous strength. His crimson eyes gleamed like molten metal. "Is that all you've got?" he snarled, his voice guttural and warped.

He launched forward before anyone could blink.

Nolan met him head-on. Their fists rose at the same instant, the collision of speed and strength splitting the air like thunder. For a heartbeat, it looked as if their punches would meet, but Luthar twisted at the last second, drawing his claw across the air toward Nolan's throat.

Nolan dodged, his movements a blur. The claw sliced through empty space as Nolan pivoted and countered with a kick that struck clean into Luthar's abdomen. The werewolf slid backward, sand flying beneath his feet.

Luthar snarled, confusion flashing in his eyes. "You think that's enough to stop me? Are you even human? What are you?"

Nolan steadied his stance, expression unchanged. "I've met demons," he said quietly. "You're not one of them."

Luthar roared, fury shaking the air. Then his aura changed again. A pulse of dark purple light began to leak from his skin, swirling upward into a mist that rolled toward the audience. People gasped as the haze reached them.

"My body, it's getting weaker!" someone shouted from the stands. Another clutched their chest, trembling. The energy in the arena began to thin, drawn toward Luthar like rivers feeding a sea. The werewolf's grin widened, teeth gleaming.

"What's happening?" Lyra cried from the edge of the arena, her voice barely reaching over the noise.

Luthar's laughter echoed across the stadium. "Don't worry," he said mockingly. "I'm just taking a breath."

The crowd's panic grew. Their life force was being stolen, a year, or more, ripped away from every soul in the audience to feed his growing strength. Faces turned pale. Voices broke into screams. The air shimmered with purple energy, pulsing with every beat of Luthar's heart.

"Stop this!" Nolan shouted, eyes narrowing. He could feel the drain himself, his energy slipping away, his heartbeat slowing under the weight of the spell. Lyra and Damien staggered at the edge of the arena, fighting to resist as the magic tried to pull them down.

Luthar's grin widened. "Why so worried?" he growled. "I only take what's freely given, the fear, the life, the weakness."

Nolan's vision tightened. The arena blurred. He could see the flow of the stolen life force, the way it bent toward Luthar like threads of light feeding a void. He couldn't let this continue. Not for the thousands here. Not for the promise he'd made.

He clenched his fist and drew in a breath. His eyes burned with determination.

"Enough," he said.

Then he snapped his fingers.

The sound was small, barely a whisper, but it cut through everything. The purple haze froze mid-air, then shattered like glass. The draining pull broke.

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