An anticipation filled silence settled over the colosseum, broken only by the howl of distant wind threading through cracked stone arches.
Night clung to the edges of the arena, and electronic stage lights flickered nervously as if aware something immense was about to unfold.
At the far end of the arena, combat instructor Thrakkor's voice carried like thunder across an open field.
"Begin."
At once, two figures stepped forward from opposite ends of the arena.
Cassiel strode like a falling star.
She was tall, her frame wrapped in a midnight battle-dress stitched with glimmering constellations.
Her golden hair spilled like a comet's tail behind her, and her crimson eyes burned with sharp, quiet determination.
In her hands, she gripped Rhadan—the Exalted Armament of Astraios.
Its blade shimmered with gravitational runes, and in its core pulsed the quiet despair of collapsing stars.
She was the heiress of void and sky, a the inheritor of the Titan of Stars.
Across from her, Laxus Verda rolled his shoulders, golden light crackling from every inch of his frame.
He burned.
His skin shimmered with heat, his armor radiated brilliance, and in his chest boiled the relentless force of dawn itself.
The Aspect [Helios] surged through his blood. He was the inheritor of Hyperion, Titan of Light, and he looked at Cassiel with the certainty of the rising sun.
Cassiel narrowed her eyes.
"Oh sure, light's so powerful—until someone turns off the switch and suddenly it's nowhere to be found," she said sarcastically.
"But I bet you're a real tough guy."
Laxus grinned, spitting to the side. "Five out of ten, a bit too cringe for my liking."
"Just be careful to not collapse under your own pride."
Cassiel's face slightly reddened, but her gaze remained sharp.
The bell tolled. The battle began.
Cassiel moved first.
She whispered a celestial sigil under her breath, and a pulse of gravity exploded outward.
The ground cracked around her as twin singularities formed behind her shoulders, drawing in light, heat, and hope.
Her glaive spun once in her hand, then fired a lance of compressed void at Laxus.
The arena floor buckled under the force.
Laxus ducked and countered with a blazing wave from his sword, a radiant arc that struck Cassiel's projectile and detonated it in midair.
The explosion was a stunning clash of dark and light—night swallowing dawn, then retreating just as fast.
The crowd gasped. Thrakkor leaned forward, brows lifted.
Cassiel advanced through the smoke, eyes glowing.
She lifted her left hand and formed a ring of orbiting rocks—each a fragment compressed to a large density.
They circled her, weaving between strands of gravitational magic as she chanted. Her voice was cold, distant.
Laxus took a deep breath, centering himself. Then he sprinted.
His speed was blinding.
Golden light rippled behind him as he blurred across the field.
He smashed into Cassiel like a meteor wrapped in flame. Her mini-asteroids tried to intercept him—but Laxus's aura melted them into pools of burning magma as soon as they entered range.
He roared, swinging his longsword in a flaming arc.
Cassiel barely dodged.
The blade nicked her shoulder, melting part of her armor into mush.
She responded instantly, stabbing her glaive into the ground. A surge of gravity buckled the earth under Laxus's feet, yanking him down.
Tendrils of dark matter coiled around his limbs like a serpent of collapsed galaxies.
"Submit," Cassiel hissed, sweat beading on her temple.
Laxus growled.
The tendrils tightened. The light around him dimmed for just a moment—and that was when Cassiel struck. She lunged forward, thrusting her glaive at his chest, only for it to appear behind him.
His right arm reached back and caught the blade, just inches from piercing him. Blood poured from the gash it tore in his palm as he gripped it desperately.
The glaive shook violently, its gravitational core vibrating like the death-rattle of a dying planet.
"Nice try," Laxus spat. Then, from deep within his chest, [Helios] surged.
Cassiel's eyes widened.
With a cry, Laxus unleashed a solar pulse.
Light exploded from his body in a nuclear burst, incinerating the tendrils, the ground, the shadows—everything within a few meters.
The shockwave threw Cassiel back like a ragdoll, crashing her into the wall of the arena.
Her armor cracked. One of her floating asteroids shattered midair.
The arena had fallen into stunned silence.
Laxus, panting, stepped forward. "Still think light is weak?"
Cassiel coughed, blood on her lips. She stood, barely, every movement ragged. "Always."
With a roar, she pulled even more from [Event Horizon] and summoned her ultimate technique that she had spent weeks preparing for Laxus.
The sky above blackened as if reacting to her will. From the stars came a single meteor, small, but burning black with voidflame—screaming toward the arena like the judgment of a dead cosmos.
The crowd screamed. Instructors rose from their seats prepared to intervene.
Laxus looked up, eyes wide. Then he set his jaw.
"Let's do this," he muttered.
And then he did the impossible.
He lifted his sword and focused his light into a singular beam. Not outward—but inward.
Into himself and his sword, Therme.
His body glowed white-hot. Skin cracked. Veins seared gold. He drew in so much energy, even his bones glowed.
Then he exploded upward—toward the meteor.
Raising his sword high above his head, Laxus swung down with devastating force.
A radiant arc of light filled the night sky, as if aiming to split the heavens.
It collided with the black meteor, splitting it in half and exploding outwards, turning it into harmless fragments that rained down like hail.
Cassiel dropped to one knee. Her eyes, once glowing with defiance, now dimmed with disbelief.
"No…" she whispered. "You can't—"
Too late.
Laxus descended in a solar dive, fist raised. Cassiel barely managed to raise her blade.
Impact.
The colosseum quaked slightly. The some parts turned to molten glass.
And Cassiel was driven into the crater at the center of the arena.
Smoke and fire rose around them. When the dust cleared, Laxus stood over her, chest heaving, armor scorched and cracked, it was barely holding on.
Cassiel lay on her back, blade broken, one eye swollen shut. But even now, she managed to speak.
"…You think… stars die easy?"
Laxus knelt beside her, hand on his knee. "They die," he said. "But they burn beautifully before they do."
Professor Thrakkor rose, raising his hand. "Victory: Laxus Verda."
Cheers erupted from the students and audience.
Some faces in the student section darkened, accepting their own weakness in comparison.
Others shouted Laxus's name. But in the center of the chaos, Laxus simply closed his eyes. Not in celebration. Not in pride.
But in a reluctant admiration.
The stars, though shattered, had not gone quietly.