The midterm battles roared on, storms of ambition and fury, but all eyes turned toward two matches that would be remembered long after the dust settled.
One-- the collision of Exalted legacies—Cassiel, inheritor of Astraios, and Laxus, scion of Hyperion.
The second was less of a spectacle terms of scale, but it out classed all others in of in fervor.
The clash between kindred Titans—Leo Grayson, inheritor of Hercules, and Siegfried, bearer of the legacy of Sigurd.
---
Slagside Watchtower, Halgrith Citadel Outskirts
Perched atop a half-collapsed watchtower of rusted steel and fractured glass covered in snow a crowd had gathered.
They wore thick patchwork cloaks and broken boots, their eyes weary but burning with a strange, distant hope.
Winter had arrived weeks ago, but neither the heart of Halgrith Citadel, or Anatheon felt the affects.
Only the Slag was left to rot and freeze.
A makeshift screen flickered before them, fed through a hijacked feed from the Citadel. Crackling. Glitching. Glorious.
Garret stood at the front, a hulking man with salt in his hair and coal in his lungs.
His arms were crossed, but his gaze was fixed. Beside him stood Old Mergo, who hadn't had real teeth in twenty years, and Zenobia, an orphaned girl who used to steal batteries from Guard patrols.
"He's really out there," Garret muttered. "My boy. Standing on that marble floor with gods."
"He's still breathing," said Mergo, squinting at the flickering screen. "That's half the battle in this world."
Garret didn't smile. But something tugged beneath the iron of his jaw. "Don't blink, kid. This one'll hurt."
---
If Cassiel's match had been awe-inspiring, this one was chaos incarnate.
The arena was still cracked from the last duel. Heat shimmered from molten glass. Blood, smoke, and starlight lingered in the air like ghosts.
Siege stood at the gate, fingers twitching near his side. His aspect pulsed faintly inside him, like a sleeping leviathan.
Across the field, Leo cracked his neck and entered the arena barefoot, humming some old tune.
His hair was back to being the cropped short brown it was when he first met him.
The wooden club he held was engraved with the twelve labors of Hercules—Clava, carved from the World Tree's spine—rested lazily on his shoulder.
There was a glint in his eye, something that said that this was all a very fun game to him.
"Ready for some cardio, Dragonboy?" Leo called. "Hope that trauma's been doing push-ups."
Siege didn't answer. He simply stepped forward, boots crunching across glassed stone.
Thrakkor signaled and the bell tolled.
Leo vanished.
No—it just felt like that.
In a blink, Clava came whistling toward Siege's head like the wrath of nature itself. He barely ducked, but the wind pressure alone threw him off balance.
Leo was already behind him, swinging again, and this time the club hit home—right in Siege's ribs.
This time, Siege couldn't evade.
Bones cracked. Siege coughed blood. He staggered back, eyes wide.
Leo grinned. "Come on, man. I thought you were gonna slay me. That's the whole thing, right? Dragon Slayer?"
Siege tried to steady his breathing. He felt the shadow of Gram stir in his soul. It curled tighter, resisting. Like a beast in chains that didn't want to wake.
Leo didn't wait.
He lunged forward with terrifying grace, whirling Clava like a dancer of ruin.
Each swing came heavier than the last, forcing Siege to dodge, block, survive.
But it wasn't enough. A blow caught his thigh. Then his shoulder. He crashed against the arena wall with a grunt.
"Should've brought a shield," Leo said, tapping Clava against his palm. "Or a therapist."
Leo frowned, stepping closer.
"Hey. Don't quit now. You're supposed to be the dark horse, remember? The edgy one with a sword forged in vengeance and memory. You've got that look."
*Is this guy for real?* Siege almost cursed him out.
Black smoke curled from his mouth.
The darkness inside Siege howled. A sea of black iron cracked through his veins. His bones twisted with cold heat. Black horns coiled from his forehead.
Then Gram appeared.
The greatsword tore into the world like a second mouth.
A jagged ripple of pressure shattered nearby debris, sending Leo skidding back.
"Well," Leo said, blinking. "That's new."
Siege stood slowly. His eyes were twin copper suns, his shoulders trembling not with weakness, but release. Gram pulsed in his hand, heavy as guilt.
He said nothing. Just stepped forward—and swung.
The arc of the blade cut a shallow trench into the ground. Leo barely dodged, laughing in shock.
"Okay! Okay! There's my dragon boy!"
Siege swung again—slower, but deeper. Each strike bent the air. Leo began to sweat, now forced to block with Clava instead of dodge. The wooden club groaned with each collision.
For a moment, the crowd forgot to breathe.
But Leo was not done.
He roared, activating the Titanic Aspect [Nemean] to full effect. His haire grew into a wild golden mane, his skin hardened like mythic hide, and his muscles swelled with Herculean weight.
He slammed Clava into the ground and sent shockwaves across the arena, causing Siege to stumble.
Then he charged.
The two clashed mid-arena. Gram and Clava screamed against each other—wood and darkness, nature and abyss.
Dust clouded the sky. Their roars shook the stands.
Siege began to lose ground.
Leo fought with abandon, every strike fueled by joy and madness. Siege fought like a drowning man clinging to a sword. His form was raw, desperate, powerful—but unstable.
Leo feinted a downward strike, spun behind Siege, and cracked Clava across his back. Siege cried out, falling to one knee. Leo raised the club again.
Siege turned and swung upward wildly.
They clashed.
Clava met Gram—and the ground split beneath them. Sparks erupted like tiny novas. Each strike was a storm; each dodge, a miracle.
Siege grew faster. Stronger. Every blow that should've broken him made him burn brighter.
But Leo…
Leo grinned through it all. He fought like a storm in love with itself—twisting, leaping, swinging Clava with unnatural joy.
Siege cut his shoulder.
Leo laughed.
Leo dented Siege's ribs.
Siege bled—but stood.
Leo grinned, teeth bloodied. "Alright, one last swing each?"
Siege nodded. "One."
They charged.
Two gods-in-the-making, one born of fury, one born of laughter.
They collided at the center.
Gram struck true—but Leo was faster.
Clava hit Siege square in the side while Gram, a split second later, landed heavily on Leo's shoulder.
The impact hurled him across the arena. Gram slipped from his fingers, still embedded in Leo, as he crashed into the dirt, vision blackening.
Still Siege forced himself to stand, shaking hard, his breath coming in short gasps.
Leo stood as well pulling Gram from his shoulder, pale from blood loss.
The crowd fell silent as they walked towards one another.
Leo collapsed.
Thrakkor raised his hand once more. "Victory: Siegfried."
A the audience's roar echoed through the colosseum.
---
Siege barely managed to walk to Leo, extending a hand. "You almost got me. One more swing and we'd be scraping me off the wall."
Siege coughed, spitting blood into the dirt.
Leo took the hand.
Leo grinned. "Damn right."
"I'll get you next time," he said weakly.
Siege then passed out on top of Leo.
The medic shook her head as she saw this, and the two were carried off, battered but breathing.