The silence was deafening.
A ring of black loomed behind Azrael like the eye of a devouring god—cold, endless, pulsing with gravity that warped the air around it. The Void Halo spun slowly, trailing wisps of ink-like shadow that clung to the ground and curled into cracks.
Even Talon—grit-forged, storm-hearted Talon—felt the weight of it. His smile had vanished, replaced by something sharper. Focused. Alert.
"You're done hiding," Talon said, voice low.
Azrael didn't answer. His eyes had changed—no longer distant. Now, they burned with the terrible clarity of one who had made peace with darkness.
And chosen to wield it.
Then Azrael moved.
He didn't step—he vanished.
The shadows didn't ripple.
They tore.
Talon barely had time to raise a gauntlet before Azrael was there—a dagger already screaming toward his throat.
CLANG.
Sparks burst as iron and void met. Talon staggered but didn't fall, parrying with raw force. He responded instantly—grabbing Azrael by the cloak and slamming him into the ground.
But Azrael's body folded into shadow—and reformed behind him mid-motion.
Another cut. Clean, shallow, across Talon's back.
Talon roared and slammed his fists together.
The ground erupted.
Blades of iron burst upward in a spiraling wall. They spun like saws, orbiting him at impossible speeds. One blade struck Azrael mid-dash—he twisted to absorb the hit, shadows cushioning the blow, but pain flashed across his face.
The Void Halo flared.
The spinning ring behind him expanded, distorting space. Several of Talon's iron blades slowed—like they were caught in a current.
Then they bent.
Talon's eyes widened. "You're pulling them in—"
He raised both arms, summoning more iron, pushing out with force.
But the pull of the halo grew stronger.
The audience didn't cheer. They didn't even breathe. The sight of it—the quiet hunger of the void, eating the world one heartbeat at a time—left only awe and fear.
From the stands, Iris gripped the railing. "Azrael's pushing himself too far."
Serah's hands clenched. "That thing—it's not just a weapon. It's a curse."
Orion said nothing.
But his jaw tightened. He could feel it—Azrael wasn't just channeling the Abyss.
He was becoming it.
Back in the ring, Talon grounded himself.
"Enough games."
His star-brand flared white-hot.
From his shoulders, molten chains of iron unfurled, slamming into the ground and anchoring him against the growing pull of the halo.
Then he charged.
Azrael met him halfway.
Void and iron collided in a fury of strikes that blurred too fast for the naked eye. Talon fought like a juggernaut—unyielding, hammering with overwhelming power. Azrael struck like a ghost—silent, precise, bleeding shadows with every move.
The arena cracked beneath them. Iron blades spun into shrapnel. Shadows tore through marble. Every clash between them rippled outward like a storm screaming to escape its cage.
Talon landed a blow—full force, across Azrael's ribs.
A crunch.
Azrael's breath caught, body thrown back.
He hit the ground and didn't rise immediately.
The Void Halo trembled—unstable now. Cracks of white light flashed through its surface like a dying star imploding.
Talon limped forward, breathing hard.
"You're strong," he admitted. "But you're breaking."
Azrael didn't look up.
"You think I don't know that?"
He rose slowly, blood running down the corner of his mouth. His dagger hand trembled.
"But sometimes…" His voice was soft. "You have to break to cut deeper."
Then he vanished one last time.
The world bent.
And suddenly—he was behind Talon.
No sound.
No warning.
Just a single, perfect motion.
A dagger plunged toward Talon's exposed neck.
But Talon twisted.
Faster than he should have.
And caught Azrael's wrist.
Again.
Only this time—Azrael wanted it.
Because the moment Talon caught his wrist, Azrael's other hand opened.
In his palm: the full weight of the Void Halo.
Condensed into a single point.
Talon's eyes widened.
"Wait—"
BOOM.
The explosion didn't sound like fire or force.
It sounded like silence collapsing in on itself.
The shockwave knocked Talon backward—off his feet, through his own shattered iron wall.
He hit the ground hard. Rolled. Didn't rise.
The dust slowly settled.
Azrael remained standing—but barely.
One knee hit the ground.
Then both.
The Void Halo shattered into fragments behind him and dissolved.
Silence returned.
The referee descended slowly, staff glowing.
They checked Talon.
Breathless… but alive.
Unconscious.
Then they turned to Azrael.
He lifted his head, barely able to keep his eyes open.
"…Still breathing," he muttered.
The Starbound raised their hand.
"Winner… Azrael of the Abyss."
The crowd erupted.
Not in joy.
In shock.
The boy of shadows had just torn down a juggernaut.
And nearly himself in the process.
Above, Orion let out a breath he hadn't known he'd held.
Azrael didn't celebrate.
He just collapsed.
Fade to black.
The silence that followed Talon's collapse was unlike anything the arena had experienced before.
Not stunned, not breathless—hollow. Like sound itself had recoiled in fear.
Azrael didn't raise his hand in victory. He didn't acknowledge the crowd. As the lights of the dueling dome faded, his silhouette dissolved into a thin ripple of shadow, vanishing at the edge of the platform as though the Abyss itself had claimed him.
Talon lay broken at center stage, his iron-armored form flickering with dying embers. He still breathed—but shallowly. His limbs, once forged of unbreakable resolve, were cracked and splintered. It had taken everything to survive.
Healers rushed to the field in silence, forming a protective ring around him.
The crowd stayed frozen until the spell finally shattered.
"He won?" someone whispered.
"He vanished," another muttered.
And then the roar came.
Cheers. Cries. Confusion. The stands erupted in a chaotic tangle of awe and unease.
"Did he teleport?"
"No—he melted into the floor!"
"What even was that ability? Did you see the one that broke Talon's guard?!"
"Void Halo," someone muttered reverently. "That was Void Halo…"
From their seats, the Eclipse Cohort sat in silence—no high fives, no cheers. Just a quiet understanding that something had changed.
Serah cracked her knuckles with a grim smile. "Well… damn."
Iris leaned forward, staring at the now-empty field. "He didn't even use his full strength."
Orion's gaze remained fixed on the last place Azrael had stood.
He hadn't seen all of it. The darkness was too dense. But what he'd felt—that strange pressure in the air, like the arena itself was holding its breath—told him enough.
Azrael hadn't just won.
He'd unveiled something.
Across the field, the Ardent Blades were in disarray.
Rhett stood with his arms crossed, jaw clenched. Mira paced in tight circles. Sena watched in silence, arms at her sides, her expression unreadable.
"He didn't fight like he wanted to win," Mira said sharply. "He fought like he wanted to erase him."
Rhett's voice was low. "Talon's defense wasn't the problem. He's built to take punishment, not vanish into it."
Sena didn't speak until a long silence settled over the three of them. When she did, her voice was quiet—curiously distant.
"He's not like the rest of us."
Mira scowled. "You mean he's better than us?"
Sena shook her head. "No. I mean… Azrael doesn't fight for victory. He fights like he's escaping something."
In the student galleries above, speculation churned like a storm.
"No way he's a normal Starbound."
"Was that a Fallen Star?"
"I heard he never speaks. That his star whispers instead of shines."
"Whatever it is, he nearly turned Talon into ash."
"He didn't even look tired."
Instructors seated at the upper pavilion exchanged tense glances.
"He's further along than we estimated," one murmured. "That's beyond a typical bond—he's syncing with the Abyss."
"The shadows cling to him," another added. "He didn't summon them. They responded."
"And they devour more than just light."
Later that day, as the field emptied and murmurs died down, Orion found Azrael seated alone beneath the marble colonnade behind the training sanctum.
He said nothing at first—just sat beside him on the low bench.
The quiet stretched between them.
"You didn't stay for the announcement," Orion finally said.
Azrael's gaze didn't shift. "I already knew the result."
"You mean your win?"
A pause. "No. The silence."
Orion frowned. "They're afraid of you."
Azrael nodded. "They should be."
There was no arrogance in his tone. Just fact. Like saying the moon rises at night.
"You could've… hurt him more," Orion said. "But you didn't."
"I did what was necessary."
Orion studied him for a moment. "That wasn't your full strength."
"No." A beat. "But neither was his."
Orion let out a slow breath, then stood.
"When you fight like the Abyss," he said quietly, "don't let it pull you in."
Azrael didn't answer. But the way the shadows at his heels curled back—gentler, dimmer—spoke enough.
By evening, the tournament bracket shimmered once again in silver starlight above the arena.
Students gathered around, whispering, trading guesses about the next duel.
A flick of starlight, and two names flared to life across the board:
Match 4 – Nyra of the Skybound vs Dorian of the Silent Choir
A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd.
"Wind versus Ink?"
"She's House Gale, right? Skyborn lineage?"
"And Dorian's the Inkwalker. I heard he fought off three duelists blindfolded during a trial."
"They say he writes his spells mid-battle. Doesn't even speak."
Up in the Eclipse cohort's barracks, Serah raised a brow. "This one's gonna get weird."
Iris tapped her chin. "Ink against wind… I'm curious to see what Dorian does. He's hard to read."
Orion, still quiet from earlier, gave a nod. "We'll be watching closely."
Azrael remained in the corner, eyes closed. Not resting—listening.
The Abyss whispered.
And the tournament marched forward.