Pasaron varios minutos antes de que se pudiera restablecer el orden en el coliseo.
Las pantallas suspendidas dejaron de parpadear. Se reactivaron los hechizos de estabilización. Los portales de evacuación se cerraron lentamente, como heridas mágicas obligadas a cicatrizar. Aunque la multitud permaneció en sus asientos, la calma no había regresado. El rugido de la tensión fue más fuerte que cualquier aplauso.
Elizabeth permaneció inmóvil.
Desde su palco real, contempló las marcas que la singularidad había dejado en la arena. No quedaba nada visible, pero el vacío persistía, no en el campo, sino en la memoria colectiva de todos los presentes.
Un agujero de la muerte.
Una fuerza imposible.
Un concepto que, en su mundo, del que ella procedía, pertenecía a los reinos más lejanos y teóricos de la astronomía. Una distorsión del espacio-tiempo creada por el colapso estelar. Agujeros negros: gigantes cósmicos, invisibles y eternos, que devoran la luz, la materia y el tiempo con hambre indiferente.
Y sin embargo... Aquí, en un mundo donde todavía se lanzaban hechizos con bastones de madera y sangre antigua, un niño había invocado uno, con magia.
Elizabeth se estremeció. ¿Cómo puede ser esto? ¿Cómo podían conocer tal poder... ¿Y no entender lo que era una estrella?
¿Qué clase de civilización era esta, donde el fin del universo podía ser convocado por la ira de un adolescente?
Fue entonces cuando escuchó la voz tranquila y firme de su mentor.
—Alteza —dijo Vincent, volviendo a su habitual expresión serena, casi filosófica—, el hechizo que acabamos de presenciar... es algo que nunca debería haberse invocado.
Se volvió hacia ella, con el rostro serio.
—Es apocalíptico. Una aberración que amenaza todo a su alrededor. Creía que había desaparecido de este mundo... junto con su abuelo.
Elizabeth parpadeó, tomándose un momento para darse cuenta de a quién se refería.
Mayron. El hechizo. Su linaje.
—Cuando llegue el momento de tu peregrinación al Reino de Velmoria —continuó Vincent—, será imperativo investigar cuántos otros saben de esta abominación... y, si es posible, eliminarlos. Por el bien de la humanidad.
Un escalofrío recorrió la espina dorsal de Elizabeth. Ya no era solo una competidora. Ya no es una princesa viendo un juego de príncipes. Lo que acababa de suceder lo había cambiado todo.
Esto fue una advertencia. Un preludio de la guerra.
Y Mayron... Mayron ya no podía ser visto como un simple rival. Ni siquiera como un aliado potencial. Ese chico, con su rostro tranquilo y sus hechizos reservados... fue un presagio de catástrofe.
—Entendido —susurró ella.
En el interior, algo se rompió.
Su esperanza de recorrer este camino sin derramamiento de sangre. Su esperanza de encontrar aliados dentro de la Selección. Ido.
Ahora sabía que Mayron tenía que ser eliminado. Junto con ese terrible poder. Incluso si eso significaba matar a alguien que, en otra vida, nunca había representado una amenaza.
Elizabeth volvió la mirada hacia el centro del coliseo.
La arena había sido restaurada a través de la magia, dejando solo el círculo ritual intacto.
Era el momento del partido final.
La batalla más esperada de todas: Narel Vhalen, príncipe de Vhalmir, contra Dren, el guerrero sin magia, la tormenta silenciosa.
Elizabeth los vio subir a la plataforma, enfrentados como dos extremos opuestos de la misma tempestad.
—¿Ese hechizo no es motivo de descalificación? —preguntó en voz baja.
—No rompió ninguna regla —respondió Vincent sin volverse— El hechizo nunca estuvo explícitamente prohibido. No hubo muertes... Sin daños irreversibles. Pero tenga la seguridad de que los líderes de este reino tendrán mucho que decirle.
«Y con razón», pensó Elizabeth.
Once again, she fell silent, her thoughts drifting into a darker place.
Mayron should never have had that power. No one should.
And yet… who taught him?Why did he know it?What else was he hiding?
She searched her memory.
She sifted through fragments of past lives.
In none of her previous cycles had Mayron ever been chosen as her husband.In her visits to Lunethra, there were no important memories.No significant events.No bonds.
It was as if this timeline… was new.
Why was everything changing?
"What was altering the prophetic paths of the pilgrimage?And more importantly… what role would she play in containing that threat, if the day ever came?She sighed. She couldn't think about that now.The final battle was about to begin.
And this time, her heart was divided.
On one side, Dren's blind fury, which had mercilessly crushed his previous opponent.On the other, Narel's strange and hypnotic calm, who had made Zerek's mind tremble without even blinking.Both were arrogant.Both were stubborn.Both were powerful.But only one could win.
And for the first time, Elizabeth had a favorite.
—Come on, Narel… —she whispered, so softly no one could hear— Surprise me again.And maybe… stop the beast.
—Ladies and gentlemen! —shouted the announcer with renewed euphoria, this time without needing to force it— As you already know, there's no room for complacency! If the least expected fight turned into an unforgettable spectacle, this one will be no different! Get ready for the clash between the two most powerful princes of the tournament! They need no introduction… all they need is for the battle to begin—now!
The ovation was immediate. Thunderous. Uncontainable.It was as if all the tension in the coliseum—accumulated after Mayron's forbidden spell—was released in a flood of cheers, bets, chants, and sheer excitement.As if the crowd, through their shouting, could forget that just moments ago a black hole had nearly destroyed the stadium and everything they held dear.
Now, only two names existed in the arena.Dren. Narel.Raw strength against impossible illusions.Fury against disdain.
And amid the deafening roar, Narel, as always, yawned.With total indifference, he turned to face his opponent.
—What if you surrendered…? —he asked, like someone suggesting a change of channel.
—You know… —Dren replied, his calm voice barely hiding a volcanic intensity— the Death Hole was… impressive.
—Ah, well, —Narel interrupted with a shrug— I was asleep, so I have no idea what you're talking about.
—I figured… —Dren nodded, still watching him with feline precision— But I wasn't asleep when you fought Zerek.
And at that very instant, he attacked.
Not head-on. No warning.Dren's fist exploded toward an empty space on the platform—as if striking at a ghost.
But the air shattered.
From thin air, Narel materialized there, retreating with the elegance of a leaf floating on wind.Everyone realized it at once—the figure that had stood before Dren the entire time had only been an illusion. A perfect trick that fooled them all.
Dren didn't pause. He kept talking, readying for another strike.
—That little trick of yours… leaving a poisonous clone as bait, hiding yourself with your dust, then shifting into a better position… It won't work on me, Narel. I've seen through your technique.When you yawn, you release a subtle enchantment into the air. A hallucinatory mist that activates your magical spores. You create a clone, and while everyone's focused on it… you slide across the field like a whisper made of crystal.
The crowd fell silent.Even a few mages in the stands began scribbling notes feverishly.
Zerek had lost because he hadn't seen that.
But Dren was not Zerek.
—Impressive, —Narel said, clapping slowly and without emotion— You're the first mortal to detect that detail. I guess I won't be able to use it on you again.
—I don't care how you hide your tricks, —Dren added, advancing like a predator— All I care about is beating you. With or without illusions.
—Perfect. Then let the chaos begin, —Narel replied.
Dren launched himself with all his power.The same strength that had demolished Mayron in their first fight.
But this time…Everything changed."
The platform distorted.The ground became a shifting, slippery mass. The air thickened. Up and down ceased to exist as distinct concepts. Left and right twisted into a kaleidoscope of madness.For the first time, Dren stumbled.
—Can you escape my Mirror World? —asked Narel, impassively, his voice echoing from every direction at once.
—Do you think this little mind game can stop me? —Dren growled, shutting his eyes to concentrate.
The Bloodsteel running through his veins began to vibrate. He tried to transmute any trace of crystal dust that might've entered his system. It had always worked before.
But this time… he felt nothing.
No crystal.No trace of magic.Only chaos.
He opened his eyes… and the world spun.
He couldn't tell up from down. He couldn't hear the crowd. Only a piercing hum filled his head, as if the universe were screaming inside his skull.
His senses, honed for war, betrayed him.His body, forged for battle, had become his enemy.
—If you surrender now, —Narel said with unnerving courtesy— I'll stop everything.
—Surrender? —Dren spat the word in fury— Oh, poor… poor Narel.
His voice deepened.—You leave me no choice.
In one bound, Narel leapt back three times. His body split into multiple reflections, forming a dozen clones that surrounded Dren from every angle within the illusory labyrinth.
Still reeling, Dren clenched his fists.He would not surrender.Not while a single spark of will remained in him.Not while that thing across from him… was smiling.
A crimson aura erupted around Dren's body, rippling like liquid fire. The air grew heavy—scorching. And then, without warning, darkness took shape in his flesh.
A black armor formed—alive, raw—coating him inch by inch. It wasn't summoned through incantation. It wasn't crafted by spells.It was brought forth through a pact.
Narel recognized it immediately.
A familiar.
Not a lesser one. Not a submissive spirit.This was a being from another plane. A primordial entity that did not serve humans—only bargained with them. Capricious. Dangerous. Unpredictable.The power radiating from it was so overwhelming that even Narel—who rarely took anything seriously—felt his neck tense.
—Well… —he murmured— Is that thing… real?
From the crimson smoke, a terrifying figure emerged.A towering warrior clad in worn, cracked armor marked by ancient battles.His helmet, shaped into the snarling face of a horned demon, burned with glowing crimson lines—pulsing like a hungry heart.
The aura enveloping him was so dense, the entire platform began to tremble.The containment runes of the coliseum lit up one by one, like alarms reacting to forbidden magic.
From her seat, Elizabeth rose to her feet.
—What… what is that?
Vincent didn't respond immediately. His face was rigid—pale.
—Your Highness… —he finally said, his voice low and tense— That spell… that creature… it's not a catastrophe like the Death Hole. But if Dren loses control, the result could be just as devastating.
—Should we stop the fight…?
Vincent looked at her.
—I don't know. But what I do know… is that if that thing was left unsealed, it means someone made a historic mistake.
Beside him, Veldora drew his sword—by instinct.
The audience, still stunned by the explosion of energy, fell silent as if silence itself could shield them.
In the arena, Dren raised his blackened hand… and brought it down.
It was like splitting reality itself.
The first protective shield surrounding the arena—a magical barrier capable of withstanding military-grade explosions—shattered like glass struck by thunder.The second shield, thicker, older… vibrated violently… but held.At least for now.
Half a dozen of Narel's clones were obliterated by the shockwave of a single gesture.Not by direct impact—but by the sheer force of movement.As if the air itself had become steel, hammering in every direction.
Narel reappeared at a distance, hovering slightly above the ground.
—Oh… wow, —he muttered— So you're immune to my Mirror World.
The dark warrior, motionless as a statue, slowly turned his demonic helm… and stared at him.
That was all it took.
The magical pressure in the arena rose.The floor, though reinforced, began to crack.The sky, enclosed by the coliseum dome, darkened slightly… as if the universe itself feared what was about to be unleashed.
—I suppose… I have no choice, —Narel sighed— Hey… wake up. This isn't nap time anymore.
A swirl of crystal dust spiraled around him.
Suddenly, as if pulled from a dream, a tapir appeared, lounging lazily on a cloud.
—Narel… why are you bothering me? I was dreaming of a celestial buffet… —said the creature, with a voice slow and melodic.
A spiral of sparkling smoke rose from its snout—crystal dust in gaseous form. Its gaze was languid, wise… and deeply powerful.
—You can't beat that…
And then it saw the dark warrior.
The tapir yawned.
—Ah… now I see why you called me.
—I'm in trouble, —admitted Narel, frowning.
—Blank check and we talk?
—Damn greedy tapir! If we lose, we're both dead!
Let me know when you're ready for the next part of the translation—this battle is glorious.
—Me, lose? —Baku said with a soft smile— That only happens in bad dreams...
And then he exhaled.
What came out was no ordinary smoke. It was a storm of ethereal crystal dust—an overwhelming surge of magical particles that bathed the arena in liquid silver, dissolving the very laws of physics.
The dark knight moved.
He didn't walk. He didn't run.He vanished——and reappeared right in front of the tapir, his fist raised, brimming with enough energy to level fortresses.
BOOM!
It landed…but not on Baku.On empty air.
It had been another illusion.
And yet, the blow was so powerful that the second containment barrier didn't just crack—it burst.
But not into shards.
Into flowers.
Thousands of glowing blossoms rained down from the enchanted sky of the coliseum. Petals fell like stardust—lilies born of impossibility, dreamlike azaleas, and roses bled from the moon.
The audience held its breath.
The dark knight did not flinch.
But Elizabeth, Vincent, and the entire High Council… trembled.
Narel… was no longer Narel.
He had fused with Baku.
His body was ethereal. His hair, a flowing mist of living smoke. His feet didn't touch the ground… they floated on clouds. His gaze was as sharp as a blade of glass. He was no longer human.He was a dream-born entity.
—My Mirror World… is but a pale imitation of the Realm of Baku, —Narel said calmly.
Silence.
—And now… you are in his world.
He raised his hand.
And just like Dren had done to Mayron…reality cracked.
An invisible force descended on the dark warrior like a mountain hurled from the heavens.The arena twisted and collapsed beneath it, warped by inhuman pressure.
BOOOOOM.
A colossal column of raw power crushed the demon knight—or so they all believed.
Because then…
His horned helmet glowed deep crimson.
And the warrior—slowly, inexorably—stood back up.
Standing against the titanic might of Narel merged with Baku.
With the same calm, dreadful pace as Death itself.
And for the first time…Narel considered getting serious.