Soulform: Shattered Worlds

As the river curled gently along the forest's edge, the air hung thick with tension.

Sento burst from the water, soaked and furious—his aura flaring like wildfire. Steam hissed from his body as a crimson glow wrapped around him, swirling with flecks of orange and heat.

From the stands, a hush fell over the crowd.

His glare could burn holes through stone.

Up in the spectator section, Renza leaned forward, arms crossed as his gaze fixed on the crystal projection. Draven stood silently beside him, watching every twitch in Sento's posture.

Renza muttered, "Looks like Sento's pissed now…"

Draven nodded, his tone low. "He gets stronger the more he loses control. Maybe that's what he's been aiming for."

"You're not wrong," Renza replied. "Back during the Golden Egg Challenge—he took down a glass creature by himself. Just pure, raw fury."

He tilted his head slightly. "That kind of power… it's dangerous. But interesting."

Back at the riverbank, Cynthia's eyes narrowed. She tightened her grip on her staff, mana crackling around the silver inlay.

Sento roared—loud and primal.

"Spirit Skill: Raging Flame!"

A torrent of fire exploded around him, scorching the air and earth alike. The heat was suffocating, warping the space between them.

His muscles expanded—his frame thickening with surging force.

Cynthia's jaw tightened.

He's converting his mana into raw rage… weaponizing emotion to boost his strength…

Sento charged, moving with brutal speed.

He crashed down at Cynthia's position—fist first.

Boom!

The ground cracked beneath the blow, rocks splintering, earth buckling.

But Cynthia was already gone—her figure vanishing in a streak of silver light.

She landed several feet away, boots skimming across the surface of the riverbank. Her stance remained composed, eyes locked onto her opponent.

Sento looked up, breathing like a cornered beast—fury still rising.

Cynthia twirled her staff once, grounding herself.

"You're strong," she said calmly. "But if rage is all you've got…"

She lifted her staff.

"…then I hope it doesn't burn you from the inside out."

Sento charged forward in a full blaze—his sword leveled like a lance, fire roaring to life around him. The ground scorched beneath each step as his rage grew, and with it, the heat and sheer force of his mana.

But Cynthia didn't flinch.

She sidestepped cleanly, pivoting on one heel—then brought her staff crashing down onto his back with a sharp crack.

In the same fluid motion, she twirled the staff and sent Sento flying into the nearby trees. Branches snapped like twigs as his body slammed through them, the impact echoing through the forest.

The crowd watching gasped—but Cynthia stood calm, poised.

Her movements were precise.

Her strength… controlled and undeniable.

Sento groaned, dragging himself to his feet through the smoke and leaves. His eyes glowed with fury, and his voice came low, distorted—tainted by rage.

"How… are you matching me in strength?"

Cynthia let out a soft laugh.

"I told you—raw power isn't going to be enough to beat me."

In a flash, she blurred forward—her staff spinning like a cyclone in her hands.

Before Sento could react, the first strike landed.

Then another.

And another.

A rapid barrage of blows slammed into his side, chest, legs—each one precise, flowing like a rhythm only she could hear. The air cracked with every strike, the sound of her staff ringing like a war drum across the riverbank.

Sento stumbled backward, overwhelmed.

Cynthia didn't let up.

She moved like a tempest—measured, elegant, unstoppable.

As Cynthia closed in, her staff hammered down again and again—blow after blow landing with pinpoint force. Sento staggered back, struggling to raise his blade. Her strikes came too fast. Too precise.

He couldn't get a hit in.

His brute strength was being overmatched—met with speed and equal force.

With a frustrated yell, Sento finally broke free of the barrage. He launched himself into the air, flames erupting from his feet and propelling him high above the riverbank.

Hovering there, he clenched both hands together.

A swirling orb of fire began to form—growing, burning brighter with every breath. The heat radiating from it warped the air, drying the river mist and igniting the treetops with a soft hiss.

Cynthia looked up at him calmly, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Well, well…" she said coolly. "Can't take the heat?"

Sento roared down at her, voice wild with fury.

"Screw you!"

He hurled the fireball with all his might.

The crowd gasped as the massive flame shot toward Cynthia like a blazing comet.

She didn't flinch.

Her silver armor gleamed as the wind swept past. Long black hair lifted behind her like a banner. Her eyes shimmered amber, locked on the approaching inferno.

She raised her staff—and snapped it forward with a clean, deliberate motion.

"Spirit Skill: Colossal Revenge!"

Mana exploded around her in a radiant topaz hue—brilliant, mystical, commanding. The power pulsed from her like a beacon.

With one fierce strike, she met the fireball head-on—and sent it rocketing back.

The sky lit up with a colossal eruption—fire bursting outward in all directions, flames swallowing clouds and pushing a shockwave through the trees. The forest bent and howled beneath the force.

Sento's eyes widened just before impact.

BOOM.

A destructive explosion of fire erupted in the sky.

Sento came crashing down.

Smoke trailed behind him as he spiraled through the air—his body limp, armor scorched, flames still flickering faintly off his shoulders.

Before he could slam into the ground, a golden beam of light descended from the sky—enveloping him just in time.

The Hyper Beam activated, transporting him safely back to the stadium.

A second beam followed immediately—this one carrying Cynthia.

As she reappeared on the platform, she twirled her staff with practiced grace and slammed it into the floor beside her, the crystal tip glowing faintly. The crowd erupted in cheers—deafening, proud, stunned.

Cynthia turned toward them, calm and poised, and gave a small wave. But her eyes flicked sideways—toward Sento.

He lay on the ground nearby, body blackened with smoke, pieces of his armor torn and crumbling.

Cynthia tilted her head slightly and murmured to herself,

"Looks like rage got the best of you after all."

In the stands, Renza and Draven exchanged a look—equally surprised.

"I knew Team Silver was strong…" Renza muttered, watching the projection. "But that Cynthia girl? She's scary."

Draven nodded slowly, eyes narrowed.

"She didn't just block his attack. She reversed it—and with more power than it started with. That skill alone could break most fighters…"

He crossed his arms.

"She definitely earned her spot."

Just then, the arena's commentator's voice rang through the stadium:

"There you have it! A clear victory—Cynthia of Team Silver has defeated Sento of Team Gold!"

The crowd roared—some on their feet, others throwing their arms in the air. Cheers, claps, whistles—it was pure eruption.

Back at the captain's podium, the commanders turned to one another, clearly impressed.

Arion rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Who knew she had a skill like that up her sleeve…"

Syrus leaned forward, eyes still on the glowing projection.

"A power like that could be incredibly useful. But I wonder—does it have a cost?"

Axel scoffed with admiration.

"Cost or not, her raw strength is insane. You saw how she handled Sento's Raging Flame…"

Arinelle stepped in, her voice calm but resolute.

"Having faced Team Silver during the second challenge, I can say it clearly—"

She folded her arms.

"Cynthia might be the strongest physical fighter in this entire draft."

The captains fell quiet for a moment as the weight of that settled in.

The crowd shifted their focus—eyes now locked on the crystal projection of the jungle terrain.

Leaves scattered as Opal pushed herself up from the underbrush, brushing dust from her cloak.

"That kick wasn't half bad," she called out, voice echoing through the trees. "You got me good."

Zezzy smirked, lowering her blade slightly.

"Why don't we cut the running and flipping… and settle this the old-fashioned way?"

She brought her sword close, the water swirling around it glowing faintly.

Opal raised hers in kind, a playful glint in her eye.

"Fine by me."

Both bolted forward.

Steel clashed mid-air—one, two, three rapid strikes. Sparks flew as their blades collided in a dazzling display of speed and precision.

But just as the rhythm started to build, Opal flipped back, disappearing once again into the shadows of the jungle.

Zezzy clicked her tongue.

"Not this again…"

Suddenly, Opal's voice whispered through the leaves—low, almost sing-song.

"Spirit Skill: Mist Overload."

A dense fog began to pour through the trees, crawling along the ground and rising into the air like a living thing. In seconds, the entire jungle was engulfed.

Zezzy squinted, then staggered slightly.

The mist had become thicker—unnaturally so. And then…

Darkness.

Total, blinding black.

She couldn't see her sword. Couldn't see the trees. Couldn't even see her own hands.

"What the—?! I can't see anything…" she muttered, spinning on instinct. "There was mist, and now—what is this?!"

Opal's voice echoed again—closer now, teasing.

"My Mist Overload… muffles your senses. Sight, sound, even mana detection."

Zezzy gritted her teeth, spinning in place.

A sudden flash—steel sliced across the back of her armor, sending her stumbling forward.

"Ugh—!"

She turned and swung wildly, but hit nothing but air.

Then—slash!

A sharp sting across her leg. Zezzy dropped to one knee, clutching the wound.

Footsteps padded through the mist.

"You're not that hard to beat after all," Opal's voice purred.

Zezzy closed her eyes for a second. Her breathing slowed. Her grip tightened.

Focus…

Another rush of wind—Opal was coming again.

Zezzy didn't wait. She listened.

The sound of a vine snapping.

The pressure shift in the air.

Mana—faint, flickering, but present.

She moved.

Zezzy spun and slashed.

The edge of her blade nicked the air—and caught something solid.

A few strands of dark hair fluttered down through the mist.

A gasp.

Opal skidded away into the fog, her expression twisted with surprise and frustration.

"How… how did you—?!"

Zezzy rose slowly, blood dripping from her leg but a grin spreading across her face.

"I couldn't see you," she said calmly. "But I could still hear you."

She pointed her blade forward again.

"And more importantly… I could feel your mana. It's faint—but not invisible."

Opal gritted her teeth.

Then she clapped her hands again—once.

Suddenly, the world went silent.

Zezzy's ears rang for half a second… then nothing.

No rustling wind. No footsteps.

Total silence.

Zezzy blinked. Her breathing slowed.

She took away my hearing too…

But Zezzy didn't panic.

Instead, a sharp thought cut through the void.

As I suspected—the moment she said her skill muffled senses, I assumed it meant all of them.

I baited her into triggering this.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

She can take my sight and sound… but she can't mask her mana.

Zezzy closed her eyes. Her grip on the sword tightened as her energy began to rise.

A shimmering light burst from her body—blue and turquoise, radiant and fluid, washing over the jungle floor.

Across the mist, Opal narrowed her eyes.

"What the hell is she doing now…?"

Her muscles tensed.

"This ends here."

With a burst of speed, Opal bolted toward the glowing figure—blade drawn, aimed for Zezzy's heart.

But just as she lunged—

Zezzy's voice rang out:

"Spirit Skill—Water Warp!"

Her body collapsed into a sudden pool of swirling water—vanishing in a blink.

Opal gasped, skidding to a halt mid-charge.

"What?! Where—?!"

She spun around, scanning the mist.

Then—WHAM!

A fist cracked across her face from the side. Zezzy had reappeared from a glowing portal just inches away.

Opal stumbled, dazed.

But before she could recover—Zezzy snapped her hand forward, conjuring another gate beneath Opal's feet.

The jungle shimmered.

FWOOSH!

Opal was sucked into the portal—disoriented.

And then—

CRACK!

She reappeared in front of Zezzy, who slammed a punch into her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs.

Zezzy grabbed her by the arm and with a fierce shout, flung her into another swirling gate.

Opal vanished again—only to reappear a split second later.

Zezzy didn't wait.

Her leg whipped upward in a brutal, arcing kick—connecting perfectly as Opal burst from the gate.

The sound echoed across the jungle like thunder.

Opal crashed to the ground—hard—spitting blood into the moss below.

Zezzy staggered back, gripping her side.

Her chest rose and fell in heavy gasps.

"…This technique…" she muttered under her breath, "it drains me fast…"

Her knees trembled slightly. Mana shimmered across her armor, flickering.

"But I had to end her momentum."

The crowd in the stadium erupted. Cries of disbelief, awe, and raw excitement echoed across the arena.

From the stands, Syrus leaned forward, eyes wide.

"She used… three teleportation attacks in succession. That's elite-tier combat awareness."

Axel whistled low.

"Zezzy's burning through stamina—but she's completely flipped the fight."

Arinelle added quietly,

"She didn't just adapt… she learned. Mid-battle."

Zezzy, still standing amid the glowing mist, lowered her sword slowly. Her breath remained shaky.

But her eyes—calm, determined, locked onto the spot where Opal now struggled to rise.

Opal staggered upright, gasping for breath, her blade trembling in her grip.

She lifted it slowly and tried to speak.

"I still have one more—First for.."

But before the words left her lips… Zezzy vanished.

A pool of water beneath her feet rippled—Water Warp.

In a flash, she reappeared behind Opal, silent as mist.

Her sword hovered near Opal's throat.

One hand extended in a gun-like gesture, pointed straight at Opal's back.

Two orbs of pressurized water hovered at each of Opal's sides—still, humming with barely contained force.

Opal froze.

A cold bead of sweat rolled down her cheek.

The jungle was dead silent. Even the birds had gone quiet.

Opal's shoulders fell.

She let out a breath, slowly raised her hands.

"…You got me," she said quietly, bitter and breathless.

"I submit."

Above the arena, the projection crystal pulsed

VICTORY: ZEZZY

—glowing bright blue across the stadium.

The crowd exploded in cheers, rising to their feet.

From the captain's podium, Syrus's eyes gleamed as he nodded.

"She used Water Warp at the perfect time."

Axel whistled. "And didn't overdo it. Even drained, she played the final moment like a pro."

Arinelle smiled softly. "That girl… is dangerous in the best way."

Arion last to speak. "I'm so proud of you zezzy… you could've got me good with that water warp in the second challenge" 

Back in Zeyr's booth, Helion leaned forward, his heart racing with pride.

Zeyr looked over with a smirk.

"Crimson… just keeps rising."

Helion smiled and giggled.

"That's Zezzy for you."

Two brilliant beams of light—Hyper Beams—descended from above, enveloping both Zezzy and Opal.

The crowd watched as the two girls were lifted from the jungle terrain and reappeared on the stadium stage, bathed in golden glow.

Opal was still on her knees, panting—bruised, exhausted, but conscious.

Zezzy, barely standing herself, limped toward her.

She extended a hand.

Opal looked up, her eyes glistening—not from pain, but pride. Tears welled quietly in her gaze.

Zezzy smiled gently.

"You got me good," she said, her voice hoarse but full of warmth.

"You did great out there."

Opal let out a shaky breath—then smiled back.

She reached up and took Zezzy's hand.

Zezzy pulled her to her feet—and as the crowd began to cheer again, she didn't raise her own arm.

Instead, she turned and gestured to Opal, lifting her arm high for all to see.

The crowd roared—louder than before.

Cheers, applause, and admiration thundered across the arena in waves of unity.

From the captain's booth, Arinelle stood slowly, smiling.

"They gave everything."

Syrus nodded. "And they both walked away stronger."

As the cheers still rang…

The commentator's voice rang out across the stadium, amplified through the crystal projections hovering above the crowd—booming with excitement and pride.

"There you have it!"

"Cynthia and Zezzy emerge victorious in their matches—each delivering incredible performances!"

The crowd roared in response—waves of cheers, claps, and chants echoing across the stands.

"Two more battles remain," the voice continued, urgency rising.

"Who will be the next to prevail?"

Back in the stands, Helion leaned forward, his gaze sharp.

His eyes locked onto the two glowing panels in front of him:

Liena vs. Noah, caught in a whirlwind of wind atop the jagged mountain cliffs.

Yuri vs. Geno, deep in the golden open field, mud still churning.

Helion exhaled slowly, his hands gripping the edge of his seat.

"…Come on, you guys," he whispered.

"You've got this."