Transmigrated To Another World—Not Heaven, But Paradise.

"This place should do..." Elara murmured, her heart pounding with fate untold, desperation held tight in her clenched fists.

Her environment was an expanse of low grass that lay under the weight of the hot air, heated by both the noon sun and the tension of rivalry.

"So... we get to do this without any instructor..." Natasha whispered, tension thick in her chest, but the fuel of Allen's face was all it took to stand. Her gaze was calculated, fierce, and driven by willpower.

"Yes, Natasha," Elara grinned as she turned to face her, scanning the arena as if seeking nature's assistance. Residential buildings stood far off, and where they were—the west end of the wall. "My father, the Luminary of Earth Wisdom, is running a whole clan. And Maxen, who specializes in unique abilities, doesn't yet believe Allen's reports. So we have to do it ourselves."

"Hmm... when do we start then..." Natasha smirked, side-eyeing the high walls beside them like they were gates to hell.

"After our goal is well known..." Elara grinned, voice low, gaze heavy.

"Only the moon bestows Dark Elf powers when it is perfectly aligned at the center of the sky—but there must be an offering. And ours will be our sweat, our zeal, our wounds, and the willpower of our hearts. But if our offerings don't please the moon, the night will pass us by... like grace in a flash."

"In that case, I'm not letting this night pass me—and neither am I losing to you..." Natasha declared, her fist raised, willpower clenching every part of her. In a runner's stance, backed up by self-drive, she dashed toward Elara—her body a weapon of its own making, moving not like a blade, but as fluid and flexible as a serpent.

BOOM.

Elara blocked the punch with her wrist, while Natasha still hung mid-air with the force of the impact.

Elara's gaze never left the ground, eyes closed, but she could see clearer than a twelve-eyed monster.

"Neither am I losing Lord Allen to you," Elara whispered, thrusting forward a punch with her right fist aimed straight for Natasha's chest—an angle nearly impossible to evade.

But Natasha did. Her body bent to the side, flowing with the momentum, then pulsing away from Elara. She landed with perfect balance, limber, her breath heavy with rising tension.

"Why do you even want Lord Allen? Aren't you a princess? He's not your class!" Natasha roared, voice sharp, demanding answers.

"You're in no place to ask me that question..." Elara roared back, drawing an arc through the air with the fierce swing of her arm.

"Answer me...!" Natasha barked, charging forward with another strike—this time, her knee aimed for Elara's head.

Elara didn't move—until the last second. She stopped the blow with a well-timed defensive palm, but Natasha countered instantly with her other leg. Still, Elara's ability to read the vibrations of both wind and earth warned her just in time. She dodged without sound, then deflected with her forearm, though the impact sent her skidding backward.

"I ask again!" Elara roared. "Why do you want Lord Allen?"

Elara didn't charge back, nor did she spit words of pride—just humility and honesty. Her fists clenched harder as she pushed forward to deny her pride. Her teeth bit into her trembling lips, holding back the truth of her heart. But emotions burned in her like fire, desperate to escape.

"I may be a princess, but that only matters among elves... Allen is different. He's a one-of-a-kind element. He has no replication... For me, Allen is my salvation." She finally said it, her chest lowering like a bomb had been defused.

"Now you answer the question!" Elara demanded.

Natasha dropped her fighting stance. Her fists released the hot tension they held, her eyes burning with conflict. Her mind flashed back to every moment with Allen—the moans, the laughs, the adventures, the mysteries.

"Honestly," she muttered, eyes blazing, "at first, it was all about his dick. That was it. But somewhere along the line, something changed. I don't just think it anymore—I know it.

I was born to serve his destiny.

And that's exactly why I'm not losing to you."

Tension rose again.

The sun had begun to fall. The horizon burned orange, and the moon had started to chase away the light.

Natasha dashed in again—this time not just like a snake, but like one carrying three venoms in its fangs.

Elara didn't just stand in defense. Her purpose had grown. The dam of her heart had poured out, and now she felt reborn. The earth no longer just offered vibration—it offered itself as an extension of her body. Her stance shifted, legs pressed to the ground, arms forward, then thrown upward as if commanding the earth directly.

It obeyed.

A pillar-like portion of the ground jutted up just in front of Natasha, aimed precisely at her.

The attack was surprising—but Natasha proved herself more fluid than liquid. Her arm transformed from a punch into a clap, pressing gracefully on the stone and using its thrust to propel her higher.

Close-range fighter, Elara thought, a painted smile curling on her lips. Then I'll shorten your edge.

She stomped hard on the ground, one leg forward. Rocks shaped like plates rose up from both her sides. Crafted by will, summoned by power, her hands moved in swift precision, hurling stone stakes at Natasha with thunderous force.

"Even if your blood is the price to be by Lord Allen's side, then I'll spill every drop!" Elara roared.

Mid-air, Natasha remained calm, weaving through the narrow gaps between the rocks. Even the wind tore her flesh, but she didn't care. Her eyes saw a throne beside Allen—and Elara's head as the price.

"Give it to me!" Natasha roared, slashing past Elara from above in the blink of an eye, her fingers leaving five red lines across Elara's face—a curse carved in blood.

Natasha didn't stop.

She sent a backward kick, perched like a cat, but Elara evaded.

What followed was chaos—slashes, blood, sweat, tremors, and blinding speed. Every blow drained stamina, but even more seemed to erupt from within their veins.

BOOM.

Their fists collided with such force that distant trees swayed under the echo. They both stepped back, battered, breathless, but unyielding.

The moon neared its center.

As if signaled by fate, Natasha and Elara charged again—no weapons, no magic—just willpower burning in their fists.

SQUELCH.

They struck.

Elara's right hand plunged into Natasha's left shoulder.

Natasha's right hand pierced into Elara's left shoulder.

Then—

The moon.

It reached the center of the sky.

Its bright light descended upon them like a divine spotlight, humming softly across their wounds.

Then it happened.

Their wounds began to close. Sweat lifted against gravity. Blood floated like holy offerings. And the moon—pleased—accepted their gift.

The offering had been accepted.

And Dark Elf powers were bestowed.

A surge of power hit them in a wave, pressing them to their knees. Speechless. Unmoving. Hands fell away from each other.

To Elara, the moon gave a third eye—glowing at the center of her forehead.

The Eye of the Moon.

Her new ability: Ominisight — the power to see not only the future but also distant locations she'd never been to. Strength and speed, too, were amplified by the moon.

To Natasha, the moon bestowed the ability: Undeadflux — granting her the immortality of oceans and the ability to bend, morph, and shape-shift her body into anything. Her form evolved from beauty into divinity.

The arena glowed with their radiant transformation, and the entire clan took notice.

The Dark Elf potentials had awakened.

Natasha and Elara collapsed side by side under the weight of the new powers. Opposite each other, the shimmer of moonlight slowly dimming from their forms.

This might be the end of their rivalry...

But it may also be its very beginning.