CHAPTER 40: The Fortieth-Fracture

Time didn’t move.

It shattered.

The moment Valkor surged forward, crackling with lightning and bloodlust, the entire arena held its breath—millions of eyes watching from the stands, magic and science alike bracing for the collision.

But Sukara didn’t move.

He simply raised his hand.

And the world bent.

The violet glyph beneath him pulsed with an audible thud—a heartbeat made of raw cosmic pressure. The three orbs orbiting him snapped into perfect alignment. His aura ignited, no longer gentle waves of distortion, but jagged, reality-ripping spirals of gravitational force that twisted the very air into an eclipse of violet light.

Valkor barely had time to scream.

The instant his foot touched the center platform—

Everything collapsed.

A singularity of force erupted from Sukara’s outstretched palm. The floor cratered in reverse, imploding in on itself, dragging light, sound, and matter inward. The platform cracked—then splintered—then ceased to exist.

BOOM.

A violet shockwave blasted through the stadium with godlike intensity.

The arena shattered.

Stone walls fractured. The outer glyph-barriers screamed as they barely held. The crowd was thrown backward by the force of it. Principal Lyra flared her hands out, stabilizing the entire north section with a reinforced stasis dome. Xena’s throne split clean in half—her expression the only thing unmoving, eyes wide with stunned awe.

Valkor was gone.

No—he was airborne. Slammed out of the gravitational core like a meteor in reverse, body spiraling, armor disintegrating mid-flight. He hit the edge of the barrier at terminal velocity, bending space itself around the point of contact—then fell, limp, unconscious, smoking, twitching.

One hit.

The silence that followed was unnatural.

Elunara’s sadistic smirk vanished.

Selkira’s lips parted—but no words came.

Even Vodyanoy blinked, slowly, as if the laws of combat had just rewritten themselves in front of him.

Avalon and Yuuka stood in the stands, hands pressed to the barrier, eyes wide with gleaming starlight.

“…What the hell…” Yuuka whispered.

“That wasn’t magic,” she muttered. “That wasn’t even combat. That was… judgment.”

Karna tilted his head, blinking once. Then slowly smirked.

“Well damn,” he muttered, arms crossed. “Guess science finally brought a nuke to a spell-slinging knife fight.”

He whistled low under his breath. “Didn’t think the kid would go that hard.”

Saaya stood still—gaze fixed solely on Sukara.

Her lips curled slightly. Not out of mockery.

Out of intrigue. Admiration.

Something warmer. And something more dangerous.

She tilted her head, letting her hair fall off her shoulder. Her voice slipped through the faint psychic bond that still tethered them.

“You really don’t know how sexy you look when you’re serious.”

Sukara lowered his hand. The orbs dimmed. The glyph slowly receded, as if the laws of nature had finally convinced him to let go.

He exhaled once. A slow breath that carried a universe.

Then turned away.

The arena—what was left of it—groaned.

Announcers scrambled to recover, their voices shaken.

“W-we… uh… confirm victory. Valkor of Seraphyne Institute… is unable to continue.”

A roar exploded from the crowd.

But it wasn’t cheer.

It was shock. Reverence. Fear.

Sukara had just destroyed a ranked duelist—one of Seraphyne’s top fighters—with a single move.

One moment.

One decision.

One absolute judgment.

And now, all of Seraphyne—and the gods themselves—had seen the weight of science.

Saaya smiled softly, arms folded, head tilted just enough to admire him fully. Her eyes sparkled with something unspoken—respect, longing… maybe both.

“Guess I’ll have to keep an even closer eye on you.”

Karna chuckled. “Yeah. That ain’t no misfit anymore. That’s a warhead in a school uniform.”

Alric stared at the damage in silence.

Yuuka’s eyes didn’t blink. “Oh my.”

Sukara turned his head just enough so that, if Valkor were conscious, he’d see only his left eye—cold, unblinking.

“You’re lucky I didn’t unleash everything.”

Elunara and Selkira heard that—and their blood ran cold.

“Next match: Karna of Fractured Academy of Light versus Vodyanoy of Seraphyne Institute,” Xena declared from the broken throne, her voice amplified by layered glyphs. “Arena restoration is at 80%. Combatants—approach the platform.”

Sukara returned to the stands.

Saaya ran to him and wrapped her arms around his chest.

“You did very well. Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you,” he said, hugging her back.

Alric gave a small smile, nothing more.

The words hadn’t even faded when the platform trembled again—not from damage, but from presence.

Vodyanoy stepped forward.

A veil of water shimmered around him, rippling like a living cloak. Liquid coiled up his arms, spiraling across his shoulders and down his spine, shifting between steam and ice in a heartbeat. The arena floor slicked beneath his boots, but he never slipped. Water bent to him. Bowed to him. Feared him. Each step carried the weight of a rising tide—one that didn’t need to shout to promise devastation.

And then the opposite side ignited.

Karna entered like a slow-burning execution.

Golden-red fire rolled from his body in controlled arcs—less an aura and more a sentence being carried out. The embers didn’t flicker, they marched, falling around him like a royal decree written in flame. His eyes were half-lidded, calm… but the ground cracked beneath his feet all the same.

Floating behind him were two golden artifacts, glowing like twin suns orbiting a dying world:

—A curved dagger, dark at its core but veined with molten gold, hissing softly like it still remembered every soul it had cut.

—A broken crown of fused crystal and brass, spinning slowly, its fractured light bending space around it.

They didn’t hum with power.

They stared back at the world.

The arena seemed to recognize him—flickering briefly as if the glyphs themselves questioned whether to proceed.

Karna didn’t flinch.

He walked as though the outcome had already been written.

Vodyanoy’s water hissed louder.

Karna’s flames burned hotter.

The stage between them glowed—not with magic, but with expectation.

The air was soaked. Scorched. Silent.

The crowd leaned in.

This wasn’t just a fight.

It was a collision between anomalies—one carved from oceanic wrath, the other from divine flame and judgment born of something older, darker, deeper.

The two stood center-stage, fifteen feet apart.

Karna scratched the back of his head with a sigh.

“I knew we’d be facing off. I’m sorry—but I have to win. Gotta show off for my little science prodigy.” He let the fire pulse brighter. “Not even devil power can stop a god.”

Vodyanoy’s deep, rumbling voice finally emerged.

“The gods mean nothing to one blessed by a devil. You’re already at a disadvantage. Water erases fire.”

Karna smirked, his artifacts pulsing with a golden flare.

“I may be born of Indian myth—but wasn’t the first devil an angel? Your power’s borrowed. Fake. Deep down, you still rely on the mercy of gods.”

His voice dropped, deadly calm.

“I’ll show you the fire of Surya—the sun god’s legacy. Purest flame. And it burns even the coldest waters of the underworld.”

Vodyanoy laughed.

A sound no one had ever heard from him before.

Selkira’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ve never seen him talk. Or laugh.”

Her voice was low.

“This gold-flame bastard must be something dangerous.”

Elunara’s eyes didn’t leave Sukara.

“The power of science, huh…”