"BOOOOOOOOMMMMM!"
A massive explosion erupted across the arena as Freya's demonic mace detonated, unleashing a storm of dark energy infused with the souls of countless demons. The blast radiated outward like a black sun, swallowing Lucius in a torrent of destructive force and hurling him into the far walls of the coliseum.
The arena fell into stunned silence.
Everyone—the millions of Vikings in the stands, the powerhouses on the podiums—watched in shock as the sea of demonic energy surged through the battlefield. It was a wave of devastation so immense, so overwhelming, that no Legend should have been able to survive.
Freya stood there, her body trembling. Her face was pale, her breathing ragged. Her weapon had been destroyed, and her left shoulder was torn and bleeding. Yet despite her injuries, she stood—alive, battered, but victorious.
She had won.
Or so it seemed.
"BOOOMMMM!"
