LEVI'S POV
The announcer's voice bellowed across the stone courtyard, echoing off marble columns and the iron spires: "Bound by the pit no rules bind you, no mercy shields you, no soul saves you.
Bleed or kill."
I barely registered the crowd's roar. My focus pinned itself to the elf across the pit.
Taller by a hand's span, all lean muscle under blackened steel veined with silver. Short white hair, pointed ears, skin a grey-black shade like storm clouds.
Scars deep along his jaw.
One eye a red ember, the other hidden behind a battered patch. His sword slept at his hip for now.
This was the Nyelis Vaedryn they whispered about in dusk-lit taverns an elf so hungry for the Arcane that he'd slaughter villages clean under new moons, blacken shrines with the blood of innocents, and carve binding runes into bone, hoping the Arcane might answer him like it does for us.
I figured he was just growing weary of borrowing the Arcane on a leash, muttering old poems to coax it into dancing for him.
My pulse settled, quiet and heavy like thunderclouds before they split.
A grin cracked across my face, sharp as a blade's edge.
My veins hummed with that electric sweetness that promised a hunt worth spilling every last drop for.
Finally, we meet.
I let the words slip out, voice low, almost amused, as arcane energy coursed through me like the tight pull of bowstrings strung taut, ready to release lightning and steel at a moment's notice.
"They call you….." I tilted my head, pretending to dig for the name, savoring his twitch of annoyance.
"Don't tell me… don't tell ah. Yes. Nyrelis."
The elf's shoulders rose and fell with a sigh.
He drew that slim black-and-gold blade with a whisper of steel, tip steady at my chest.
His lone eye, ice-cold and spiteful, pinned me in place as his voice dripped venom:
"I'm tired of you hounding my shadow, princeling. You and your kind the Arcane-touched flaunting gifts the rest of us scrape and bleed to imitate.
I want to see it. All of it. Show me what makes your blood so special… then I'll carve it out myself."
"Seriously?" I rasped, breath fogging in the sudden heat. "Fine. It's your funeral."
I let it roar free.
The ground beneath my boots split wide open. Wind whipped through my hair, tearing dust and sparks into a raging storm around me.
A laugh tore from my throat sharp, fierce, and alive, just like the blazing brands burning down my arms.
He flinched then cracked a slow, low laugh, sinking into a crouch.
His fingers drifted down to the hilt, tracing its contours with the gentlest touch, as if feeling for a fragile thread in a pitch-black room.
Through the haze of gold, my Arcane slipped from my skin in drifting ribbons of misty light.
It coiled lazy and hungry around my arms and shoulders, waiting for my word to tear him apart.
"Good," he hissed, eyes wide, a wild grin splitting his face. "Show me all of it, princeling let's tear the sky apart together."
The announcer's voice cut through the roar of the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the moment is here."
Behind the glass barrier, my name echoed and surged through the ground Levi, Levi a chant rising like thunder.
I vanished. One blink then my fist shattered his jaw, slamming him into the arena wall.
The crowd roared.
"First strike to the Storm Prince!" the announcer roared as the crowd erupted inside stone walls high enough to cage dragons.
Behind me, the wall erupted into a cloud of dust and debris.
As I turned, I saw him: Nyelis, the elf, emerging from the chaos.
His armor was cracked, his lip bloodied, and his eye burned with a fiery hatred.
His charred blade dragged ominously behind him, scraping sparks from the stone.
"It's you," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "That stench your Arcane.
You're the crazed royal specter tearing through my Fellowship, ripping out hearts like fruit from a tree."
I cracked my neck, rolling my shoulders.
Arcane coiled inside me a beast at the chain, scraping my bones raw with its teeth. My skin prickled as reality softened around me, just enough.
"Pfft. You caught me red-handed. What now?"
I spread my hands, grin stretching wide too wide, too honest.
He zipped at me, steel a blur too slow.
The slash scraped air where my throat was a heartbeat ago.
I weaved left, stepped in my fist cracked against his jaw.
He skidded back, boots carving trenches, blade jamming into the ground to stop himself.
His eye burned wild as he spat blood, palm slamming to the dirt.
"Ember heart sky, BURN!"
A fireball, huge as a fortress gate, bloomed overhead and roared straight at me.
I wove my sigils in the air a lattice of amber light snapping into being before me.
The fireball slammed into it with a thunderous roar, exploding into molten sparks that gouged trenches into the courtyard and sent stone slabs skittering like fallen leaves.
When the glare died, only scorched earth and crumbling walls marked the blast's fury and me, standing unburned within my Arcane shield.
"Not bad, knife-ears again!"
His pupils shrank. Fear flickered, then fury roared it down.
He raised his sword, whispering poison:
Nyelis hissed a short verse "Blade, coil and reach!"
His sword obeyed, stretching like molten iron pulled thin, whipping through the air to lash the strands aside.
In a breath, I flicked two fingers arcs of force cracked out, bending the air in rippling rings that slammed into his chest.
His cloak flared like torn shadow, body snapping backward through the haze of drifting Arcane light.
I wove forward, the ground soft under my will, the world rippling as if water obeyed my stride. I caught him mid-flight my fist, wrapped in a corona of flickering light, drove deep into his gut.
Power rippled from the impact, veins of gold flaring across my arms as the watching mob howled like a storm, their screams feeding the pulse roaring in my blood.
"Behold! The Storm himself! Levi Yeager breaker of blood, prince of ruin!
Witness, people witness true Arcane dominion!"
"Nyelis spat curses, clawing the air for another poem.
Too late. I lunged again, shoulder driving him into the floor so hard the ground yawned open in a crater.
Dust stung my eyes. Arcane rattled my teeth. I laughed into the quake, chest heaving. Blood dripped from my brow, tracing my grin.
"More! Give me more! Or die under it!"
Up in the stands, the announcer gasped, voice cracking like a prayer:
"The Fellowship's Blade is cornered the Mad Storm devours him blow for blow! By the Nine Thrones what monster wears a prince's skin?!"
I dragged Nyelis up by his collar, nose-to-nose.
My Arcane flared, golden veins crawling my neck, jaws, eyes blazing mad bright.
"Look at me look at what hunts your Fellowship in the dark. Tell your corpse I said hello."
I hauled Nyelis up by the throat his feet dangled, eyes wide, mouth spitting curses and blood.
"Pray quick," I rasped, voice shredded by Arcane heat.
I let him drop.
Mid-fall, I coiled gravity around my fist it felt like holding a black hole in my bones, every knuckle screaming to snap.
I stepped in.
Swung once.
Fist met chest and the world buckled. Stone cratered. The arena floor split open in a thunderous roar.
Shockwaves rattled the stands, sent nobles sprawling like dominoes.
When the dust cleared, Nyelis wasn't a man anymore just pulp and shredded steel smeared in a pit of cracked marble.
I stood over what was left, fist still humming with the taste of bent gravity breathless, grinning like a beast.
High above, the announcer's voice broke trying to keep up:
"By the blessed Son, the Mad Prince has judged him! He has judged him!"
I turned slowly lungs burning, blood dripping from my split brow, Arcane dead quiet in my veins.
My body was ash inside but my voice cut through the dust like a blade.
I raised my fist to the trembling crowd farmers clutching pitchforks, children peeking from behind mothers' skirts, old men leaning on bent spears.
"Look at this!" I shouted, my breath ragged but strong.
"No more kings playing gods over your hunger. No more tyrants fattening on your fear."
I pointed to the broken ruin of my enemy, still steaming in the crater at my feet.
"You are free now by my blood, by my hand. The Yeagers have not forsaken you. We heard your cries in the dark while your so-called lords feasted in gold halls."
I spread my arms wide, feeling every bruise, every cracked bone, the taste of iron thick on my tongue.
"Hear me, all of you we stand with you. We fight for you. And we will not rest…"
I slammed my fist to my chest pain flaring like stars behind my eyes.
"…until every last enemy that chains you is ash and dust.
So stand. Stand free. And remember who roars in your name!"
I let my hand fall. The silence cracked — then a single shout rose, then another, then a roar.
They knew now: the storm was theirs.
I strolled into my marble quarters where my crew waited steam curling in the air, blood drying on my throat like war paint.
My veins still burned with leftover Arcane; one more push and I'd tip into burnout. But they didn't need to see that.
Talis lounged on the red sofa, one leg crossed, swirling wine in her pale hand.
Black and white hair framed a face marked with gold Aether brands the sign of Arcane blood.
The gem in her chest caught the lamp's glow. Her black-and-yellow eyes locked on mine first. She smiled sharp, amused, dangerous.
The rest father's fresh recruits sprawled on wet benches, blades filthy, bragging about tavern brawls like they'd fought real wars.
Half would break the second steel sang for real.
Fine. Meat for the mud. Father would call it sacrifice.
Talis's voice cut through the racket — silk on a blade.
"My liege… quite the show out there."
She slid a plate of oxtail and dumplings in front of me, wine beside it like I was her spoiled king.
I dropped into the chair, snatched the fork.
"We're making noise. Big enough to choke them."
She propped her chin on her palm, grin slicing wide.
"Good. Where to next?"
I chewed, throat raw with lingering Arcane burn.
"We drag out every last rat from these parishes root and all."
A black raven landed on the sill, head tilted, watching.
I didn't look away from Talis.
"Maybe it brings us fresh blood to spill."
One jittery pup jerked up, sword shaking in sweaty hands.
I slammed my fist down — energy cracked the floor.
"Sheath it, fool! That's no enemy."
The raven ruffled its wings, scroll tied to its leg, black wax gleaming.
I tore it off, eyes scanning four words that split my skull wider than any blade tonight:
"His Majesty is dying. You are summoned, my prince."
Talis leaned closer, voice velvet poison.
"Bad news?"
I flicked my wrist the raven vanished in a storm of feathers.
"My father," I said flatly. "He's dying."
Silence hit. Talis slipped off the sofa, crouched in front of me, cold fingers brushing my jaw.
"You're not going back, are you?"
I clenched my fists, breath ragged.
"No. I finish this. Then I stand at his grave with clean hands."
Her laugh was soft poison.
"While you're here, your sweet half-blood brother smiles pretty and slips on your crown. Your mother opens her door for any vulture with a title.
You think finishing this honors him? Being there honors him."
She pressed a palm to my chest steady, sure. And damn me, I let her.
I shut my eyes, let the pain settle in my bones. Then opened them cold and ready.
"Sharpen your blades," I growled. "We ride for the palace.
If my father wants a funeral, I'll give him one the world remembers for a hundred years."