Chapter 31: Clara vs Marcus
The heavy brass bell of Abraham’s Blood Worms chimed behind them, its resonant ring fading into the low, ambient hum of the commercial district.
The trio stepped back onto the cobblestone street, the air carrying a crisp evening chill that did little to cool the sudden, electric tension between them.
Inside their aperture were their blood worms that Abraham helped them refine through his Easy Refining Awakened Blood Worm, a Prayer Blood Worm that was of the Refinement Path, it reduced the hardness of refining an awakened blood worm five times. Abraham did this for free but said he wanted a party with them where they treated him.
This made a great impression of Abraham on the three of them. Furthermore, they also got to know that Abraham is a Peak Stage Adept Vampire.
’Abraham was our first step in becoming... hmm maybe I guess I’d say an immortal,’ thought Evan.
They walked in a tight, disciplined formation, navigating the winding labyrinth of stone-faced storefronts and flickering gas lamps.
For the entire fifteen-minute trek back to the academy grounds, not a single word was spoken.
The silence was absolute, a mutual understanding that to speak of the paths they had chosen would be to give away their edge.
Beside Evan, Hannah’s gaze was fixed straight ahead, her jaw set in a hard, determined line, while Santiago walked with his usual measured, noble stride, though his mind was clearly calculating the variables of the coming matches.
As they crossed the threshold of the academy’s outer wall and re-entered the towering stone arches of the colosseum, the sheer volume of the crowd hit them like a physical impact.
The ambient noise of the market was nothing compared to the raw, bloodthirsty roar vibrating through the stadium’s massive architecture.
The second match of the tournament had reached its brutal, final stages, and the spectators were whipped into a complete frenzy.
Down in the sand covered expanse of the arena, the dynamic of the fight was clear.
Clara was absolutely dominating the field.
Her opponent, Marcus, was in a dismal, ragged state. His face was a bloody mask, crimson trails staining his torn uniform and dripping onto the churned-up earth beneath his boots.
His breath hitched in his throat, a wet, ragged sound that echoed faintly against the stone barriers.
He stumbled backward, his center of gravity completely broken as he struggled to keep his footing against Clara’s relentless, suffocating pressure.
Clara showed no mercy. Seeing a glaring opening to end the bout and secure her ascension in the bracket, she dug her heels into the dirt and sprinted across the sand.
Her kinetic momentum built rapidly, her right fist’s straight punch aimed directly at Marcus’s shattered jaw.
But Marcus, driven by the sheer, primal instinct of survival, wasn’t completely finished.
Just as Clara’s fist was about to shatter his defense, he forced his trembling legs to give way.
With a desperate burst of reflexes, he ducked beneath her swinging fist, letting the wind of her punch whistle harmlessly over his hair.
As he slipped the blow, a brilliant, piercing flash erupted from the wide sleeve of his left arm.
Blinding Light Blood Worm!
A burst of raw, incandescent radiance exploded in a localized sphere right in front of Clara’s face.
The light was so intense that even the spectators in the lower rows winced and averted their eyes.
Clara gasped, her vision instantly whited out by the searing flash. The sudden darkness of absolute light stripped away her balance, her pupils contracting painfully as her brain scrambled to process the sudden loss of sight.
Seizing the momentary opening with a guttural roar, Marcus drove his fist forward with everything he had left.
The solid, heavy punch landed flush across Clara’s cheek, the impact sending a spray of sweat and dust into the air.
The crowd gasped collectively, expecting her to go down.
But Clara’s foundation was monstrous. Gritting her teeth through the flashing white pain, she planted her heavy leather boots firmly into the arena dirt, absorbing the shock through her spine rather than letting the disorientation knock her off balance.
Instinctively knowing Marcus would try to follow up on his successful strike, she didn’t try to retreat. Instead, she thrust both her palms flat out in front of her chest, pushing through the blind void.
Wind Pushing Blood Worm!
The Wind Pushing Worm was a basic, universally recognized asset of the Wind Path. A standard, low-tier three-time use worm. Upon explicit activation, the palms of the user would unleash a sudden, highly concentrated gale-force blast, a physical shockwave strong enough to violently shove a fully armored adult three to four feet away.
The localized tempest erupted from Clara’s hands with a sharp, cracking sound.
The compressed air slammed directly into Marcus’s incoming frame just as he was preparing a second strike.
The sheer force of the wind hit him like a charging bull, lifting his boots off the ground and sending him skidding violently backward through the sand.
By the time Marcus managed to dig his heels back into the earth to stop his slide, the brief, crucial seconds bought by the wind blast had given Clara’s eyes enough time to clear.
The blinding white spots faded into the periphery of her vision, and her gaze returned to its normal, icy focus.
Up in the elite stands, Evan, Hannah, and Santiago watched the rapid exchange with narrowed, analytical eyes.
’What great battle intelligence,’ the trio thought simultaneously, a shared chill of respect running through them. She hadn’t panicked when her primary sense was stolen.
Instead, she had perfectly calculated the utility of a basic force-multiplier, using a simple wind-push worm to buy herself the exact micro-seconds her anatomy required to recover. It was flawless tactical discipline.
Before Marcus could even reset his fractured stance or draw another breath, Clara capitalized on his distance.
She closed the gap in a blinding flash of speed, her body twisting fluidly as she spun into a fierce, rising high kick.
The solid heel of her boot swung like a pendulum, connecting flush with the side of Marcus’s face. The brutal impact sent him crashing hard onto the stone-reinforced floor of the arena, his weapon rolling away into the dust.
He groaned, rolling onto his back, his vision swimming as the stadium ceiling spun. But Clara gave him absolutely zero room to breathe.
She stepped over his fallen form, pinning his shoulders with her shadow, and thrust her right palm directly over his sternum.
She activated the Wind Pushing Blood Worm for the second time.
This time, it wasn’t a short, instantaneous burst. Clara held the continuous activation flow, a little blood sprayed from Clara’s nose.
The Blood Worm forced the compressed pillar of air to stream endlessly from her palm.
The heavy weight of the gale slammed down onto Marcus’s chest like an invisible anvil. It pinned him flat to the stone floor, making it physically impossible for his lungs to expand.
For four agonizing, suffocating seconds, Clara maintained the pressure.
Unable to break the invisible kinetic weight, his lungs burning and his consciousness rapidly fading from the acute lack of oxygen, Marcus frantically tapped the arena sand with his right hand in complete surrender.
’I surrender! I surrender!’ he choked out, the words barely escaping his lips.
Clara instantly cut off the wind flow, stepping back with a cold, expressionless face as the crowd erupted into a absolute frenzy of cheers.
’And it’s over’" the commentator’s voice boomed through the massive, Qi-amplified arrays of the stadium.
’An incredible display of tactical adaptation and raw composure! Clara secures a definitive victory in the second match.’
The spectators roared, the name Clara echoing across the stone rafters as praises of her brilliant battle wisdom spread through the stands.
The competition was proving to be fierce, but as the countdown began to tick, Evan knew the real storm was just beginning.
