The arena gates thundered once more, and the announcer's voice rolled over the stands.

"Second semifinal of the Team Arena! Team Seven versus Team Twenty-Five!"

The crowd's roar surged again. Team Seven emerged first, Tristan Graves striding at their head like a conquering prince, his cheetah prowling at his side, ember-spots glowing like molten runes. His serpent floated behind like a bubble, rainbow-blue scales gleaming, coils bristling with water's latent fury. Around him, his squad walked with the poise of predators—four students, their beasts muscled, sharp, and honed for direct confrontation.

Then came Team Twenty-Five. They looked more like a procession of artificers than combatants. Their leader, an alchemist, wore runed gauntlets that pulsed faintly with glowing essence. At his back, gearwork drones clicked into formation, essence cores humming. A scorpion construct dragged itself forward on steel legs, tail poised high. To either side, an engineer and an enchanter unfurled their own devices—hovering orbs, chain-link cannons, and alchemical satchels that pulsed with dangerous color.

A hiss rippled across the arena floor as vials were uncorked and thrown into waiting slots on constructs. The air shimmered with volatile fumes.

"Last match they buried their opponents under firepower," someone in the stands whispered.

"But this is Tristan's squad," another shot back. "He battled against five in the quarterfinals."

The referee's hand rose. "Begin!"

The alchemist moved instantly. Their drones split like a swarm, hexagonal shields forming in the air. He barked a word, and green fire licked along brass tubes before cannon barrages thundered across the arena. Essence shells exploded, shaking the ground with concussive force.

Tristan didn't flinch. "Forward."

His cheetah blurred in a flash of crimson fire, streaking across the bombardment. Orbs of flame spun around it, deflecting explosions as it carved through the front line. The serpent surged, a spiral of water crashing ahead of it, dousing flames before they could consume his squad.

Behind them, Tristan's teammates coordinated tightly—one spirit beast slammed a shield against the ground to absorb stray blasts, another surged alongside the cheetah, their momentum brutal and direct.

The crowd gasped.

"They're breaking through with raw speed!"

The opposing team did not buckle. "Anchor!" the alchemist shouted. Constructs drove claws into the earth. Pillars of runed metal unfolded, linking with beams of energy. A dome of shimmering light snapped into place, bracing against the serpent's torrents.

Then came their counterattack. The scorpion construct slammed its tail, launching bolts of alchemical fire that burst into noxious flame. The hovering orbs pulsed, weaving chain-link barriers that shot forward to bind Tristan's cheetah. Drones fired essence-laced bolts, peppering the field with relentless precision.

The arena looked like a siege engine had come to life—cannon fire, steel, and glowing wards lighting every corner.

For the first time, Tristan's squad slowed under the barrage. One teammate grunted, his beast forced back by a line of exploding satchels. Another staggered as his shield-beast groaned under a rain of bolts.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Tristan's eyes glowed like embers, his voice a low snarl. "Enough."

His cheetah blurred forward, claws slashing. The binding chains cracked under searing flame, melting into sparks. With a roar, the beast pounced straight through the artillery dome. Metal screeched as claws dug deep, ripping open a drone in a shower of gears.

"Scylla—Hydro Laser!" Tristan barked.

The Wavecrasher Serpent reared, its mouth glowing before a pressurized beam of water lanced forward. It tore straight through the scorpion construct, splitting it in half with a squeal of warped steel.

His squad surged with him. One beast slammed into a cannon mount, scattering artificers. Another ripped through the chain-link launcher, sparks exploding across the dirt. Their coordination was tight, aggressive, and merciless.

The alchemist shouted frantically. "Overload the cores! Don't let them—"

But it was too late.

Team Twenty-Five's constructs began to glow dangerously bright. Overloaded cores shrieked with unstable power, their light pulsing faster and faster. Vials cracked under the heat, spilling volatile liquid that ignited instantly.

"Get back!" someone in the crowd shouted.

A wave of explosions ripped across the arena. Cannons burst apart, drones detonated, alchemical firestorms surged upward in green-and-red columns. The shockwave rocked the stands, smoke filling the air.

For a heartbeat, nothing was visible but flames and ruin.

When the smoke cleared, Team Twenty-Five lay scattered—armor scorched, devices shattered, constructs reduced to smoldering husks. Moments later, teleportation light scattered around the arena.

But through the haze, five figures still stood. Tristan's squad emerged slowly, their beasts battered but unbroken. The cheetah's fur blazed with defiance, its flame-orbs flickering as if mocking the wreckage around it. The serpent coiled beside Tristan, scales still shimmering, water dripping onto scorched ground.

The announcer's voice rang out, almost drowned by the roar of the crowd. "Victory—Team Seven!"

The arena trembled with cheers. Some screamed in awe at Team Seven's unrelenting aggression. Others groaned in disbelief that even the artificers' destructive power hadn't stopped them.

Tristan raised his hand once, drinking in the validation. His smirk was razor-sharp, daring anyone to doubt that he was marching for the finals.

Aston exhaled slowly as the dust from Tristan's match settled, his fingers absently brushing Gray's fur. The kitten's ears twitched, sensing his master's thoughts. Aston said nothing, but in his eyes was the same quiet calculation as always.

The referee strode to the center of the arena, voice booming.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The semifinals are concluded! The teams advancing to the Team Arena Finals—Team Eleven and Team Seven!"

The stands erupted. Shouts of disbelief and wild cheers intermingled, a storm of voices filling the academy's coliseum.

"Finalists for both singles and team battles—it's Aston Rhyner and Tristan Graves!"

"Unbelievable! One is red potential, the other green, and they're still standing at the top!"

"That Rhyner… he's not the flashiest, but the way he reads opponents—it's like he sees the fight before it happens."

"And Graves—he's raw destruction. That cheetah alone is worth a squad."

The referee raised a hand for silence. "Both teams will have one hour of preparation before the finals commence. Use the time wisely!"

But the crowd did not quiet down. If anything, their voices grew louder, the debate surging back and forth.

"Tristan will crush him—no red-ranked can stand against that power!"

"You underestimate Aston. He wins because he adapts. He's already proven it again and again."

High in the stands, Tristan let their words wash over him like fuel. By the gates, Aston sat in silence, Gray's tail flicking lazily, Mirage perched like a shadow above. Their gazes never met—but the weight of the coming clash hung thick in the air.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.