The Sacred Fights
The sun did not rise over Natlan.
It unsheathed itself.
A blade of living fire tore across the horizon, splitting the dark and flooding the volcanic highlands in molten gold. Scarlet light bled over jagged ridges and hardened rivers of obsidian, turning black glass into mirrors of crimson and amber. Steam spiraled from geothermal vents in slow, deliberate coils, like ancient spirits rousing to witness something inevitable.
To day was not ritual
Not ceremony.
It was declaration.
The Sacred Fights had begun.
And the heart of Natlan beat inside stone and flame.
---
The Colosseum of Eternal Flame
The arena was not constructed.
It was carved.
A colossal ring hewn from volcanic rock—layered terraces of deep crimson stone and black basalt rising in perfect symmetry. Along the inner walls, golden Pyro sigils burned without fuel, flickering like disciplined embers that refused to die.
Heat shimmered above the sand below.
The air tasted of ash, iron, and spice.
Every tier was filled.
Warriors with scarred knuckles and steady gazes. Children balanced on broad shoulders. Veterans cloaked in fabric stained by past battles. Vendors weaving through aisles with skewers lacquered in red oil, smoke trailing behind them.
They stomped.
They roared.
They chanted in rhythm.
The Sacred Fights were not sport.
They were proof.
Proof that strength could be earned.
Proof that courage could be measured.
Proof that one's heart was worthy of flame.
Then—
The chanting fractured.
A wave of heat swept across the colosseum.
Not oppressive.
Not destructive.
Absolute.
And she stepped into view.
---
The Sun of Natlan
At the highest balcony overlooking the arena stood Mavuika, Pyro Archon of Natlan.
The Sun made flesh.
She did not demand attention.
She altered gravity.
Her presence bent the arena toward her.
Her hair flowed behind her like a controlled inferno—deep ember at the roots melting into radiant gold at the tips. It did not move with the wind. The wind moved around it. Her skin glowed with a warmth that felt earned, not borrowed. Crimson eyes surveyed the arena, and within their depths gleamed golden markings shaped like miniature suns encircling her pupils.
Authority did not rest on her shoulders.
It radiated from her spine.
Her attire was ceremonial yet sharp—black and crimson tailored in decisive lines, adorned with golden accents shaped like solar flares. Bare shoulders. Unhidden strength. A mantle patterned like rising flame rested behind her, not decorative—but declarative.
She stepped forward.
The colosseum fell silent.
She smiled.
Warm.
Confident.
Not above her people.
Among them.
"Welcome."
The word alone struck like flint against stone.
"Welcome to our sacred day. To every warrior whose heart burns with the will to stand… to fight… and to rise."
Her gaze traveled slowly across the tiers.
She saw trembling hands hidden behind bravado.
Saw arrogance masking insecurity.
Saw hunger.
"In Natlan," she continued, voice carrying without effort, "strength is not inherited But courage is inherited from heart to heart, from warrior to warrior. ."
A pause.
"It is proven."
The arena erupted.
Thunder within stone.
She lifted one hand.
Flame coiled around her fingers—disciplined, contained—before dissolving into harmless sparks.
"Step forward."
Her voice sharpened, not in volume—but in intent.
"I declare the Sacred Fights… begun."
The roar that followed felt seismic.
She turned, unhurried, and returned to her throne—obsidian sculpted into ascending flames veined with gold.
She sat.
Right leg crossing over left.
Relaxed.
Unthreatened.
Dominant.
Her gaze resumed its slow survey.
Nothing escaped her.
Then she exhaled.
Softly.
"It seems," she murmured, almost amused, "the moon lingers still."
Her eyes drifted to the pale morning sky.
"Natlan's moon."
There was history in the way she said it.
And expectation.
---
Among the Spectators
Not far from the lower warrior tiers sat Jin.
Still.
Unremarkable at first glance.
Black hair fell loosely around his face, casting thin shadows across porcelain-pale skin. Crimson eyes rested half-lidded beneath dark lashes—and within them, faintly visible when light struck at the right angle, six-pointed white star-shaped pupils shimmered like something not meant for daylight.
He wore no armor.
No weapon.
Only a fitted black shirt and dark trousers.
Relaxed.
Unbothered.
Beside him shifted Kachina, restless energy barely contained. To the other side leaned Mualani against the stone railing, ocean-blue hair catching sunlight. Kinich stood nearby, posture still, gaze narrowed toward the arena below.
Kachina turned sharply.
"Jin. You're not wearing your combat gear."
Concern edged her tone.
Jin glanced sideways.
A faint smirk curved one corner of his mouth.
"I'm usually prepared for disaster," he said lazily. "Today I decided to observe instead."
He tilted his head slightly.
"There's no Abyss presence."
Kinich nodded once. "Most Abyss assaults occur at night. Day incursions are weaker. Strategic."
Mualani's lips quirked. "Still. You skipping the fights? That's unusual."
Jin shrugged.
"Even monsters deserve rest."
Kachina frowned. "You're not a monster."
His crimson eyes glinted faintly.
"Subjective."
Mualani studied him more carefully. "You seem… lighter."
He stood.
Rolled one shoulder as if testing memory lodged in muscle.
"Enjoy the spectacle."
And walked away.
Kachina blinked. "Where is he going?"
"…Somewhere he can see everything," Mualani murmured.
Kinich said nothing.
But he watched.
---
Beneath the Noise
As Jin descended the stone steps, heat rising in waves from the arena below, the faint ease in his expression thinned.
He had not relaxed in months.
Always calculating.
Always anticipating.
Always one breath from drawing power.
Perhaps that was why humor came so easily today.
He had found capable warriors here.
People who could stand without breaking.
He needed that.
Because he carried no blessing of Uranus.
No divine protection.
Only himself.
And the quiet, coiled black energy resting behind his ribs.
He flexed his fingers.
It stirred.
Not violently.
Curiously.
Watching.
---
The First Blood
The Sacred Fights ignited without hesitation.
Two warriors vaulted into the arena.
Pyro-infused blades collided with explosive force. Flame surged outward in controlled arcs as steel rang against steel. Sand erupted. Sparks ascended like fireflies fleeing the earth.
The crowd responded in waves.
Another pair entered.
A spear against reinforced gauntlets.
Fire met stone.
Impact shattered the ground beneath them.
Sweat traced lines down clenched jaws.
Blood darkened sand.
But when one fell—
He rose.
And bowed.
Respect before victory.
Always.
Mavuika observed with narrowed eyes.
Not the force of the strike.
The hesitation before it.
A reckless warrior was not brave.
A mindful one was dangerous.
Another clash.
Another roar.
Yes.
This was Natlan.
Subtle Fracture
By midday, the sun hung merciless above.
Heat distorted the arena floor.
And then—
Mavuika's expression shifted.
Barely.
But enough.
She felt it.
Not Abyss.
Not divine flame.
Something colder.
Older.
Her gaze sharpened, sweeping the tiers and beyond.
Where?
Below, Jin halted mid-step.
The sensation brushed across his senses like a whisper against exposed skin.
Cold.
Black.
Familiar.
But not Abyss.
A slow smile curved his lips.
"Interesting."
High above, Mavuika leaned forward slightly.
Golden rings in her eyes brightened.
"Show yourself," she said softly.
The wind changed direction.
Far beyond the colosseum walls, the distant mountains stretched longer shadows.
And for one suspended second—
The sunlight dimmed.
Not from cloud.
From presence.
The Moon Arrives
Mavuika rose to her feet.
The crowd had not yet noticed.
But the warriors did.
Heat intensified around her like restrained solar flare.
"So."
Her voice carried with measured calm.
"You chose to arrive."
Her gaze fixed on the horizon.
"The moon comes to Natlan."
Jin turned toward the same distant point.
Crimson eyes igniting faintly.
White star-shaped pupils sharpening into perfect geometry.
He exhaled.
"…Lucifer."
The name did not echo.
It settled.
Heavy.
The Sacred Fights had only just begun.
But something far older than rivalry—
Far more dangerous than pride—
Had stepped into the Sun's domain.
Mavuika's smile returned.
Not warm.
Not welcoming.
Sharp.
Challenging.
In Natlan—
Even the moon must burn.
-----
Heat: I'm so sorry, I'm really sorry. I'm so late, a whole month. I apologize, I had exams so I couldn't upload any chapters. But now I have time, I'll start uploading slowly until we go back to how we were before.
Today's question: Whose butt do you like better, Rena's or Mavuika's? 🍑