Then movement caught their attention. Klein, Shingen, and Lumina approached with deliberate precision. Shingen stepped forward first, his black hair catching the faint light, his blue eyes sharp and unwavering. He raised a hand, the gesture both formal and threatening.
"I challenge you to a duel."
The words rang through the Lobby like a blade striking stone.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Shingen?" Lumina said quickly, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Her voice was low, urgent. "He's an Omega. He'll kill you." She wasn't mocking him—she was trying to stop him from throwing his life away too soon.
Shingen didn't even look at her.
"So what?" he snapped. "I don't care. Our father is an Omega as well—so how dare he think he can kill me?" His pride burned hotter than reason, his eyes blazing with defiance.
"Sure," Esau said calmly.
The simplicity of his answer stunned them.
"And you may not refuse," Shingen interjected. "For this challenge is invoked upon the name of the Yamazaki Family."
"What?" Lumina muttered under her breath.
Shingen inhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down, masking his irritation behind a composed expression. 'Damn it,' he thought. 'I tried to crush his morale. Tried to make him hesitate. Tried to make him refuse. And instead… he accepted. Did he finally grow some balls?'
"Oh?" Raziel said, a crooked smirk spreading across his face. "So we're finally doing this."
He stepped forward, the air subtly warping around him. "If we're doing this, then let's make it more interesting. We'll turn it into a four-versus-four battle and add representatives to each side."
His gaze shifted to Shingen. "Since you're the one who demanded the duel, you will represent your side."
Then to Esau. "And Esau will represent his side as well."
Raziel lifted a finger and pointed toward Lumina and Klein. "You, Shingen—choose who fights alongside you."
Then he turned back to Esau. "And you will choose who fights for you."
His tone sharpened. "Because this is a formal duel, we will call a Watcher."
"A Watcher?" Lumina asked, her expression tightening.
"Yes," Raziel replied. "A Watcher. The Tower's eyes and ears. They record everything that occurs. They are beings of absolute space and absolute time."
He lifted his gaze toward nothing—and everything.
"Great System," Raziel said calmly, "call a Watcher."
["As you wish, Great One."]
Reality folded.
The air split open without tearing. Space bent inward, collapsing like a dying star, and from that distortion something emerged.
The Watcher descended soundlessly.
It had a humanoid face—expressionless, flawless, and terrifyingly calm—but its form was not fully bound by flesh. Its body appeared cloaked in space itself, as though the void had wrapped around it like a mantle. Stars shimmered faintly beneath its surface, galaxies rotating slowly within its silhouette.
From its back extended two vast wings, not feathered, but composed of fractured spacetime—each wing unfolding like layered dimensions, constantly shifting, collapsing, and reforming. Where wings should end, infinity began.
From its lower torso coiled a single massive tentacle, smooth and endless, etched with glowing sigils that pulsed like ticking clocks. It moved slowly, deliberately, dragging fragments of causality in its wake.
Five horns crowned its head, curving in different directions—each horn representing a different axis of time. One glowed with the pale light of the past, one burned with the unstable fire of the present, one shimmered with unreal futures, while the remaining two radiated concepts no mortal mind could fully grasp.
Its eyes opened.
They were not eyes in the traditional sense—within them existed rotating layers of timelines, histories being written and erased simultaneously. To look into them was to feel your entire existence recorded, judged, and archived.
The Lobby fell utterly silent.
Even the Tower itself seemed to hold its breath.
"I am the Watcher," the being spoke, its voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once. "This duel is acknowledged. Space will observe. Time will remember."
Its gaze passed over Shingen… Lumina… Klein… then settled briefly on Esau.
Then, for the briefest fraction of eternity, it turned toward Raziel.
"Good. Thank you, System."
Raziel's voice fell like a final seal being pressed into reality. He lifted his gaze to the Watcher, whose countless eyes shimmered as if reflecting futures yet to occur. At that silent acknowledgment, the Watcher inclined its head—and the world broke without breaking.
Space did not tear. Time did not shatter. Instead, existence stepped aside.
The surroundings folded inward, layers upon layers collapsing like pages of a cosmic tome being closed, until the Lobby was no longer a place but a memory. In its stead, something new unfolded—a subspace, though even that word felt insufficient. It was not a space carved from reality, but a Place authored by absolute law: a sanctum designed solely for duels, challenges, and battles that could shake destinies without ending lives. Here, death was permitted to occur—and yet not persist. Wounds could be fatal, souls could be extinguished, but the true self would be returned once the duel concluded. A paradox upheld by the Watcher alone.
The arena manifested in stages.
First came the platform—a vast circular plane forged of obsidian crystal veined with slow-moving constellations. Every step upon it sent faint ripples through the surface, as though the floor itself were listening. Sigils older than language were etched into its edges, glowing softly, regulating power so the clash would not consume the Tower itself. Above it hovered additional platforms, rising and interlocking like colossal trees made of light and stone, each one a tier for spectators, observers, and beings whose presence alone distorted gravity.
Then came the crowd.
They did not arrive by walking. They appeared—Administrators,Transcenders, Sovereigns, even students of THE ACADEMY, the HEADMASTER: Sariel Von Valereith, the professors and nameless entities draped in myth and silence and. Shouts erupted like thunder, cheers crashing into one another in chaotic waves. The noise swelled rapidly, raw and electric, the kind of frenzy only born when history is about to be written in blood and willpower. It felt less like a duel and more like a cosmic spectacle—the kind of roar one hears when legends collide, when the impossible becomes inevitable.
Platforms rose higher and higher, branching outward endlessly, each one packed with watching eyes. The atmosphere vibrated, anticipation hanging so thick it felt tangible. Energy signatures clashed invisibly in the air, sparks of suppressed power snapping like distant lightning.
At the center of it all stood the Watcher, unmoving, eternal—its gaze fixed upon the platform as the subspace stabilized completely.
Esau was already prepared.
Not to negotiate.Not to question.
He intended to incapacitate Shingen—strip him of resistance, shatter his will, grind his existence down layer by layer until it screamed prayers to the God of Transcendence, Death, Infinity, Immortality, War and Chaos—and receive silence in return.
Esau did not summon random combatants.
No.
Ess answered first, his presence warping the air into rigid stillness.Zhaelor followed, blood whispering and coiling around his form like a loyal executioner awaiting command.And lastly—Raziel himself chose to join.
Not out of necessity.
Out of interest.
On the opposing side, Shingen assessed their formation. They were short one member.
Lumina stepped forward without hesitation, her power gleaming with dangerous elegance.Klein followed, calm and unfathomable, eyes carrying the weight of truths no world should contain.
They needed one more.
Together, they turned toward the Watcher—the referee, the arbiter, the silent eye that governed the duel itself.
"We are currently down one man," Shingen said evenly.
The Watcher did not respond.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—the ground itself split.
From the fractured earth, a figure rose.
"This is Arroz," the Watcher finally said. "He will assist you."
The air collapsed inward as Arroz emerged.
He was tall—unnaturally so—his physique lean yet carved with a terrifying, effortless strength. His skin bore a faint pearlescent sheen, as if reality itself had been compressed into flesh. Long, pale hair flowed freely behind him, untouched by gravity, while his eyes—cold, luminous, unreadable—held the detached authority of a being who had ended worlds without emotion.
Arroz's attire was not clothing in the mortal sense—it was a manifestation of authority given form.
He wore a long, layered mantle that flowed like liquid shadow, yet shimmered with faint traces of iridescent light, as if fragments of erased worlds were embedded within its fabric. The cloth did not flutter with wind; it moved on its own will, slowly undulating as though space itself breathed through it. Each fold seemed infinitely deep, hiding more space within than its exterior suggested.
Beneath the mantle, his inner robes were stark white edged with thin veins of obsidian and gold, the colours bleeding into one another without seam or stitch. These lines were not decorative—they were seals, constantly shifting sigils of suppression and annihilation, restraining the vast power he carried so the world around him would not collapse simply from proximity.
Across his shoulders rested a high, structured cloak collar, sharp and regal, casting half his presence in shadow. The cloak's interior was pitch-black, like a starless void, while the exterior reflected faint constellations that rearranged themselves whenever he moved, as if entire skies were stitched into the cloth.
His sleeves were long and open at the ends, revealing wrists wrapped in thin, translucent bands of condensed energy—bindings that pulsed softly, keeping his power contained. Every step he took caused the hem of his garments to hover a finger's width above the ground, never touching it, as though the world itself was unworthy of contact.
He wore no armour.
He did not need it.
His presence alone was enough to erase civilizations.
The Watcher could have summoned someone on Klein's level—
But instead, he summoned someone whose power exceeded even that threshold.
Someone who could unmake this world entirely if he so desired.
Arroz took his place beside Klein.
He had to.
Who would willingly stand against the Heir of the King of the Primordial Family?
No one.
And so the Referees did what Referees do best.
He rigged the match.
Esau and Raziel understood immediately what had just happened.
They did not protest.
They did not question.
They laughed.
Not loudly—but deeply. A low, resonant sound that carried malice in its purest form. Not rage. Not arrogance. But something far worse: unrestrained certainty. The kind of laughter born only when predators realize the hunt has already ended.
Arroz stepped forward.
The air parted for him as though existence itself made way. Without hesitation, he stopped before Klein—and bowed.
A gesture of respect. And alignment.
Klein met his gaze calmly. The Watcher did the same.
No words were exchanged, yet everything was said.
A silent nod passed between them.
Good, Klein thought. With this, the Esau will fall. There will be no complications.
The field stabilized.
The powers aligned.
The board was set.
It was time.
The Watcher raised a single hand.
The surrounding space froze—not in time, but in attention. Tens of thousands of spectators halted mid-motion, breaths suspended, instincts screaming. Even the void between worlds seemed to lean closer.
The hand came down.
The duel had begun.
A vast system interface erupted into existence before the crowd, glyphs burning with impartial authority, its presence absolute and unquestionable.
Letters etched themselves into reality, glowing with cold finality:
[MATCH 1 INITIATED][COMBATANTS CONFIRMED]
[LUMINA — vs — ESS]
Then the crowd erupted.
"Lumina! Lumina! LUMINA!"
Her name rolled through the arena like a living force, waves of sound crashing against rising platforms and trembling structures. Even veteran Transcenders felt their blood stir—anticipation thick enough to choke on.
The Watcher's voice descended, absolute and final.
"Begin."
The duel began.
Lumina moved first—not a step, not a breath late.
She lifted her hand toward the heavens.
There was no chant.
No incantation.
And yet—
The sky bled.
Cracks split the firmament like wounds torn open by an unseen blade, molten light spilling through them as though reality itself were hemorrhaging. Lumina's eyes burned with sovereign authority as her affinity awakened.
[FIRE.]
["Starfall."]
The word was barely spoken before the heavens collapsed.
From beyond the torn sky came worlds—entire celestial bodies compressed, ignited, and reforged into incandescent stars of annihilation. They descended not like meteors, but like executioners, their velocity so extreme that light itself seemed sluggish in comparison.
Thousands.
Each star roared as it fell, heat eclipsing magma, eclipsing suns. Black ash peeled from their surfaces—conceptual ash—melting space, vaporising matter, erasing anything unfortunate enough to exist in its path.
They were all aimed at Ess.
One billion meters vanished in a heartbeat.
One hundred meters.
One meter.
A nanometer.
Victory felt inevitable.
Then—
A finger rose.
Ess stood with one hand behind his back, posture immaculate, regal, calm. His expression was ancient—terrifying not for rage, but for its absence. His skin was white—not pale, but impossibly so. Whiter than snow. Whiter than polar ice. Whiter than untouched void.
And with that single raised finger—
The world paused.
Time froze.
Ashes halted mid-drift.
Stars stopped mid-fall.
Light itself stalled, caught between moments.
The arena gasped as one.
Laughter died.
Cheers suffocated.
Every soul leaned forward.
Ess stood there—untouched.
No smoke.
No impact.
No resistance.
Just absolute stillness.
Lumina's eyes widened—not in fear, but shock. She assumed the obvious: He's using everything to block this. Her instincts screamed opportunity. Muscles coiled. Power surged. She prepared to lunge—to tear off his head before the balance shifted.
Then—
Something wrong happened.
The frozen stars began to burn brighter.
Brighter than fire.
Brighter than suns.
Brighter than the concept of life itself.
The subspace screamed.
Reality started to melt, layers peeling away as the arena itself struggled to endure the strain. Structures dissolved into raw data. Space warped like overheated glass.
Then—
The stars vanished.
Gone.
For a fraction of a breath, silence ruled.
And then it felt as though a spotlight of cosmic judgment had turned.
The stars reappeared—instantly—high above the sky once more.
But now—
They were no longer aimed at Ess.
Ess lowered his finger.
And pointed down.
The stars fell again.
Not condensed this time.
Not restrained.
They fell as true worlds-True SUNS, blazing brighter than the sun that once ruled this civilization's sky. Thousands became tens of thousands, each one a descending apocalypse aimed squarely at Lumina.
The Watcher reacted instantly.
The arena expanded—stretching outward, unfolding into planetary-scale dimensions. Entire worlds were generated in seconds, layered upon layers, just so the spectators would not be erased by proximity alone. Platforms became continents. Distance became mercy.
And then—
It hit.
BOOM.
The impact detonated across existence.
Light swallowed everything.
Sound ceased to exist.
Shockwaves tore across newly formed worlds, oceans vaporizing, mountains flattening, skies igniting.
For a moment—there was nothing but white.
And when the light began to fade—
No one knew what they would see.
The crowd stood frozen.
Because whatever remained at the center of that blast would decide whether this duel was a battle—
Or a massacre.
The arena detonated.
Not cracked.
Not shattered.
It ceased to exist.
The platform ruptured into flying continents of stone and divine alloy, spinning away like dying stars. Reality fractured into clusters of incandescent debris—ashes of light, glowing remnants of annihilated worlds drifting through the void.
The explosion did not stop.
It expanded.
A blooming catastrophe that tore through layered dimensions, unfolding outward in a silent, blinding storm. The crowd stood millions of meters away, protected by countless barriers and laws of separation—yet they saw everything as if it were unfolding an arm's length from their eyes.
Every death.
Every collapse.
Every moment.
And Lumina—
Lumina died.
Not once.Not twice.
Ten thousand times.
Each world that struck her obliterated everything she was. Flesh shredded, bones shattered, veins ruptured, blood spraying in impossible arcs that stained the void itself. Her mind screamed as her senses were ripped apart, neuron by neuron, memory by memory. Her existence collapsed into pure nothingness, leaving behind only the echo of pain.
The system transported her away at the instant of death—
Only for Ess to drag her back, intact in body, yet broken in soul.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Ten thousand times. Ten thousand obliterations. Ten thousand rivers of blood flowing across shattered planes, coagulating into pools of crimson that burned like acid, carrying the echo of each death.
She screamed the first time.Her voice torn raw, echoing across collapsing worlds, a chorus of agony that could have curdled blood.
By the hundredth, there was only silence. Her cries became whispers, whispers became nothing, yet the pain remained—an eternal hammer on her soul.
By the thousandth, her body was nothing but scraps of flesh and splintered bone, stitched together by Ess' will alone. Her mind shattered, each shard writhing in torment, whispering horrors she could not comprehend.
By the ten-thousandth, she was no longer whole. Her soul had fractured into countless jagged splinters, each one screaming independently, blood leaking from corners of existence that were never meant to bleed. Each splinter clung to life by a thread so thin it could snap at any moment.
The crimson rivers dried, leaving behind scorched fragments of reality, a monument to suffering. Yet still, her body existed, still her soul screamed, still Ess watched, indifferent, methodical, godlike—the instrument of absolute annihilation.
And all around, silence pressed like a tomb. Even the air dared not move.
Then—
The dust settled.
Reality rewound.
The arena reformed, rebuilt by higher authority, as if the devastation had never occurred.
And standing at the center—
Was Ess.
Unmoved.
Unmarked.
Untouched.
As if he had merely raised a finger and lowered it again.
Lumina lay nowhere to be seen—her form gone, her presence shattered, her soul withdrawn beyond immediate restoration.
The system interface shimmered into existence.
[MATCH 1: LUMINA VS ESS]
[WINNER: ESS]
That was it.
The duel ended.
Ess had won—
Without breaking a sweat.
The crowd erupted.
The silence shattered into roars of awe, terror, and fanatic devotion.
"YESSSS!" "INVINCIBLE!"
"NOT EVEN THE DARK WAR CAN COMPARE TO THIS!"
The chant rose like a storm.
"ESS!"
"ESS!"
"ESSSSS!"
The name thundered across worlds, echoing through layers of existence—no longer just a victor's cry, but a declaration.
-End of chapter