The final match of the Iron Tournament didn't held in the pits. It was held in the Grand Crucible, a massive iron amphitheater suspended over a lake of molten slag. The heat was unbearable for a normal human, but for Alaric, it felt like home.
Across the bridge of obsidian, his final opponent waited. He wasn't a giant or a puppet. He was a man in simple grey robes, holding a staff made of bleached bone.
"The Master of the Hollow," Alaric rumbled, his voice dropping into a draconic register.
"Lord Valerius to you, stray dog," the man replied, his eyes glowing with an unhealthy green light. "You destroyed my finest creation. Now, I shall see if your soul is worth the Star-Steel I've put on the line."
Valerius didn't wait for a bell. He slammed his staff down, and the molten slag beneath the arena rose like a tidal wave. Alaric leaped, his cloak burning away to reveal the tattered, grey-scaled skin of his back. He didn't use his sword. He reached into his core and did the one thing Evelyn had forbidden.
He exhaled.
A blast of pure, crystalline frost erupted from Alaric's throat, colliding with the molten wave. The clash of elements created a localized explosion of steam so violent it shattered the reinforced glass of the VIP booths.
In the chaos, Alaric moved like a lightning strike. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, his claws—no longer human—shredding through Valerius's magical wards. The Seeker's deal, the Church's hunt, the Paladin's honor—it all vanished. There was only the hunger for the steel.
Alaric gripped Valerius by the throat, hoisting him over the edge of the platform. "The steel. Now."
Valerius laughed, blood bubbling in his mouth. "It's... already... inside you."
Alaric looked down. The prize—the shard of Star-Steel—had been embedded in the floor of the arena. As his dragon-mana had flared, the shard had reacted, liquefying and flowing up through his boots, merging with the cold-iron limiter on his arm.
The pain was beyond anything he had ever felt. It wasn't the pain of dying; it was the pain of being rewritten. The Star-Steel began to glow a brilliant, holy white, clashing with the violet rot of the dragon-core.
"What have you done?" Alaric roared.
"I've given the Church exactly what they wanted," Valerius whispered as Alaric dropped him into the depths. "A monster they can finally see from the heavens."
High above, the clouds over Oakhaven began to swirl. A pillar of silver light descended from the sky, hitting the Grand Crucible. Sir Gareth had arrived.