The academy no longer pretended this was a competition.
The second night after the arena breach passed without sleep. Instructors patrolled in pairs. Healing halls remained lit. Seals were reinforced—not to protect students from each other, but to keep something else contained.
Aarav stood beneath a neem tree at the edge of the grounds, lightning humming softly beneath his skin. Space felt taut, stretched thin like a bowstring pulled too far.
Nandi sat beside him, silent, watchful.
"They will force an ending," Nandi said at last. "They always do, when control begins to slip."
Aarav exhaled. "And Karnik?"
"He will be cornered," Nandi replied. "A wounded Asura does not retreat quietly."
At dawn, the final announcement came.
All remaining participants were summoned to the Central Arena.
No terrain shifts.
No hidden chambers.
No excuses.
A single circular platform of stone, etched with mantras older than the academy itself, rose from the ground. The seals around it glowed fiercely—layers upon layers of restraint and witness.
Professor Mādhav stood at the center.
For the first time since the Competition began, his presence pressed down upon everyone present. Calm, yes—but unmistakably absolute.
"This round concludes the Adhikāra Saṅgharṣa," Mādhav said.
"There will be no teams."
A murmur rippled through the gathered students.
"Victory will be decided through sequential duels," he continued.
"Yield, incapacitation, or inability to continue will determine outcomes."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"Death," he added, "will not."
Aarav felt the lie settle like dust.
Across the platform, Karnik Daanav stood alone.
His posture was relaxed, but his aura writhed beneath the surface—fractured, uneven, struggling to remain bound. Dark veins pulsed faintly along his neck before fading.
Their eyes met.
The Asura fragment stirred.
Recognition flared—ancient and hateful.
"This one… breaks me."
Aarav felt space shudder in response.
The duels began.
One by one, students stepped forward—and fell.
Some fought with skill. Others with desperation. A few with brilliance.
But none could stand long against Karnik.
He fought efficiently. Brutally. Never excessive—just enough.
A Sun disciple collapsed under a single strike that extinguished flame at its source. A Wind adept was pinned mid-air, pressure crushing lungs before release. An Earth wielder was shattered by internal resonance rather than force.
The seals flickered.
Instructors exchanged grim looks.
This was no longer subtle.
When Ananya stepped onto the platform, the arena stilled.
Ether shimmered faintly around her, space folding defensively. Her expression was composed—but her eyes were sharp, assessing, calculating.
Karnik inclined his head politely. "Lady Ananya."
She did not respond.
The duel began.
Darkness surged.
Ether resisted.
The clash distorted reality itself—space compressing, unraveling, reweaving. Karnik's strikes grew heavier, his control slipping in flashes.
Ananya staggered—but did not fall.
Then she smiled faintly.
And withdrew.
"I yield," she said calmly.
The arena erupted.
Kunal swore loudly from the stands. "What?!"
Aarav understood.
She had seen enough.
She had confirmed it.
Karnik's smile twitched.
The fragment roared in fury.
"Finish them all!"
A crack spread across Karnik's composure.
Veins darkened permanently.
When Aarav stepped onto the platform, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Lightning stirred eagerly.
Space curled inward.
Time… listened.
Mādhav's gaze locked onto Aarav for a brief moment.
Remember, it said without words.
Restraint is also a weapon.
The duel began.
Karnik attacked immediately—no pretense left.
Darkness erupted like a living thing, claws tearing toward Aarav's heart.
Aarav twisted space.
The attack curved, missing by inches.
Lightning followed—precise, blinding.
Karnik roared as electricity tore through corrupted flesh.
The fragment screamed.
The seals flared violently.
"Stop!" an instructor shouted.
Too late.
Karnik laughed—mad, unrestrained.
"Look at you!" he spat. "Chosen. Watched. Protected!"
His body warped.
Bone shifted. Shadows fused to form jagged armor. The fragment surged outward, no longer content to hide.
Students screamed.
Instructors moved.
Mādhav stepped forward.
Time stilled.
Not frozen—commanded.
Karnik collapsed to one knee, snarling.
"You cannot cage me," he hissed at Aarav. "You cannot stop what's coming."
Aarav stood firm, lightning crackling softly, space humming with barely contained power.
"I don't need to," Aarav said quietly. "Dharma will."
Karnik laughed again—then vanished.
Not teleported.
Not escaped.
Fled.
The arena fell silent.
Seals stabilized.
Bodies lay scattered.
The Competition of Claims ended not with victory—but with revelation.
That night, Nandi stood beside Aarav beneath the stars.
"He will run," the guardian said. "He will grow. He will return."
Aarav nodded.
"And I will follow," he said.
Far away, beyond borders and seals, Karnik Daanav's curse echoed into the dark.
"Find your fragments, Trishul-bearer," he whispered. "I will become worthy of killing you."
Above the world, unseen watchers shifted once more.
The Indian subcontinent arc had begun.