Mavobella: The Angel Of Death

Chapter 46

MAVOBELLA'S POV

The day of the combat came sooner than expected. The combat field was unlike any I had ever seen, and trust me I had seen plenty. Suspended between the realms of life and death, this arena defied the natural laws that governed the worlds above and below. It wasn’t solid ground beneath their feet but rather a floating platform, barely tethered to reality, hovering over a vast and dizzying abyss. The platform, massive and sprawling, was made of jagged obsidian glass, its surface veined with cracks that glowed a faint electric blue. These veins pulsed rhythmically, sending shockwaves across the surface as if the very ground beneath them were alive—alive and hungry for violence.

Encircling the platform were colossal crystals, some as tall as a fortress tower, jagged and shimmering, their translucent surfaces reflecting light from the abyss below. These crystals pulsed with a peculiar energy, as though they thrived off the combat that was about to unfold. Every pulse made the air hum with anticipation, the vibrations spreading through the atmosphere, making the very sky around us seem to tremble. At irregular intervals, arcs of electricity would dance between the crystals, the crackling sound sharp and foreboding, leaving a faint metallic tang in the air.

Suspended above the abyss was a thick, swirling mist, its currents flowing like a river of stars. It was hypnotic to look at, like an ocean of night, with constellations flickering beneath its surface. Occasionally, tendrils of mist would rise up like ghostly fingers, stretching toward the platform before dissipating into nothingness. It was unsettling, a constant reminder of the vast, uncharted unknown that lay just beneath their feet—an endless, ever-shifting void that could swallow them whole with one misstep.

Connecting the arena to towering cliffs on either side were translucent bridges, ethereal in appearance but solid enough for those who dared cross. These bridges were faintly glowing, a shimmering light that made them appear almost fragile, like they could break at any moment, but they were more resilient than they looked. On these cliffs stood the spectators—angels, demons, and everything in between. The prominent figures had their own elevated platforms, surrounded by swirling auras of power, while the locals crowded into every available space, eager to witness the bloodshed.

We, the prisoners—myself, Marion, and the others—were shackled on one of the larger platforms, suspended just above the arena. Our wings were bound, luminous chains wrapped tightly around us, pinning us in place. The chains were unlike anything I had felt before, radiating a strange energy that sapped the strength from our bodies, leaving us helpless, mere observers in this brutal spectacle. From where we stood, we had a perfect view of the battleground below. The proximity was unnerving, like we were too close to the action, yet too far to intervene—trapped in a purgatory of helpless observation.

Beneath us, the combat field shimmered with anticipation. The Imperium guards, their massive, glowing cosmic guns held high, formed a protective circle around the platform's edge, ensuring no one interfered with the duel. Their armor gleamed under the light of the crystals, reflections dancing across their polished surfaces as they stood at attention. The tension in the air was palpable, an electric charge that made every breath feel heavy, weighted with the promise of violence.

Then, from the far end of the platform, Xavier emerged. His presence alone was enough to send a ripple of whispers through the crowd. He was massive, a dark, hulking figure in gleaming black armor, each piece carved with intricate, sinister designs that seemed to move when you looked at them too closely. His sword, impossibly large and jagged, crackled with the same electric-blue energy that pulsed through the veins of the platform. It was a monstrous weapon, heavy and cruel, more suited to cleaving through enemies than any finesse in battle. He stepped forward with deliberate, calculated movements, the ground seeming to tremble beneath his weight. His eyes, cold and piercing, scanned the crowd but held no emotion. He was here for one purpose and one purpose alone.