Rise of Yahunyens: Origin

Episode 70: The Champion

The atmosphere of the Red Arena had long ceased being anything natural. The ground itself trembled beneath the weight of the impending clash, as though the earth was terrified of what was about to unfold. The air, thick and suffocating with bloodlust, quivered with an energy that clawed at the very soul of anyone watching. Yesdar and Danior stood amidst this crimson maelstrom, locked in a silent battle of wills. The sand beneath their feet swirled like dust caught in the eye of a storm, and yet, in the middle of it all, everything was still—an unsettling calm before the hurricane of chaos that was about to be unleashed.

Danior with superspeed took some steps back, evanescing into the red fog. His silhouette, barely visible through that red fog, seemed to grow more menacing with each passing second. Yesdar, his stance unwavering, kept his sword at the ready, eyes narrowing as he caught the faintest shift in Danior's aura. There was something... off. He could feel it—something dark, something that clawed at the edges of reason. This wasn't the usual persistence of a defeated warrior; this was madness incarnate, the type of insanity that fed on desperation and thrived in chaos.

Danior's low chuckle echoed through the arena, a sound that cut through the red mist like a jagged blade. It wasn't a laugh of amusement or even of defiance. No, this was something far worse. It was a laugh that resonated from a place deep within the abyss—a place where pain and death no longer mattered. His body, trembling just moments before, straightened with deliberate, eerie slowness. The ground quaked beneath him as though it, too, felt the surge of unnatural power flooding his veins.

"You think... that's all I've got?" Danior rasped, his voice like gravel scraping against steel, sharp and grating.

Yesdar's eyes remained fixed on him, unfluctuating. There are always people who refuse to fall—warriors who cling to life with every last breath, driven by pride, vengeance, or sheer willpower. But this? This was something far beyond that. This was a force that twisted the very nature of the fight, something more malevolent than mere persistence. Yesdar adjusted his grip on his sword, preparing for whatever hell Danior was about to unleash.

Danior smiled under his mask, "The question of whether a warrior should stop their attack when their opponent cannot defend is a complex one, with no universally accepted answer." Said Danior in a simple tone. "But for now... you shouldn't have stopped."

Danior's fingers twitched, curling like claws, and with a sickening snap, the air around him shifted. Yesdar felt it immediately—a pulse of raw, overwhelming energy surging from the very core of the arena. The sand beneath their feet vibrated with a life of its own, almost as if it was responding to Danior's madness. The six machetes that had once lain defeated on the ground rose as if summoned by an invisible hand. They hovered in the air, spinning slowly at first, then faster, until they whirled like a vortex of death. With a fluid, almost casual motion, Danior caught them mid-spin, the steel blades settling into his hands like extensions of his own body.

The pressure in the arena surged, the air growing heavy with power. Yesdar didn't move. His instincts had been honed by countless battles, and every fiber of his being was telling him that this wasn't just about physical strength anymore. This was the threshold of something darker, something that transcended the boundaries of mere combat. Danior's grin, visible beneath his mask, was that of a man who had surrendered to the chaos within him, fully embracing the madness that had taken hold.

"I was just warming up," Danior growled, his voice feral and unhinged. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, the six machetes spinning around him like the spokes of a deadly machine.

Time slowed.

Yesdar's reflexes were beyond his normal level, honed to a razor's edge through years of battle, training, and the harsh crucible of survival. As the first machete came crashing down in a blur of steel, Yesdar's sword met it with a deafening clang. Sparks exploded in slow motion, drifting lazily through the air like burning stars. The impact was bone-shattering, the force behind it enough to send tremors through the ground beneath their feet!!! But Yesdar held his ground, his muscles coiled like steel as he deflected the blade with effortless precision.