The swords shot forward, blurring with ferocious black speed, twisting and twirling through the air like a storm of fangs.
Nyssira surged ahead with a soundless step, twirling her hammer into motion. Each clash between hammer and blade detonated with thunderous force, sending tremors crackling through the arena.
She moved like a drifting leaf—an image that defied the brutal weight of the weapon she wielded. Sometimes, she held the hammer with one hand, swinging it in fluid arcs; other times, she hurled it overhead with both arms, crashing down upon the swords.
Yet no blade shattered. Instead, each one stiffened on impact, vibrating in the air with a hollow, haunting ring.
There was no room for breath.
Another set of black swords surged forward, even faster than before—an unrelenting storm.
Nyssira flowed too—elegant, springing, untouchable. Often, spectators lost sight of her entirely, glimpsing only the violent recoil of the black swords to track where she had struck.
She crushed another wave of blades from the flank; her hammer belched with a crackling roar, a godly sound, and from the strike, chains of lightning burst forth. Spirals of electricity leapt into the air, linking to nearby swords, causing them to stiffen and vibrate violently in their orbit.
But Nyssira was already gone again.
She hurled her hammer behind her, shooting forward like a silent tempest—if such a thing could exist.
She closed the distance between herself and the strange student. Yet he was no idle spectator. With a sweep of his arms, like a maestro conjuring madness, the black swords responded—swooping back toward her with lethal precision, aiming for her exposed back.
Nyssira twisted sharply, pivoting in midair. In a single fluid motion, she slammed her hammer into one sword, shattering its momentum. As she landed, she rolled into another motion, swinging to crush the next incoming blade.
She was airborne again, flipping through the sky with an unnatural grace—and as she fell, she struck the ground with a devastating hammer-blow that should have torn her limbs apart.
Instead, a massive shockwave rippled out.
The black swords froze in place, hanging stagnant in the air like marionettes with severed strings.
In that moment, Nyssira lowered her hammer, letting it touch the ground for the first time since the battle began. Her eyes closed gently. A faint blue light spiraled around the weapon, encasing it like mist drawn to flame. The glow extended from the hammer's surface, linking to her hands where they rested upon the shaft.
Then came the runes—no, not runes. Patterns of glyphs. Ancient and flowing. They ignited along the hammer's length, from the worn shaft to the broad hammerhead, pulsing with hidden power.
In the crowd, Northern held his breath.
He didn't remember giving that hammer such a trait.
But the answer presented itself.
[You have discovered Talent: Relicbourne (SS)]
[You do not have a slot to copy this talent]
Northern scowled.
'Damn it. I can't wait for these three months to fly by.'
His focus snapped back to the stage.
The glowing glyphs spread upward, wrapping around Nyssira's forearms, forming warlike tattoos that pulsed with subtle energy. She adjusted her grip on the sledgehammer, dragging it across the ground to her other side. The motion realigned her stance—optimized now to channel the hammer's momentum, to control the battlefield through weight and rhythm.
The air around her changed—subtly crackling with something unseen, yet the faint hiss of burning energy whispered through the silence, like static clinging to the air.
Across from her, the strange student narrowed his eyes and lifted a hand to his face.
Instantly, the floating light of black swords responded. They converged—merging into each other, growing darker, longer, denser. Shadows thickened as the blades fused into one enormous weapon, and it loomed above the council president like a reaper's verdict.
Nyssira didn't flinch. Her face remained blank, carved from calm. Her glowing blue eyes were distant—cold and ethereal.
The massive sword hovered, suspended like judgment in the sky.
The coliseum fell still. Even the wind held its breath.
Then came the eruption.
The colossal black sword surged skyward, a streak of black lightning twisting around it like a helix of wrath.
And Nyssira moved.
She blurred forward with a force that defied description, chasing the wind itself.
The great sword, now arcing down, plummeted with unspeakable speed—like a pillar of darkness sent to smite the unworthy.
Ironic. The hammer was in the hands of judgment.
Yet in the moment before impact, Nyssira vanished.
When she reappeared, she was already behind him.
Her hammer screamed through the air, carving a vicious arc toward his skull.
The student's eyes widened, twisting into a mask of dark disgust. At the last heartbeat, he ducked, and the hammer wheezed past his hair, missing him by the breadth of a whisper.
But there was no pause.
In retaliation, a cluster of black spears materialized in the air and lunged at Nyssira from all sides.
She moved the hammer like it weighed nothing—like it was a sword in the hands of a duelist. Each swing deflected a spear with blinding precision. Sparks burst with every impact, echoes ringing like divine percussion.
The student used the chaos to flee—but Nyssira was already moving again, her figure a streak of force racing across the field.
High above, the massive black sword, which had halted mid-strike when she vanished, now flared back to life. With a blinding flash, it tore through the air, surging forward once more—this time, aiming to intercept her path directly.
Her gaze narrowed—tight with resolve, unwavering—as she sprinted forward, charging straight toward the colossal sword now barreling toward her in a horizontal blur of blackened light.
Her arms sparked, electricity coursing through her veins like storm-touched rivers. The hammer crackled in her grip. The glyphs etched along it surged brighter, alive with pulsing energy—like veins feeding an ancient force.
Then, in the instant before impact, Nyssira shifted.
A subtle sidestep—precise, calculated.
She opened a path for the massive sword to slice past her harmlessly.
But that path didn't remain empty for a millisecond.
From behind her came the real strike.
The glowing hammer—hurled with perfect timing—met the obsidian blade head-on.
The collision was cataclysmic.
A blinding burst of light exploded between them.
The air screamed.
Electricity rippled out in jagged waves, surging through the black sword like a wildfire of pure voltage. The obsidian blade shuddered, its form distorting, writhing against the hammer's power—caught in the clash of divine steel and condensed shadow.
Electromagnetic force rippled across the arena, vibrating through the ground. Dust spiraled. Spectators shielded their faces.
In that instant, it felt as if the world itself had flinched.