CHAPTER 129: THE FINAL EXCHANGE

Chapter 129

"Omega Beam!!" Clara screamed, her voice tearing through the arena as she unleashed every last drop of energy stored within her tech suit.

A blinding torrent of power burst from her palms, hurtling forward with unstoppable force—just as Kalen’s spiraling sonic wave raced toward her from the opposite end of the stage. The two ultimate techniques met in midair with a bone-shaking crash, and the resulting impact sent a chain of miniature shockwaves rippling throughout the entire coliseum.

It was more than a battle of techniques—it was a clash of wills.

The attacks pushed against each other in a violent stalemate, raw energy grinding and tearing as they fought for dominance. Sparks flew. Space twisted. The ground beneath them cracked from the sheer pressure.

The crowd fell utterly silent.

No one blinked. No one breathed.

Everyone understood: this was the deciding moment.

Whoever triumphed here would be declared the victor—and the loser might not even survive.

Clara clenched her teeth, sweat pouring from her brow. Her body trembled as she forcefully drew every last ounce of energy from her tech suit. She knew this was it—the end of her strength, the end of the battle. If she had anything left to give, it had to be now.

And so she gave it all.

The air vibrated violently as the pressure from the collision grew unbearable. The point where both attacks met began to twist unnaturally, as if reality itself was rejecting their existence. Space bent, then fractured. Sparks erupted.

Then—

BOOOOOOM!!

A deafening explosion tore across the stage, engulfing both Clara and Kalen in a searing wall of energy. The blast slammed into the golden barrier separating the arena from the crowd. It shuddered, trembled—then began to crack.

Gasps rang out.

Hearts dropped.

If the explosion pierced the barrier, hundreds of spectators—mostly unawakened or low-tiered—would be caught in the blast. They wouldn’t survive.

Just as panic was about to erupt, a second, reinforced barrier sprang to life—thicker, more advanced. It absorbed the shock and heat just in time, shielding the stands from devastation.

Still, the audience sat frozen in terror.

Many had forgotten to breathe. Their chests rose and fell rapidly as the fear of death slowly began to fade. For a moment, the entire arena was filled with nothing but smoke, silence, and the distant hum of lingering energy.

Then... clarity returned.

Eyes turned to the battlefield.

Han, who had remained still despite every instinct screaming at him to act, finally allowed himself a soft smile. She’s okay, he thought. He had almost jumped in... but something told him not to. She had chosen this path. And though Clara had survived the exchange, Han doubted she’d be able to stand—let alone fight—for the rest of the day.

What Han had seen moments earlier through his Analyzer Eye... was now visible to all.

The dust settled.

Inside the damaged arena barrier, on the shattered remnants of the stage, both Clara and Kalen lay motionless—limp bodies sprawled across broken tiles, unmoving.

Then, with impeccable timing, the announcer—who had wisely vanished once the battle reached critical levels—reappeared on a floating platform above the arena.

Raising his mic, his voice echoed with tension and awe.

"What... a match," he said. "The battle between the Second Smasher and the elite powerhouse of the Tryst Guild has exceeded every single expectation. A brutal, all-out clash. Two final techniques. One cataclysmic explosion..."

According to the tournament rules, victory would go to the first fighter to rise and remain standing for a few minutes.

So the question now was simple—but terrifying:

Who would it be?

The crowd held their collective breath, the silence in the arena almost suffocating. One minute passed. Then two... then three... then four.

Neither fighter moved.

It was starting to seem like neither Clara nor Kalen would get back up.

Then—Han’s lips curved into a faint smile.

Clara was moving.

Slowly. Painfully. But undeniably, she was beginning to push herself off the ground. She planted a trembling hand against the broken stage and forced herself up to her knees. Her limbs shook violently. Her breathing was ragged. But Han could see it in her eyes—she wasn’t done.

She rose to one foot... then the other... swaying... nearly toppling over.

And that’s when her eyes landed on Kalen.

Her heart sank.

Because Kalen... was rising too.

Bloodied from head to toe, her body trembling with strain, but more suited for endurance battles like this—Kalen stood with grim determination. Unlike Clara, her training was physical, relentless. She was built for this. Clara, despite her tech suit enhancements, had only recently begun conditioning her body for this level of combat.

And the difference was starting to show.

Clara took a shaky step forward—but her knee buckled. She collapsed again, gasping in pain, her face contorted. She tried to get back up once more, but couldn’t stabilize herself.

Meanwhile, Kalen stood tall.

Her steps were heavy but unwavering as she walked forward, stopping right in front of Clara. Her face, blank. Her eyes, cold. She stared down at her opponent, unmoving.

Han’s face twisted with tension. His fists clenched.

He was just about to intervene, unwilling to let Clara be humiliated—or worse—but then, she looked up at him and shook her head.

Don’t.

She didn’t want help.

And if that was her choice... Han would respect it.

Kalen stared at Clara for what felt like forever. Then, without warning, she opened her mouth—gathering her sonic energy. The sound began to build, a deadly hum rising in the air.

Clara’s heart pounded.

Lord Tech stiffened.

Reynolds held his breath.

Han’s heart slammed against his chest like a war drum. Everyone knew what was about to happen. Kalen could end it—permanently. And Clara hadn’t forfeited, which meant the match was still on. No one could stop it now.

From the viewing deck, Buster grinned with satisfaction.

But then—

Silence.

The energy faded.

Kalen’s mouth closed.

She took one last look at Clara... and turned away.

"I quit," she said, her voice sharp but emotionless.

The words shattered the tension in the arena.

The crowd froze in disbelief.

Even the announcer, mouth agape, didn’t speak for several seconds as Kalen walked past him and stepped off the stage—her back straight, her expression unreadable.

The silence slowly gave way to a wave of stunned murmurs.

Kalen had clearly been in a position to win. Some believed she could have even finished Clara off right then and there. And yet... she forfeited.

The arena was reeling.

Clara, now trembling on her feet once more, was declared the victor. The crowd erupted into applause—but her mind was far away. She took two slow steps forward... and then her strength finally gave out.

Her legs gave in.

Her vision darkened.

She began to fall.

But before her body could hit the ground, an arm caught her mid-collapse.

"You did well, little sister," Lord Tech whispered, lifting her gently into his arms. Without another word, he carried her toward the infirmary, leaving behind a stunned audience.

Han let out a long breath, relief washing over him like a wave. Truth be told, if Clara had died—he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. He rarely could, not when someone he cared about was on the line.

Up in the VIP box, Buster’s expression twisted into something cold and ugly. His fingers clenched around the metal armrest of his seat until it crumpled under the pressure.

Without saying a word, he stood up and walked away, rage burning in every step.

Ronan watched him go, his gaze narrowing.

Just a little longer, he thought. Soon, I’ll take my vengeance.

But deep down, a part of him burned with the desire to do it now.

The announcer’s voice echoed across the arena, calm yet commanding.

"There will now be a one-hour intermission," he declared. "Due to the total destruction of the stage, repairs must be completed before the final match can begin."

The crowd murmured in agreement, still reeling from the intense clash they had just witnessed.

Meanwhile, Clara’s group took the chance to check on her condition. But when they arrived at the infirmary, they were met with a firm response.

"She’s undergoing critical treatment," Lord Tech informed them, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She can’t be disturbed. Once the procedure is complete and she’s stable, you’ll be allowed to see her."

Concerned but helpless, they had no choice but to wait.

---

An hour passed.

The crowd slowly filed back into the arena, eager for the final event. The moment they laid eyes on the stage, gasps rippled through the audience. It looked pristine—brand new, as though it had never been touched by battle. In truth, the entire platform had been dismantled and rebuilt from the ground up.

The lights flared as the announcer stepped confidently onto the stage, a wide smile on his face.

"Well, folks, what a day it has been," he began, voice brimming with excitement. "From the first match to the last, we’ve witnessed unique, unforgettable battles. But now..."

He paused for dramatic effect.

"...the final match of the day promises to be nothing short of spectacular—perhaps even legendary."

The audience leaned forward, every word pulling them in.

"And the reason is simple... because this battle will be between two members of the elite squad A6."

A hush fell over the crowd as the names were spoken:

Silver Wing... vs. Little One.

To be continued....

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