Kesya’s laughter echoed in the distance, unable to contain her excitent any longer. "Go, boss! Show ’em how it’s done!" she cheered, her voice brimming with anticipation.
The ground beneath the shallow lake cracked slightly from the imnse pressure, and the mist around the arch began to swirl violently. Lyon and his replica disappeared once again, only to reappear in another violent clash, their forms flickering in and out of view. Each collision sent shockwaves reverberating through the air, rattling the very foundation of the Depth of Mortal Lake.
The lake, once calm and serene, had beco a stage for a battle that eclipsed all else. Lyon versus Lyon—the real against the reflection, but there was nothing ordinary about this duel. It was the embodint of boundless power and sheer will, with both versions of the sa man unleashing techniques that shook the very foundation of the Mortal Lake.
From the mont they vanished into a flurry of blows, Lyon’s face never faltered. He was smiling. His carefree expression was almost mocking, as if even facing his own reflection—an exact replica of himself—was nothing but a ga. His relaxed attitude stood in stark contrast to the staggering intensity of the fight. The replica, however, remained neutral, its expression a perfect void as it mirrored every strike with clinical precision.
Elental energies erupted from every clash. Fire, water, earth, and wind all converged in a maelstrom of raw power. Lyon conjured flas that roared like dragons, his replica responding with a flood that drowned the blaze in re monts. A mont later, they were locking fists, each blow sending shockwaves that reverberated through the lake, splashing water in every direction. But Lyon, through it all, was grinning—a grin that unsettled the onlookers.
The crowd stood frozen in awe, their eyes wide as they tried to comprehend what was happening. The six young masters, who had each been locked in their own battles against their replicas, found themselves montarily overshadowed. The intensity of Lyon’s fight was so imnse that it sent ripples of power crashing through the arena, interrupting their clashes.
Azleid, who had been battling his own reflection, was suddenly forced to leap back as a wave of water from Lyon’s duel surged toward him, breaking his rhythm. "Tch, that bastard is causing a storm!" he muttered, barely dodging the collateral damage.
Ning gritted her teeth as the heat from one of Lyon’s fla bursts nearly scorched her. "Is he even taking this seriously?" she hissed, her replica looming before her, but her gaze kept darting toward Lyon.
Esralda smiled, her serpents retreating slightly as she watched Lyon’s fight with fascination. "So reckless," she murmured, amused. Even in the middle of her own duel, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Mavis, battling with all his might, felt the ground beneath him shake violently. He glanced over, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. "He’s insane," he muttered, half in awe, half in disbelief.
Lyra had just gained the upper hand in her duel. Her replica staggered back as she summoned a powerful gust of wind, carrying with it the force of nature that she so effortlessly commanded. Vines surged from the shallow water, entwining her replica’s legs, slowing its movents. Lyra was about to strike the final blow when—
Boom!
A shockwave blasted through the air, sending ripples across the lake’s surface and knocking her off balance. Lyon’s fight had encroached on her own. His elbow t his replica’s in a thunderous clash that sent energy spiraling in every direction. The force of it hit Lyra like a gale, sending her skidding across the water, the montum tearing through her control over the vines and scattering them into the wind.
She gasped as she regained her footing, her calm deanor shattered. Her replica, free from its restraints, capitalized on the distraction, lunging toward her with renewed fury. Lyra barely managed to summon a shield of wind in ti to deflect the blow, but the strain was evident on her face.
"Are you kidding ?!" Lyra growled under her breath, her frustration rising as she glanced toward Lyon’s battle.
In the midst of it all, Lyon barely seed to notice. He was still smirking, enjoying every mont of his fight. His replica mirrored his moves, their battle an intense spectacle of fire, water, and raw power. To him, this was fun, but to the others caught in the crossfire, it was chaos.
"Boss! Woo! Give ’em hell!" Kesya’s loud cheer echoed from the sidelines.
"Take ’em down! Or... don’t! Either way, aweso!" Ian added with his own enthusiastic shout
Despite the chaos and the imnse power being thrown around, Lyon never lost that smirk. His fight was fluid, unrestrained, and almost playful. At tis, his replica would unleash devastating techniques—lightning that crackled with fury, earth-shattering stomps, precise sword strikes—and yet Lyon responded with effortless grace, as if this was all part of a grand, exhilarating dance. Every move seed to be driven more by enjoynt than necessity.
"Go, boss!! Show that fake who’s boss!" Ian’s voice bood across the lake, his arms flailing wildly as he cheered. He was practically bouncing with excitent, his eyes glued to Lyon’s every move.
Beside him, Kesya was laughing uncontrollably, her hands cupped around her mouth as she yelled. "Give it to him, boss! Yeah!! Show us what you’ve got!!" Her voice was raw from shouting, but she didn’t care. This was what she lived for—the thrill, the chaos, the sheer madness of it all.
Each ti Lyon and his replica clashed, the air itself seed to crack under the weight of their power. Their movents were so fast that they appeared to blink in and out of existence, leaving afterimages and shockwaves that rattled the lakebed. They moved from technique to technique—swordplay that defied reason, elental mastery that seed to bend reality, and hand-to-hand combat that sent tremors through the ground.
At one point, Lyon’s replica summoned a storm, dark clouds swirling overhead, and bolts of lightning struck the water with deafening force. Lyon rely laughed, summoning a gust of wind that sent the storm scattering, as if blowing away dust. His carefree nature made it seem as though he wasn’t fighting for survival but simply to pass the ti.
The collateral damage beca inevitable. A stray burst of fla from Lyon’s battle crashed into Yuri’s fight, knocking both Yuri and his replica back. Yuri growled in frustration. "Damn it, Lyon!" he shouted, but even he couldn’t deny the sheer spectacle of what he was witnessing.
As the fight raged on, Lyon’s smirk deepened, his amusent growing. He was clearly enjoying himself, relishing in the challenge, if one could even call it that. His replica, though powerful, was still just that—a replica. Lyon was the original, the embodint of everything the replica tried to be.
The sheer scale of the battle had drawn the full attention of everyone present. The patriarchs and matriarchs exchanged looks, each of them in disbelief. Alistair, who had been so sure of the Sky Scripture’s superiority, found himself frowning deeply. "This... this power... who is this man?" he murmured, unable to comprehend how soone could fight so effortlessly at such a level.
Atrum, watching closely, allowed a faint smile to creep onto his lips. "That’s Lyon for you," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. He wasn’t surprised—he had seen this before. But even so, watching Lyon fight never got old.
Then, in a blur of motion, Lyon and his replica collided once more, sending a final shockwave that nearly blew the spectators off their feet. Water erupted from the lake, soaring into the sky in a majestic spray, and the two figures skidded back, facing each other once again. Lyon’s smirk hadn’t faded in the slightest, but now there was a glimr of sothing more in his eyes—sothing playful, yet commanding.
Lyon casually sidestepped a fierce strike from his replica without even glancing at it, his smirk unwavering. His eyes, however, flickered toward the six young masters, all locked in intense battles of their own.
"Guys," he began, dodging yet another attack with effortless grace, "you’re getting tired, I see." His voice carried a teasing lilt, a mix of taunt and light-heartedness that imdiately grated on their nerves.
Esralda shot him a quick glance, her eyes narrowing as she parried her replica’s rapid strikes with quick, precise movents. "Tch, who says we’re tired?" she muttered through clenched teeth, her serpents hissing in unison.
Yuri’s grip tightened around his sword, beads of sweat lining his brow as his Black Kirin flared behind him. He wanted to snap back, but he was too focused on keeping up with his replica’s relentless barrage.
Lyra, still recovering from the earlier disruption caused by Lyon, rely gave a sideways glare as she conjured another gust of wind to defend against her replica’s incoming attacks.
Mavis gritted his teeth, his storm affinity swirling around him, but even his boundless energy couldn’t mask the exhaustion creeping in from the prolonged fight. Ning and Azleid exchanged silent glances, both trying to keep their composure under the mounting pressure of their own battles.
Lyon laughed softly, still sidestepping and countering his replica’s attacks as if he was in no real danger. "If you’re not going to use your regalia," he said, his voice almost sing-song, "Then I’m afraid you wouldn’t have a chance to use it."
With a swift, nonchalant motion, Lyon kicked his replica away, sending it skidding across the lake’s surface like it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. The impact rippled through the water, sending waves splashing toward the other young masters.
The six of them clenched their fists, irritation swelling. His words were biting, a reminder of their own limitations. They knew Lyon wasn’t just mocking them—he was warning them. If they wanted to truly compete, if they wanted to win, they would need to pull out all the stops.
Lyon’s grin widened as his hand extended outward, fingers curling slightly as if summoning an old companion. From the very air itself, a dark, ominous sword materialized in his grasp, its sleek, obsidian blade gleaming with a sinister light.
"Feast the blood of your enemies..." Lyon murmured, his voice low and filled with a chilling excitent. His eyes glead dangerously as he stared down his replica. "Let’s end this, Scarlett."
The na rolled off his tongue with familiarity, and the blade seed to respond, humming in his hand with an almost palpable hunger. The atmosphere around him shifted, a cold, creeping dread seeping into the very air. Those who dared to glance at the sword felt their stomachs churn, an involuntary shiver running down their spines.
Esralda’s eyes flicked over to the blade, her breath catching for a mont. Mavis’s storm faltered as his gaze drifted toward the eerie weapon, and even Yuri felt a knot of unease tighten in his chest as he caught sight of it.
"That blade... it’s not ordinary," muttered Azleid, his water swirling in agitation around him, trying to push back the growing sense of dread that Scarlett seed to evoke.
Ning, ever defiant, tried to shake off the feeling of unease, though the flicker of flas around her hands wavered. Lyra’s gaze lingered on the weapon, her wind stalling for a mont as if hesitant to push forward.
Even Lyon’s replica paused for a brief second, eyes narrowing at the sight of the black sword.
Lyon, however, was unbothered by the tension. He twirled Scarlett effortlessly in his hand, its dark sheen cutting through the air like a whisper of death. The sword was more than a weapon—it was an extension of his very being, a partner in battle that shared his bloodlust, his relentless desire to win.
"Co on, now," Lyon said, his voice laced with playful mockery as he faced his replica, "you didn’t think we were done, did you?"
Scarlett pulsed in his hand, a faint, ominous glow surrounding its edge. Lyon’s grin grew darker, more feral. He wasn’t just fighting for victory anymore—he was fighting for the thrill, for the joy of dominance.
The air around him grew heavier, and the watchers could sense it. The patriarchs and matriarchs exchanged uneasy glances, and even the crowd seed to instinctively step back. This wasn’t just a duel—it was a spectacle of power, and Lyon stood at the center, wielding his ominous sword with terrifying ease.
Lyon’s grin widened, his muscles tensing as the air around him thickened with palpable power. His sword, Scarlett, pulsed with ominous energy as he lifted it high. The crowd watched in stunned silence, their breaths caught as his very being seed to shift, unleashing an aura so intense it felt like death itself had descended upon the arena.
With each passing mont, his skin bronzed, gleaming with a divine sheen that made him seem like an ancient war god. His feet left the ground, and with a swift, effortless motion, he ascended into the air. The sky responded in kind, darkening instantly, turning into a vast night that blanketed the arena. Stars seed to wink out of existence, leaving only the haunting glow of Lyon’s aura to light the battlefield.
The six young masters, locked in their battles, faltered. Esralda’s eyes widened, Mavis’s breath hitched, Yuri’s fists clenched in frustration. Even the patriarchs and matriarchs, who had seen countless feats of power, were montarily struck silent, the shock of seeing the sky darken so suddenly leaving them breathless.
Without a word, Lyon charged forward, Scarlett glinting nacingly. He slashed through the air, the sword moving so fast that it left dark, ethereal trails behind it. The ground beneath him trembled with each strike. His replica barely had ti to react before Lyon’s blade made contact, the first slash hitting with a thunderous crack that sent the replica reeling backward.
But Lyon wasn’t done.
With relentless speed, Lyon launched a flurry of slashes, each one hitting with precision and force. His replica was lifted off the ground, the force of each blow elevating it higher as Lyon continued his barrage. The crowd gasped as the bronze-skinned warrior unleashed his combo in midair, his movents too fast to follow. Sword strikes collided with the replica’s body, creating bursts of energy that rippled through the arena, shaking the very earth below.
In the air, Lyon’s replica struggled, but it was no match for the relentless onslaught. Lyon, still smirking, barely broke a sweat as he slashed, parried, and struck, his feet never once touching the ground. His blade moved with unnatural fluidity, every strike calculated, every hit deliberate.
From below, Ian and Kesya were cheering madly, their voices carrying over the stunned silence of the crowd.
"That’s it, boss! Show them how it’s done!" Ian yelled, his fists pumping in excitent.
"Get ’em, boss!" Kesya echoed, her eyes wild with exhilaration.
The intensity of Lyon’s strikes grew with each hit, the dark energy of his aura swirling around him like a storm. The sky above rumbled in response, lightning flickering in the distance as Lyon unleashed the full force of his combo. His replica had no chance, completely dominated by Lyon’s power.
Each strike sent shockwaves through the lake, causing ripples that disrupted the battles of the other young masters. Azleid stumbled back as a wave of force collided with his water, while Ning’s flas flickered from the aftershock. Lyra’s winds faltered, montarily disrupted by Lyon’s overpowering presence.
The fight between Lyon and his replica had eclipsed all others. The young masters couldn’t help but steal glances at the spectacle unfolding above them, their own battles montarily forgotten as Lyon’s skill and power left them in awe.
Lyon’s smirk never left his face. He wasn’t fighting seriously, not even close. To him, this was all just a ga—a display of his dominance, his unchallenged mastery of combat. And as his replica finally fell, the sky darkening further, Lyon raised Scarlett one final ti, ready to end the battle with one decisive blow.
Lyon’s smirk grew wider as the replica trembled before him. "Take a load of this!" he shouted, voice filled with a reckless joy. The onlookers gasped as a luminous full moon manifested high above him, casting a soft, eerie glow across the battlefield.
The air grew heavy, and Lyon, now bathed in moonlight, descended rapidly, his sword pointed directly at his replica. His speed was blinding, the force of his descent like a teor plumting from the heavens.
"Moon Hare Art!" he roared.
The full moon followed his descent, a towering celestial force that seed to magnify his every move. The sky pulsed with energy, the very air trembling as Lyon locked his eyes onto his replica.
"Moon Hare Supremacy!"
The mont his blade made contact, the impact was cataclysmic. A shockwave erupted, bursting outward from the epicenter, a storm of destructive energy that sent debris, water, and stone flying in all directions. The entire lake quaked under the force of the attack, the ground beneath it fracturing. The six young masters were sent tumbling backward, unable to withstand the sheer force of the blow. Their once-focused battles were thrown into complete disarray as the explosive shockwave tore through the arena.
Azleid, Ning, Esralda, Mavis, Yuri, and Lyra all struggled to regain their footing, caught in the aftermath of Lyon’s devastating attack. Water splashed violently into the air, debris scattered, and the pristine surface of the lake beca a chaotic ss of broken stones and rippling waves.
The crowd was in stunned silence, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened.
As the dust and water settled, there stood Lyon—victorious, laughing, his sword draped lazily over his shoulder. His replica lay defeated beneath him, the mist from the arch slowly dissipating. The moon above faded away, leaving only Lyon’s triumphant figure standing amidst the destruction he had caused.
He glanced up at the arch, the once-mysterious mist now lifting, revealing the ancient structure that had stood the test of ti. Lyon’s laughter echoed across the battlefield, a mixture of satisfaction and amusent. He basked in the glory of his own power, his grin never fading.
"Who’s next?" he teased, his eyes gleaming with unbridled confidence.
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