CHAPTER 133: WW FINALS BEGIN

Day of the Final Match of the Warden’s Way (WW) Battle:

The sun rose from the horizon, tearing away the remnants of darkness. Its golden rays spilled over the colossal circular stadium that crowned the hill near the academy’s castle. Built from pale white stone, the structure towered so high, it seemed to touch the very clouds.

Inside the stadium, rows upon rows of seats curved in perfect symmetry, forming a vibrant mosaic of colors—thousands of seats, now beginning to fill with the eager footsteps of spectators. What once looked like a sea of painted stone was swiftly becoming a sea of people.

At the center of the arena stood a raised platform of white marble, streaked with sharp black lines that marked its boundaries like a sacred battlefield. A transparent energy layer shimmered faintly over the platform, pulsing with anticipation.

Floating above it all was a massive black board-like structure. On it, glowing golden letters shimmered with importance:

WW FINAL: VEYLOR CLUB VS REBEL CLUB

Crowds poured in from multiple gates, their excited voices growing into a roar that swallowed every other sound. The sea of people settled into colorful factions, each section painted in loyalty:

The Purple Section: Fans waved purple flyers bearing a bold black "V", their chants in full force, supporting Veylor Club. Many held up signs with "Riven – SPACE DEVIL" carved in gleaming silver letters. The Blue Section: Cool as snow, this crowd rallied behind the Ice Phoenix, their placards shimmering like frost. The Red Section: Passionate and wild, they roared for the Fire Dragon, flames embroidered on crimson banners. The Golden Section: Dressed in regal hues, this group stood for Roarhart, a legacy of might and pride. The Brown Section: Earthy and grounded, they supported the Earth Dragon, their chants deep and resonant like rolling stone.

The energy was electric. The match hadn’t even begun, and yet the arena trembled under the weight of expectation.

Suddenly, a wave of excitement swept through the stadium as the Veylor supporters stood up in unison, roaring with thunderous cheers. All eyes turned toward the entrance.

Descending the steps were the members of Veylor Club.

At the front walked Riven Veylor, clad in a deep purple T-shirt with a golden "V" emblazoned across the back, paired with sleek black jeans. His presence alone sent the crowd into a frenzy.

Behind him strode Aslan, wearing a matching purple outfit, though his bore traces of armored plating, hinting at his front-line role.

Following them was Lyra, her dark hair cascading behind her. She wore the same team colors, but layered with a tight, black leather combat armor that hugged her upper body, both fierce and elegant.

Followed by all other members of Veylor team wearing similar uniform.

They descended the stairs slowly, their every step matched by a deafening chorus of chants. Fans leaned forward, reaching out with hands and banners, trying to catch even a fleeting touch from their idols.

As they reached the edge of the battle arena, all of them lined up—shoulder to shoulder, like soldiers ready for war. They did not step inside just yet.

Then—another wave surged from the opposite side.

Chants erupted from the Ice Phoenix, Fire Dragon, Earth Dragon, and Roarhart sections. Their combined roar shook the stadium as the Rebel Club made their entrance.

The contrast was striking.

Where Veylor was uniform, polished, almost militant—Rebel Club was a storm of individuality.

Each member wore a different set of clothing and armor, reflecting their backgrounds, regions, and ideologies. Together, they painted a portrait of the vast and untamed world they came from.

The crowd welcomed them with raw emotion, shouting their names, waving makeshift flags, stomping the floor as the Rebels descended toward the arena.

They stopped just short of stepping in, forming a looser line than Veylor’s—but one that radiated strength nonetheless.

A hush slowly fell over the stadium.

Then, a single figure walked into the centre of the arena.

The umpire, dressed in a crisp white shirt with "UMPIRE" printed boldly across the back in black letters, strode with purpose.

The umpire scanned both teams, his voice ringing clear through the magical amplification spell.

"Captains of Veylor and Rebel Club—please step forward for the toss of the WW Final."

From the Rebel side, Darian Terravyrn stepped out.

Clad in heavy silver armor that shimmered beneath the morning sun, he moved with calm weight—each step echoing like distant thunder. His usual carefree grin was absent, replaced by a cold, unreadable expression.

From the Veylor side, Aslan stepped forward, his purple and black light armor catching the light in a soft gleam. His stride was confident, relaxed—even playful. A smile curved on his lips as he approached, but it faded slightly when he noticed the grim set of Darian’s face.

They stopped on opposite sides of the raised battle platform, staring each other down. The crowd hushed again, as if holding its breath.

Darian gave a curt nod to the umpire.

The official stepped between them and raised the coin. "Please choose your sides. I will now toss."

Darian didn’t hesitate.

"Phoenix."

Aslan’s eyes widened.

Gasps rippled through the Rebel team. They exchanged uneasy glances.

Phoenix—Darian had never chosen that before.

Recovering from the surprise, Aslan’s expression steadied. He smirked, but his voice was firm.

"Dragon."

The umpire gave a small nod and flicked the coin high into the air.

Clink.

It spun rapidly, catching the sunlight as it danced.

Clank.

The coin struck the ground, rolling briefly across the arena floor before settling.

One side faced upward.

Far across the academy grounds...

Away from the roaring excitement of the stadium, two students sprinted across the long stone bridge that led to the Teleportation Tower. Their hurried footsteps echoed against the ancient stone.

Reaching the stairway at the tower’s base, they stopped, bending over with hands on knees, panting for breath.

Once their breathing steadied, they looked up—green eyes locking for a moment.

A silent nod passed between them.

They descended the stone steps slowly, their pace careful now.

Click... clack...

The sound of their boots echoed into the circular basement chamber below. A massive teleportation circle pulsed faintly in the center of the room, its runes glowing with a heartbeat-like rhythm.

Four guards stood stationed around it, all wearing the academy’s emerald green uniform.

One of the guards turned as he spotted the newcomers. His voice rang out, sharp and commanding:

"Teleportation Tower is closed today. No entry or exit allowed. Didn’t you get the notice?"

The students looked startled.

In unison, they shouted, "WHAT?!"

The guard sighed at their carelessness and walked toward them, his companion chuckling as he followed.

When he reached them, he softened his tone slightly. "Look, go watch the match. Enjoy the finals. You can report here tomorrow if you’ve got a mission."

The students nodded sheepishly and turned to leave.

The guards relaxed, watching them go. One shook his head and said to the other with a chuckle, "Kids these days..."

Squelch.

A wet sound broke the air.

Both guards froze, eyes wide in shock, as warm liquid trickled down their foreheads. They didn’t even get the chance to turn.

Thud. Thud.

Their bodies crumpled to the ground—dead before they hit it.

Across the room, the other two guards barely had time to react.

SHHHKT—

A faint green arc flashed through the air.

SLASH! SLASH!

Their heads fell from their shoulders with a sickening thud, blood spraying across the obsidian-black walls, painting them crimson.

Now covered in sweat and blood, the "students" stood in the silence, breathing heavily.

One of them spoke through gritted teeth, "Let’s activate the teleportation before the automatic alert triggers from non-reporting."

They stepped over the corpses and knelt beside one of the fallen guards. Pulling a purple access card from his pocket, they channelled elemental energy into it.

The teleportation circle shimmered violently. A surge of purple light swallowed the entire chamber in a blinding glow—then slowly dimmed.

As the glow faded, dark silhouettes began to materialize within the circle.

Some were clearly monstrous in shape—inhuman, broad, spined. Others, human.

When the light vanished completely, the chamber fell still.

Then a golden-furred monkey stepped forward from the group.

Its shimmering fur caught the residual light like fire. Its face, however, was bare—black, wrinkled skin stretched tight over sharp bones, framed by a beard-like mane of golden hair. Elongated ears, pointed and sharp, stuck out like blades. Its golden eyes glowed with a quiet, dangerous intelligence.

The beast loomed over the two trembling students, easily twice their size.

It looked down, tilting its head, fangs bared in a chilling grin.

The students instinctively stepped back—fear rooted in their legs like stone.

Suddenly—

"AhahahAHAHAH!"

A burst of wild laughter echoed through the chamber as a new figure leapt forward.

A hyena, with light brown fur and jagged black patches, landed beside the ape. Its black, abyssal eyes locked onto the students, and it too smiled—a jagged, fanged expression of amusement.

Then it spoke, in a shrill, distorted tone:

"Don’t scare these little ones, Bhola. They’re helping us!"

The monkey—Bhola—glanced sideways at the smaller creature. The hyena barely reached his waist.

Bhola growled, low and broken:

"Bhola... know... don’t... tell... crazy."

The hyena cackled again, louder this time, the sound bouncing off the obsidian walls like madness made manifest.

But the laughter stopped.

A new growl—deeper, guttural—rumbled through the chamber like rolling thunder.