The Beastbinder's Ascension

The announcer raised his hand. "Semifinal Match One—Team Eleven versus Team One! Semifinal Match Two—Team Twenty-Five versus Team Seven!"

The crowd erupted again, louder than ever, excitement surging like a wave. Half shouted in awe at the thought of Aston's ragtag squad standing against the iron wall of the cadets. The other half cheered at the inevitable clash of fire and steel when Tristan met the artificers.

Aston exhaled slowly, hands tightening on Gray's fur. The path forward had been carved.

"However!" he bellowed, raising both arms to call the audience back to order. "The semifinals of the Team Arena will be given time for preparation and recovery. Our quarterfinalists have fought valiantly and deserve their short rest."

The crowd quieted, murmurs spreading. Everyone knew what came next.

The announcer's eyes gleamed. "And so… we turn to the Singles Arena!"

The coliseum thundered anew, louder than ever. Here was the spectacle they craved—the duels that tested not squads or formations, but the raw might of individuals and their beasts.

"Our four semifinalists!" the announcer cried, his voice whipping the stadium into frenzy. "Aston Rhyner of the Scouting Division! Genevieve Ortega of Spirit Combat! Tristan Graves of Spirit Combat! Vincent Fairbanks of Trade and Commerce!"

Each name was greeted with its own storm of reaction. Aston's drew surprise, pride, and curiosity—he was the underdog who had climbed where few thought possible. Genevieve's name stirred respect, her Shadow Strider's cunning still fresh in the audience's minds. Tristan's name erupted into near-worship, his cheetah and serpent already the stars of the festival. Vincent's drew mixed cries—some sneering at a merchant's presence in the semifinals, others marveling at his earlier upset against a Spirit Combat student.

The announcer's declaration still hung in the air when the crowd erupted again, not just with cheers but with shouts of recognition, realization spreading like fire across the stands.

"Wait—Aston and Tristan? Both of them made it to the semifinals of the team and singles arenas!"

"That means they're carrying their entire squads and themselves!"

"Spirit Combat against Scouting Arts, over and over… this festival's turning into their story!"

From the projection chamber, Aston could hear the uproar even through the essence screen.

Gray flicked his ears irritably at the noise, while Mirage's gaze never left the glowing arena floor. Aston said nothing, but the weight of expectation pressed heavier on his chest.

The announcer's voice cut through the noise. "Semifinal Match One—Tristan Graves versus Genevieve Ortega!"

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The gates yawned open, and the combatants entered.

Tristan strode out first, arms folded, arrogance practically dripping from his steps. Zoom, his Infernal Fang Cheetah, padded beside him, embers glowing across its rune-spotted fur. Scylla, the Wave Crasher Serpent, floated along the opposite flank, scales glinting like liquid crystal. Fire and water both, circling him like twin crowns of power.

Genevieve emerged from the opposite gate, her posture smaller but unshaken. At her side padded Umbra, the Shadow Strider, its sleek, black fur nearly vanishing into the arena's shadows. Dark eyes glowed like embers of another kind, sharp and hungry. The fox-beast moved with uncanny silence, its paws barely whispering against the sand.

The contrast was stark: Tristan radiated dominance, a predator that demanded the world bend to him. Genevieve looked like prey—until Umbra lowered itself into a stalking crouch, shadows curling around its paws.

The referee raised his hand. "Match… begin!"

Zoom blurred into motion instantly, a streak of fire cutting across the sand. Its paws ignited, scattering sparks as it closed the distance with terrifying speed.

Umbra didn't meet it head-on. Its form shimmered, fur dissolving into dark wisps, and in the blink of an eye it vanished into Tristan's own shadow. The crowd gasped.

"Where did it go?"

"It's under him!"

Genevieve's voice was calm, almost quiet. "Void Fang."

Umbra erupted upward from Tristan's shadow, jaws glowing with dark essence. Its bite raked across the cheetah's flank, leaving a jagged mark of shadow-energy that pulsed faintly, weakening its defenses.

The stadium roared. The fox wasn't trying to overpower—it was carving weaknesses into a predator far stronger than itself.

Tristan didn't flinch. His smirk deepened. "Flash Pounce."

Zoom vanished in a blaze of fire, reappearing behind Umbra in a blur of claws. The fox twisted, shadow melting around its frame, but not fast enough—the claws grazed its side, leaving burning lines across its fur. Umbra hissed, staggering, though its eyes still burned.

"Shadowbind!" Genevieve commanded.

Umbra's body flickered, and Tristan froze mid-step. His shadow writhed unnaturally, anchoring him to the ground. For a heartbeat, the cheetah's movements stalled, its fiery aura crackling against invisible chains.

"She caught him!" someone shouted from the crowd.

Umbra lunged again, fangs glowing, snapping at Zoom's throat.

But Tristan only scoffed. "Break it."

Flames roared from Zoom's body, the air bending with heat. The shadows holding it shattered into smoke, dispersing under the distortion. In the same motion, the cheetah leapt forward, faster than before, claws gleaming like molten knives.

This time, Umbra couldn't vanish quickly enough. The strike landed deep across its chest. The fox crumpled with a sharp cry, shadow-mark energy scattering into the air.

Genevieve grit her teeth. "Umbra—one more time! Void—"

The command cut short as Zoom's claws flashed again, driving Umbra to the ground. The Shadow Strider twitched once, then dissolved into silver light, dragging its handler with it.

The referee's hand shot upward. "Victory—Tristan Graves!"

The crowd thundered, the noise nearly deafening. Some cheered Tristan's name with unshaken loyalty. Others murmured in shock at how quickly the shadows had been burned away.

In the projection chamber, Aston exhaled slowly, his hand curled tight on Gray's fur. He'd seen every move, every strike—and he knew that in the next round, it would be his turn to face that fire.