The Beastbinder's Ascension

The battlefield was a wasteland of fractured stone and smoke. Craters still steamed from earlier impacts, and cracks glowed faintly with lingering spirit energy. The crowd had grown quiet—not from boredom, but awe.

Five had entered from each side. Now, only two stood for Team Eleven, and three for Team Seven.

Aston and Marcellus were shoulder-to-shoulder, breath ragged, robes torn and scorched. Mirage circled above, her feathers shimmering with prismatic light, while Gray crouched low beside Aston, obsidian claws digging faint grooves into the ground.

Across the scarred arena stood Tristan, his stance sharp and unyielding. Behind him, Zoom prowled in a ring of fire while Scylla coiled sinuously, water aura clashing with heat; and to their flank, Liora's Runeshell Tortoise glowed faintly beneath a web of protective sigils, while Cassian is remained hidden with his basilisk, waiting to strike upon Tristan's command.

The field pulsed with tension.

"Marcellus," Aston said quietly, his tone steady despite the exhaustion bleeding through his voice. "We hold until they overcommit. Gray—flank when Mirage blinds."

Marcellus nodded once. His Warhound bared its fangs, flames licking between its teeth.

Tristan's grin was all challenge. "Still planning, Rhyner? Let's see if that saves you."

He thrust his arm forward. "Zoom—Flash Pounce! Scylla—Spiral Torrent!"

The cheetah and serpent moved as one—fire and water intertwining into a searing spiral that roared across the field. Mirage dove from above, her Fractured Halo expanding, refracting the energy into chaotic light bursts. The attack splintered, but some of it slipped through, detonating near Marcellus.

The wolfhound howled, slammed its paws into the earth, and countered with Ember Shred, unleashing a spread of burning fangs toward the oncoming beasts. The arena erupted in a clash of flame and vapor.

"Keep going!" Marcellus shouted, pushing forward through the smoke.

But the enemy formation was too well-drilled. Liora's tortoise pulsed with a rune glow—Rune Barrier—and the cheetah blurred again, tearing through the diminished flames. Cassian's basilisk emerged from the runes and expelled a fiery fog.

"Now, Zoom!" Tristan commanded.

The Infernal Fang Cheetah slammed into the Warhound with explosive force. The two beasts tumbled across the dirt in a flash of fire and steel. For a brief moment, it seemed the Warhound might overpower it—until Scylla's water beam lanced from the side, pinning it to the ground.

"Marcellus!" Aston shouted, but the light of elimination had already begun to shimmer.

Marcellus looked up and grinned through the chaos. "You've got this… end it your way."

Then he and his beast dissolved into motes of light.

The arena fell eerily silent except for the crackle of residual fire. Aston was alone.

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But not unarmed.

Mirage soared high, feathers refracting the dim glow of the dusk-lit barrier. Gray crouched beside Aston, tail twitching, muscles coiled like springs. Their bond pulsed with unspoken understanding.

Aston's gaze met Tristan's across the distance. "You're strong," he said, voice low but clear. "But you rely too much on momentum."

Tristan tilted his head. "And you rely too much on words."

"Maybe," Aston murmured. "But words can become timing."

He raised his hand.

"Now."

Gray vanished.

Even Tristan's eyes barely tracked it—a blur of black and silver, darting between water ripples and flickering flame. The kitten reappeared beneath Zoom, claws shimmering faintly with spatial distortion.

Surgical Claw.

A single motion—too clean, too fast. The air split with a faint crack.

For half a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then the cheetah staggered.

A long, razor-thin incision bloomed across its chest, light spilling like molten silver. It tried to lunge again—but its essence fractured, breaking apart mid-movement. The bond link snapped.

The Infernal Fang Cheetah collapsed, fading into dispersing light.

The crowd's roar was instant and deafening.

Tristan froze. His hands trembled slightly, not from fear—but from the psychic backlash of the broken link. His eyes flicked to the empty space where his partner had stood, disbelief cutting through his usual confidence.

He looked up just in time to see Aston lowering his hand, calm and unwavering.

"Tristan Grave's beast—the Infernal Fang Cheetah… eliminated!" the referee announced, his voice almost drowned by the storm of cheers.

Tristan exhaled sharply, regaining composure, but the faint tremor in his jaw betrayed the pain. "So… you took one."

Aston's voice carried across the battlefield—firm, not taunting, but final.

"You're talented, Tristan, we both know that. You had a green potential while I got a red one. But this match was never about power. It's about teamwork and control. I've lost one which lost me the whole event. You won't always have both."

For the first time that day, Tristan didn't immediately respond. His eyes narrowed, searching Aston's expression for arrogance, but found only quiet conviction.

The crowd's cheers softened into murmurs. They knew what was coming.

Aston's beasts circled him again—Mirage wounded, Gray remaining alert, claws still faintly glowing from the last attack. He could push farther, maybe even take down another. Even if Gray used his new skill, but at what cost? His beasts were on the brink, and the next match—the singles finals—loomed ahead.

Aston looked at the scoreboard, then back to Tristan, whose serpent, basilisk and tortoise remained battle-ready, flanking him like royal guards.

He smiled faintly. "You've already got your win. Take it."

The crowd gasped as he raised a hand—the signal for surrender.

"Aston Rhyner has conceded," the referee declared. "Victory—Team Seven!"

Cheers erupted like a wave, but this time, there was respect threaded through it. Even Tristan didn't immediately celebrate. His usual swagger faltered, replaced with something heavier—thoughtful.

As the teleportation light began to envelop Aston, he called out one last time, his tone calm but resolute.

"You won the battle, Tristan. But I'll see you in the singles arena. Let's see who really stands alone."

The words lingered, not boastful—simply a promise.

Tristan's jaw tightened. For the first time all day, he didn't smile.

Aston and his beasts dissolved into light, leaving behind only scorch marks, faint mist, and a crowd that roared his name louder than even the victor's.