As the dust settled, Alaric's glowing long sword could be seen from the roof.
Gasps filled the air. Murmuring grew louder. Mirelleth watched as her heart clenched. She was searching for Lucien.
Vwoooosh!....
The dust dispersed in a flash...
There stood Lucien holding the edge of Alaric's blade...
His eyes were now glowing and peering into Alaric's soul.
Then- SHATTER!...
....
The pieces of Alaric's shattered blade flew across the ring.
Alaric leaped several feet backwards. He looked intently at Lucien and tried hard to hide his fear and not show his anxiety. Lucien was just there, holding up a straight face, frosty blue colored energy outlined him.
'This, t-this man, who is he', he thought as hus dual daggers formed from flames and he gripped their handle.
'He dishonored my father, the King! I must finish hi...'
Then_ BAM!
Lucien had covered the distance and rammed his fist into his side. Alaric choked up blood. His breath left him.
The second hit came without warning.
Lucien grabbed his cape and flung him across the field then he dashed towards him and closed the gap.
He moved like a phantom. It was like he defied gravity.
Lucien launched a ferocious assault.
It was no longer a duel—it was a storm. Blow after blow, Alaric was pushed to the brink. Bones cracked. Blood splattered. His vision blurred. But he held on—his rage, his pride, and the fire of a crown prince rising from the depths of weakness.
"Gyaaaaaarrrrrrrrrhhhhhh!!!!!"
Alaric, once horizontal in the air while receiving a barrage of blows staggered to allow his feet reach the ground.
Lucien delivered a last blow that sent him crashing to one end of the colloseium as it collapsed on him, raising dust clouds to the sky.
Alaric roared a aloud as he summoned his daggers. The energy he released dispersed the dust and debris.
"I'M NOT DONE YEEET!!!"
Alaric's cape flared with such velocity they ripped apart the air itself. In a blink, he appeared before Lucien, his daggers swiping down like a guillotine. But Lucien still dodged effortlessly.
"You should've stayed down," Lucien muttered.
Alaric screamed.
The scream alone cracked stone.
And then came the onslaught.
Alaric swung his daggers like a hurricane. His blades were scythes, his hands a blur, his shrieks a siren song of terror. Lucien ducked, slid, glided—his hands still in his pocket. The battle field became a blur of motion and blood. Alaric's blood.
No strike slipped through—Alaric was desperate.
But he didn't falter.
"I'm not done!"
Eternal flame!
Black fire engulfed his daggers and boosted his overall stats. He appeared behind Lucien in a burst of black.
His daggers flew from his grip. Alaric let out a howl of agony. Lucien the twisted midair, grabbing Alaric by the face and slamming him into a wall, shattering it.
The colosseum trembled.
Alaric coughed blood.
And then laughed.
"You're strong," he said, eyes gleaming with thrill.
Lucien's face was expressionless.
But he had no intent to kill his opponent. It was not Alaric's time to die.
This wasn't a prince.
This was a god.
Alaric plunged himself again. He summoned back his daggers. He swung. Harder. Wilder.
Screams. Crashes. The ground was being torn apart—the walls cracked, the floor beneath, crumbling. But Alaric kept pushing. Even as bones creaked and muscles tore, he fought with terrifying focus. Not because he had to.
But because he wanted to.
Because this was what it meant to retain his pride and avenge his father's honor.
One final blow—he dropped his daggers and gathered everything into a single punch.
His fist was caught into Lucien's palm . Lucien hit Alaric's chest with his second palm and the impact thuded as his body smashed into the wall behind him, crumbling it to pieces.
The dust settled.
Lucien stood, not even a sweat or rumple to his sleeves.
Alaric, half dead, pissed—with rage, reverence.
And then, Lucien raised his right hand. And from thin air, just above his right hand, his sword appeared, taking its form gracefully.
Perfect than any mortal steel should dare to be, impossibly weightless, it hovered in the divine stillness of the air, as though gravity itself bowed before its presence. Its blade shimmered with a brilliance that could not be described as silver or gold, but rather the first light that pierced through the firmament on the dawn of time, radiant, eternal, untainted by shadow.
In its reflection danced with unimaginable purity of light, its edge's like the surface of a celestial sea. Each etching along the fuller was not carved by hand, but woven by the fingers of constellations, ancient runes that sang in a forgotten tongue, humming softly with the voice of the cosmos.
Its guard was no mere crosspiece. It was divine symmetry, impossibly pure and impossibly gold—yet it bore no glint of vanity. This was not the gold of kings, forged in greed or pride. No, this was the First Gold, the untouched essence of light itself before it fell to corruption.
It did not shine—it radiated.
And from that radiant cross, descended the handle—a marvel in its own right.
Wrapped in a braid of ashen silver and starlight thread, it felt neither cold nor warm, but correct, as if it was molded to the will of its wielder, and no other. The grip was neither coarse nor smooth, but bore the memory of every battle it had witnessed ,every sin it had judged, every truth it had upheld. Beneath the wrapping, some say, ran veins of liquid light, flowing faintly beneath the surface like the quiet blood of eternity.
Alaric's eyes widened, he had not seen it before.
"Themnion"
"Its name is Themnion", Lucian said in a calm voice. "It is the final oath".
Alaric's trembling was not evident. The sword removed every sense of pride, nobility and being from him. He was sore afraid.
"S-spare me, I pray thee," he stammered.
King Ashkeroth clenched his had tight on the arm of his throne in anger and disbelief.
It was a duel according to the knight's code, a fight to the death.
"You shall make me an oath," Lucien said, with his voice calm and collected, but it spared no hint of authority.
"I shall", Alaric replied shakily, trying to catch his already fading breath.
"You shall swear by the name Ashkaroth to never draw your sword against I or this land wherein your life was spared".
"I s-swear", he said as he coughed up blood.
Lucien's sword was already an inch away from Alaric's throat and its closeness had already began sapping the life out of Alaric by the lot so he was dying quicker.
Lucien made his sword disappear, then the next second,
'Vwooosh'
He disappeared from the arena.
The entire Colosseum sat still in tranquility. The exceedingly great power and authority Prince Lucien had exerted was undeniable. His presence remained though he had left.
It was sunset. My mind was filled. All day, Princess Vaeloria had not had me do any work or sent me on any errands after the duel.
The duel must be the reason. It's impact was undeniable, Prince Lucien will be greatly revered.
'All the more reason I'm no match for him, even if I want to, I can't have him.'
I stood at the balcony looking to the horizon as I admired the kingdom. I sighed, ready to retire to bed.
Then. A familiar scent filled the air...
It was Prince Lucien...