The instant Excalibur collapsed into a golden card in Velatria’s hand, the entire Colosseum reacted like someone had drained the tension from the air.
Students exhaled. Professors lowered their flickering wards. The royals straightened in visible relief.
Everyone believed the duel was over.
Except Nolan.
A soft three-tone chime hit the inside of his skull—the unmistakable tone of a divine telepathic channel opening.
Akashic Record (telepathic, dry): “Connection stable. Nolan, permission for full-force engagement granted. Since a certain someone ended the staged ascent early.”
Nolan winced internally.
Out loud, he remained perfectly calm.
Velatria held the Excalibur-card up to her face like a shiny toy.
Velatria (aloud): “Full force? Wait—so you weren’t fighting me seriously this whole time?”
Nolan (aloud): “I was holding Excalibur. A single careless strike could kill a creation goddess. The world cannot survive that.”
Gasps rippled through the arena.
Student: “He was holding back?” Teacher: “No… that can’t be…” Royal: “Then what was he doing before?”
Velatria puffed her cheeks indignantly.
Velatria (aloud): “I’m not that fragile! I’m a god!”
Record (telepathic): “Fragile enough. You destabilize immediately when exposed to law-piercing artifacts.”
Velatria (telepathic): “You shush. That was one time.”
Record: “Four times.”
Velatria: “…I don’t like your counting.”
Nolan cleared his throat out loud, forcing the divine bickering to quiet.
With a slow breath, he reached into his Soul Slot.
A seam of pale blue opened beside him. The familiar Hero Deck drifted out—except three cards were missing.
The gaps were visible. Painfully visible.
The entire deck hummed unevenly, like a melody missing notes.
Hero’s Journey—complete. Parry—complete. Hero’s Mantle—intact.
But the cards Velatria destroyed in the previous battle left jagged, silent holes—Hero Returns, Glory Road, and one of his martial support cards. The deck’s spiritual rhythm felt broken, unable to harmonize.
A murmur ran through the stands.
Lucien: “His… his deck is incomplete.” Arcanus: “Those missing cards—those aren’t replaceable.”
Nolan nodded once.
Nolan (aloud): “This deck can no longer perform its original function.”
He pressed the damaged deck back into the Soul Slot. Its glow dimmed.
Then a second seam opened—hot, amber-red, pulsing like a beating ember.
A new deck rose from it, each card rimmed in firelight.
Velatria (telepathic): “Oooh. That one’s shiny.”
Record (telepathic, irritated): “It is. And unlike his previous deck, this one is not designed for restraint.”
Out loud, Nolan kept his tone level and factual.
Nolan: “Since I no longer hold Excalibur, I am no longer constrained by the danger of harming a divine core through accident.”
A second wave of whispers erupted.
Teacher: “He’s… continuing?” Student: “Why? The Goddess already won.” Royal: “Then what comes next?”
Velatria pointed at him dramatically.
Velatria (aloud): “So you were playing nice before?”
Nolan (aloud): “I was preventing global collapse.”
Velatria (telepathic, offended): “You make it sound so dramatic.”
Record (telepathic): “It IS dramatic. You nearly deleted him with that last volley.”
Velatria: “That was a flourish!” Record: “That was a war crime.”
Nolan ignored them and pressed the fire deck to his chest. Its ember glow spread under his skin—not activating, just synchronizing.
Nolan (aloud): “My directive was simple: do not risk killing a goddess while holding a god-slaying blade.”
He looked up at her—expression calm, controlled.
Nolan: “I no longer hold that blade.”
The silence became absolute.
Nolan: “The Record has granted permission for full-force engagement, minus lethal intent.”
Lucien’s jaw clenched. Arcanus stepped back on instinct. A dozen students whispered prayers.
Velatria’s eyes sparkled with reckless excitement.
Velatria (aloud): “Then round two—for real—begins now?”
Record (telepathic, furious): “Velatria, do NOT treat this as entertainment.”
Velatria: “Everything is entertainment if you tilt your head.”
Record: “Nolan. Prepare. She is already charging.”
Nolan (telepathic sigh): “Understood.”
Out loud, he raised his head.
Nolan: “Goddess of Creation. The duel is not over.”
Velatria burst into a brilliant, delighted grin.
Velatria: “Good! I wasn’t finished!”
The five newly drawn cards settled into Nolan’s hand like burning coals—glowing along their fire-trimmed borders, emitting small curls of ember-red sparks. No one in the audience could see what the cards said, nor the costs printed across their edges. All they saw was the heat-flare of a new deck synchronizing with its wielder.
Only three people recognized the shift in atmosphere:
The Lich, who had helped Nolan design the armor. Vaelreth, whose instincts reacted to heat stronger than flame. And the Goddess—who had seen the blueprint but forgot it existed.
The Lich leaned forward slightly, hollow sockets narrowing. Lich (quiet): “…So it works outside of testing.”
Vaelreth’s wings shivered beneath her illusion, pupils narrowing. Vaelreth: “Took him long enough. I thought he was waiting to die before using it.”
Nolan inhaled, slow and steady, allowing the Phoenix Deck to drop fully into his soul slot. As it fused with him, the air inside the Colosseum thickened—as though heat had a weight.
Velatria tilted her head. Goddess (aloud, mildly annoyed): “Right, right… that deck. The one I skimmed.”
Inside the telepathic channel, the Record snapped:
Akashic Record (telepathic, furious): “SKIMMED—?! Velatria, you HELPED write this plan!”
Velatria (telepathic, sulking): “It looked wordy…”
Nolan (dry): “It was a divine protocol.”
Velatria: “Exactly. Boring.”
Record: “VELATRIA, I—”
Nolan cleared his throat out loud, shutting the argument down.
He lifted a single card.
Phoenix Armor — Manifest.
The ground ruptured beneath him.
Flames exploded upward in a violent column, spiraling around Nolan’s body like chains of molten iron. There was no graceful assembly. The armor did not appear piece by piece.
It crashed into existence.
A breastplate slammed over his ribs like a hammer blow. Vambraces locked onto his arms with the screech of burning metal. A jagged collar of phoenix bone and blackened iron clamped around his neck.
Then the flames settled—and the monster stood revealed.
The audience recoiled.
The armor was not heroic silver. Not polished. Not noble.
It was a creature.
A jagged, predatory carapace shaped from molten metal and phoenix bone, scorched black as though pulled straight from a volcano. The plating overlapped like dark feathers—each edge serrated, each seam glowing with trapped fire. The vents between the plates pulsed like breathing lungs, exhaling ash.
And from the collar erupted a mane of black fire, writhing upward like the hair of a demon king. The flames twisted in ways fire shouldn’t—curling toward Nolan’s spine, clinging to him like something territorial.
Even Nolan’s shadow warped—spreading behind him with hooked wings he did not have.
Professor Arcanus stepped back in horror. Arcanus: “This… this is not smithing. This breaks every forging law ever written.”
The Lich whispered, fascinated: Lich: “A metamorphic plate… a living vented system… it’s beautiful.”
Then Ember appeared.
A comet of orange-gold flame spiraled from Velatria’s side, materializing into a tiny flame-girl with black ember-hair and bright molten eyes. She kicked her feet mid-air, floating to Nolan’s shoulder.
She already knew what was happening.
Ember: “Papa!! Papa finally let Ember out! Ember helps now!”
Velatria puffed her cheeks. Goddess (aloud): “Yes yes, Ember, I know you. Three months old and already melting my creation tables.”
Inside the telepathic channel:
Velatria: “She’s still adorable.” Record: “VELATRIA FOCUS.” Velatria: “…She can be adorable AND terrifying!”
Nolan placed a steady hand on Ember’s head. She glowed brighter—flaring like a candle fed oxygen.
He raised his head toward Velatria.
Nolan: “You said you wanted a real fight. So—no Excalibur. No restraint.”
Velatria crossed her arms, unimpressed. Goddess: “So you were holding back.”
Nolan nodded once.
Nolan: “You’re a creation goddess. One hit with Excalibur could unmake your core. I kept the world intact.”
A ripple of fear traveled through the audience.
Ember chirped proudly, Ember: “And any fire she throws, Ember eats! Papa gets stronger!”
Velatria scowled. Goddess: “Show-off flame.”
The Record cut in with absolute fury:
Record (telepathic): “Nolan. Permission granted. Beat her up PROPERLY. She ruined the plan.”
Nolan exhaled. The armor flared. The ground blackened beneath his feet.
He stepped forward—no hero’s poise, no noble radiance—just controlled menace, wrapped in living fire.
Nolan: “Then let’s begin.”
The Phoenix Armor roared.
The Colosseum fell silent as two impossible beings stood across from each other:
A Creation Goddess floating above the battlefield with childish confidence— And a mortal wrapped in an armored phoenix-demon exoskeleton radiating heat like a living furnace.
Velatria raised a glowing hand, her fingertips sparkling with divine radiance.
Nolan rolled his shoulders.
The Phoenix Armor settled around him with a deep, metallic growl—plates flexing, vents pulsing, the black-fire mane flickering like a beast tasting blood. Ember hovered near his cheek, tiny legs kicking, hands cupped as if ready to catch every spark.
Inside Nolan’s mind:
Velatria (cheerful): “Ready? Let’s make this flashy!”
Record (flat danger-tone): “Velatria—if you throw anything with a yield above tier three, I will personally file sanctions.”
Nolan (mentally): “Let her go. I need the tokens anyway.”
Record: “…Proceed. But do not die.”
Out loud, Nolan lifted his chin.
Nolan: “Begin whenever you want.”
Velatria grinned like a child about to flip a table.
Velatria: “Then... be—hold—the—RADIANCE—!!!”
A blinding pillar of creation-light—no shape, no structure, no restraint—shot downward like a falling sun.
The faculty screamed. Students dove behind barriers. Royals clutched each other.
And Nolan—
did not move.
The light swallowed him whole.
For three long seconds, the world was nothing but white.
Then something glowed crimson inside the light.
A single pulse.
Then another.
Then flame exploded outward.
The divine light peeled away, shredded by raw heat.
Nolan stood in a crater of molten stone, glowing like metal fresh from a forge. The Phoenix Armor crawled with fire—vents spitting molten sparks, feather-like ridges glowing red-orange, the black-fire mane thrashing like a living shadow creature.
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Ember inhaled the leftover divine flames like noodles.
Ember: “Warm warm warm!! More warm for Papa!”
Velatria froze mid-air.
Velatria: “You… didn’t dodge that?”
Nolan cracked his neck, the sound echoing like hammered steel.
Nolan: “Didn’t need to.”
Inside his head:
Record (dry): “Armor integrity: stable. Token count: high. Use the surplus.”
Velatria: “It was supposed to HURT YOU, not feed you!”
Nolan lifted a glowing card.
Nolan: “Buying: Blazetide Reinforcement.”
A cluster of Ember’s newly eaten tokens burned away as payment. Fire surged across Nolan’s arms—plating thickening, feather-ridges elongating with sizzling crackles.
Ember cheered mid-air.
Ember: “Papa stronger!!”
Velatria’s eye twitched.
Velatria: “I… I didn’t authorize THAT.”
Record: “You don’t authorize anything.”
Velatria: “I AM A GOD—”
Nolan stepped—and vanished.
The ground behind him exploded from the force of his jump.
He appeared in front of Velatria before she had time to blink.
His first swing—
cut straight through her divine barrier.
The shield shattered like thin glass. Light scattered in a burst of glittery particles. Nolan’s blade grazed her arm, sparks flying.
The entire arena erupted in screams.
Student: “H-he HIT a goddess!” Royal: “That armor… what is that armor?!” Teacher: “A demon… he looks like a demon…”
Velatria flailed backward.
Velatria: “H-HEY! That shield was DIVINE!”
Nolan: “It was crooked.”
Her face flushed bright gold.
Velatria: “Y-you’re supposed to dodge, not HIT ME!”
Nolan: “Not today.”
She panicked and fired another blast—larger, messy, frantic.
Nolan stepped into it.
Flames engulfed him.
Ember inhaled every last spark, her tiny body swelling with heat.
Ember: “YUM!”
Her eyes blazed like twin suns. Tokens surged.
Nolan lifted another card.
Nolan: “Buying: Flamegrip Sword.”
This cost more—three bursts of Ember’s stored tokens evaporated.
A sword erupted from Nolan’s hand in a violent plume of fire—jagged, uneven, furious. Its edges glowed white-hot, its form raw and primal, like a weapon forged by an erupting volcano instead of a craftsman.
Velatria stared.
Velatria: “That sword looks ANGRY.”
Nolan did not deny it.
He lunged.
His movement was not elegant—it was devastating. Every tendon in his body fired at full force, no safety limit, no hesitation.
His slash carved a burning arc in the air, striking Velatria’s next barrier—
and splitting it.
Velatria: “WHY DOES IT KEEP HURTING—?!”
Record (flat): “Because your barrier formation is sloppy.”
Velatria: “STOP CRITICIZING MY ART!”
Nolan spun behind her, his boots cracking the stone on impact.
He swung the sword in a perfect martial combination—wrist twist, shoulder snap, foot pivot—moves no mage would ever predict.
His blade cut through the next divine shield, the next, and the next—
Velatria yelped with every impact.
Velatria: “OW—! STOP—! OW—!! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO STRUGGLE!!”
Nolan: “You attacked first.”
He flipped his grip, slammed the pommel into her shield, and—
BOOM.
She flew backward like a comet.
She crashed into her own floating light constructs with a divine squeal.
The audience froze.
Not because Nolan struck a goddess.
But because the realization hit them all at once:
He had been holding back before. Not because he was weak— But because he was terrified of killing her.
Now?
He wasn’t holding back at all.
The Phoenix Armor pulsed—feathers sharpening, vents flaring, the black fire around his neck whipping upward like a demonic halo.
Nolan leveled his burning blade.
Nolan: “You wanted a duel.”
He stepped forward, volcanic heat rippling under each footstep.
Nolan: “Now you’re getting one.”
Velatria trembled—not in fear, but in pure, stunned disbelief.
For the first time in a millennium—
the Creation Goddess was actually being forced to fight.
Velatria pinwheeled backward through the air, bouncing off her own half-formed light constructs like a ricocheting firework before finally regaining balance. Her hair flared like an annoyed bonfire.
Velatria: “You HIT me! You HIT ME!”
Nolan walked toward her calmly, the Phoenix Armor shifting with each step—plates scraping, feather-like ridges flexing, vents spitting out threads of molten sparks. He looked like a demon shrugging off divine light.
Inside his mind, he snapped the telepathic channel open.
Nolan (annoyed): “Record, why is she this weak? She’s the Creation Goddess. She literally helped greenlight the card system.”
Velatria (outraged telepathy): “EXCUSE YOU—!!!”
Record (dry as sand): “She skimmed the manuals.”
Velatria: “I COMMISSIONED the manuals!”
Record: “Yes. Then skimmed them.”
Velatria: “I don’t need to read fine print. I’m a GOD!”
Record: “You are a hazard.”
Nolan didn’t miss a step.
Velatria hurled a lightburst at him—bright but unfocused, like a toddler throwing glitter with enthusiasm but no aim.
He walked straight into it.
The blast slammed into his chest.
The Phoenix Armor reacted instantly.
Flames surged across the plates, red cracks glowing like magma veins. Feather-ridges stiffened, flaring outward like a furious bird of prey. Ember drank the overflow with a delighted slurp.
Ember: “Warm warm warm! Papa more heat!!”
Heat-tokens flickered around Nolan like tiny orange motes only Ember could touch.
He tapped a glowing card.
Nolan: “Buying: Armor Weave Reforge.”
Two tokens burned away. The armor shifted.
Shifted was too gentle a word.
The plating rearranged like a creature cracking its spine:
-
plates elongating into hooked, talon-like ridges
-
feather plates layering over each shoulder
-
furnace vents widening into phoenix-wing slits
-
flames seeping through the seams like molten breath
The crowd gasped as the armor’s silhouette darkened, sharpened, and leaned into something undeniably predatory.
Nolan no longer looked like someone wearing armor.
He looked like something that had accepted a demon into its chest and let it reshape him.
Velatria stared.
Velatria: “W-Wait—armor can MOVE?! That’s ILLEGAL!”
Record: “You approved metamorphic constructs three eras ago.”
Velatria: “I DID?!”
Record: “You were bored. You doodled a bird. This is the result.”
Velatria: “I SHOULD STOP DOODLING.”
Nolan dashed forward. The ground didn’t crack this time—
It detonated.
He slammed his shoulder into Velatria’s hastily conjured barrier. The shield shattered like brittle ice.
She squeaked and threw up another one—sideways, uneven, like someone grabbing a door and putting it on backwards.
Nolan stepped on the broken construct and used it as a foothold to spring upward.
He swung downward.
BOOOOM.
Her shield cracked, split, then disintegrated.
Velatria flailed.
Velatria: “WHY DOES IT HURT? I MADE THAT SHIELD MYSELF!”
Record: “It has the structural integrity of wet parchment.”
Velatria: “STOP BEING MEAN TO ME!!!”
Nolan lunged again—perfect martial timing, shoulder rotation, foot placement, weight transfer honed from a lifetime of real combat, not divine theatrics.
His blade struck her barrier and nearly wrenched it from her hands.
Velatria: “Y-You shouldn’t know how to fight this well!”
Nolan: “You shouldn’t throw spells like you’re tossing confetti.”
Her cheeks puffed.
Velatria: “I AM A CREATION GODDESS. I DON’T NEED TECHNIQUE!”
Record: “Incorrect. You need competence.”
Velatria: “STOP!”
Nolan stepped into another beam of divine starlight—this one tighter, angrier.
The impact rocked his armor. Plates hissed. The feather-like ridges snapped upright. Flames burst from the vents like a furnace under pressure.
Ember coughed—then inhaled the blast in one long pull.
Ember: “HOT!!! Papa, more more more!!”
Her entire form glowed gold for a heartbeat.
Nolan lifted another card.
His movement blurred—slightly delayed by the divine interference, but still precise.
Nolan: “Rebuying: Blazetide Reinforcement. From the graveyard.”
More tokens burned away. Ember shuddered from the drain but kept glowing with determination.
The armor cracked—
Then grew again.
Spines rose along his elbows. Rib plates thickened. The phoenix-feather ridges extended further down his back, forming segmented ghostly wings of molten metal and fire.
Velatria’s face fell.
Velatria: “That armor wasn’t this scary before!”
Nolan: “You weren’t attacking seriously before.”
Her golden eyes narrowed.
Velatria: “Then FINE. I’ll actually fight.”
She clenched her fists.
A grid of layered shields formed around her—thicker, more complex, but still chaotic, like stacking furniture into a barricade with divine duct tape.
Nolan charged.
His first blow split the outer shield.
His second cracked the inner one.
His third cleaved the final barrier—
Velatria yelped and threw up a mini-shield the size of a plate.
He punched straight through it.
The shockwave cracked the arena floor.
She spiraled away like a firework, shrieking in divine indignation.
Velatria: “YOU HIT ME AGAIN!!!”
Nolan: “You’re attacking me.”
Velatria: “THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN WIN!!”
She fired a whip of light at him—fast, sharp, finally showing some intensity.
Nolan leaned aside, grabbed her wrist mid-cast, and twisted.
She screamed in outrage, not pain.
Velatria: “UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN!! DON'T TOUCH ME!!”
He let go.
Her hair smoked slightly.
Nolan: “You told me you could fight.”
Record: “Correction: she told you she likes fighting.”
Velatria: “STOP RUINING MY MOMENT!!!”
Nolan stepped forward, sword raised.
His armor snarled—vents erupting, feathers blazing, every plate vibrating with heat.
The villain persona settled over him like a shadow.
Nolan: “I’m not playing a hero today.”
He lowered his head in a predatory stance.
Nolan: “Today, I’m fighting you.”
And for the first time—
Velatria’s playful smile cracked.
She realized she was losing.
The crater where Velatria landed still steamed with divine residue. She popped up like an offended cat, robe smudged with light-dust, cheeks red from impact, hair sparking wildly like fireworks trying to decide whether to explode or pout.
She pointed furiously at Nolan.
Velatria: “You’re being mean.”
Nolan rolled his shoulder; the Phoenix Armor shed molten sparks in annoyance. The feather-like ridges along his arms twitched like a predator’s hackles lifting.
Nolan: “You declared the duel.”
Velatria: “Yes, but I declared a dramatic, glamorous, goddess-grade performance! Not— THIS!”
Inside his head, the telepathic channel snapped open.
Record (dry): “She is technically trying now. Brace yourself.”
Velatria: “I CAN HEAR YOU! And yes—I’m done holding back!”
The air changed.
For the first time since the duel started, Velatria stopped being playful.
Her aura tightened, contracting into a dense sphere of creation-energy. A glyph formed around her hand—spiral runes folding into one another, bending space like molten gold poured into a shape that refused to stay still.
Nolan stepped back on instinct.
Nolan: “That one actually looks dangerous.”
Record: “It is. She’s finally dipping into her domain. Restriction magic. Terrain rewrite incoming.”
Nolan: “…I hate that phrase.”
Velatria clapped her hands together.
BOOOOM.
A divine shockwave exploded outward in a perfect ring. Everything the light touched warped.
Ground. Air. Sound. Mana.
Reality twisted around Nolan like invisible syrup.
Three divine decrees carved themselves into the air:
Rule: Armor-Degrade Zone – All armor weakens over time. Rule: Flame Retard – Ambient fire output reduced drastically. Rule: Mortal Velocity Dampening – All movement slowed.
Nolan felt the rules hit him like physical chains.
His armor hissed, flames dimming against invisible force. Plates tightened, resisting the new restrictions. Ember’s body flickered as though someone had dimmed her source of fire.
Ember (strained): “Papa… the air is heavy…”
Nolan lowered his center of gravity.
Nolan: “She’s forcing the battlefield.”
Record: “It’s a localized divine rewrite. She can’t break laws, but she can skew the conditions. She’s leveling the field… extremely pettily.”
Velatria (smug): “I’ll have you know this is advanced celestial balancing!”
Nolan took one step.
It felt like stepping into mud that had opinions.
The Phoenix Armor tried to flare—only for the flames to gutter like a choked fire.
Velatria: “NOW fight me without your crutches!”
Nolan cracked his knuckles, feather-ridges clinking like metal quills.
Nolan: “They’re not crutches. They’re tools. And you still underestimate me.”
Velatria lifted her hand and snapped her fingers.
Light erupted—hundreds of divine lightbullets forming around her like a glittering swarm of angry stars.
Then the barrage began.
Precise. Controlled. Intentional.
The Goddess had stopped treating this as playtime.
Each bullet struck Nolan’s armor—harder than before. Plates dented. Dents glowed. Glow became heat. Heat became tokens.
Ember gulped the tokens as fast as she could.
Ember: “Papa strong! More heat! More tokens!!”
Nolan swung through the barrage—each movement delayed by the enforced lag, each step dragging like moving underwater. Three lightbullets he cut, ten more slammed into his ribs.
He staggered.
The crowd gasped, thinking she had turned the fight.
They had no idea he was harvesting her attacks.
Velatria formed another sigil—this one sharper, precise, spiraling inward.
Record (urgent): “That’s an area-binding spell. It forces a divine timer into your body. Do not let it anchor.”
Nolan: “What does it do?”
Record: “Delays your reactions by a fraction of a beat.”
Nolan: “That sounds illegal.”
Record: “It is. She invented it.”
The glyph snapped.
Rule: Interval Lag – All mortal actions delayed.
Nolan felt it instantly.
His brain commanded. His body obeyed half a second later.
Velatria smirked.
Velatria: “NOW I can fight properly!”
She hurled another barrage—larger, hotter, sharper.
The hits rang through the armor like war-drums.
One shoulder plate cracked, spitting flame like a wounded animal. The Phoenix Armor snarled—feathers rising, vents spasming open.
Ember flared desperately, forcing fire into the weak points.
Ember: “Papa’s armor is ANGRY!”
Nolan: “Good. Let it work.”
He reached for a card—every motion fighting the interval lag.
Nolan: “Buying: Flame Valve.”
The card glowed. Ember inhaled deeply, drawing from the tokens she had been hoarding. Her flame-body briefly turned bright gold.
The armor convulsed.
Pressure valves along the plates burst—fire spurted out violently. Cracks sealed. Dents unfolded. Joints realigned with brutal efficiency.
Velatria’s smirk faltered.
Velatria: “Wait—WAIT—You can still REINFORCE under my rules?!”
Nolan didn’t answer.
He surged forward—slow, but unstoppable.
He hit her barrier like a burning sledgehammer.
The entire divine shield bent inward like soft metal. She screamed and threw up another layer—crooked, uneven—
It shattered.
Velatria: “STOP HITTING ME WHILE YOU’RE SLOWED!!”
Nolan: “You’re slowing me. Not stopping me.”
Another rule snapped into place.
Rule: Ground Friction Increase.
His feet stuck to the earth like glue.
He grinned.
Nolan: “Armor. Break it.”
The Phoenix Armor responded—
WHOOOOOM.
Fire blasted downward, melting the stone under him. He moved again, unhindered.
Velatria’s jaw dropped.
Velatria: “…You can brute-force my world edits?!”
Nolan raised his blazing sword.
Nolan: “Keep rewriting the battlefield,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep rewriting you.”
The duel, once comedic, now resembled a battlefield where a stubborn god and a stubborn human refused to let the other be correct.
And Nolan—finally—stopped pretending to be mortal.
The battlefield looked warped—stretched, twisted, covered in Velatria’s divine edits. Nolan’s armor hissed under the constraints. Ember clung to his shoulder, flame-body dimmed to a simmer. The air itself felt thick, heavy, resisting every movement.
Velatria hovered above him, hands on her hips, proud smile plastered across her face like a sticker.
Velatria: “There. Stop pretending you can overwhelm a goddess. You can’t brute-force my rules.”
Nolan rotated his neck, joints cracking like breaking stone. The Phoenix Armor groaned under the pressure—plates grinding, fireholes flickering like narrowed eyes.
He didn’t look intimidated. He looked… mildly annoyed.
Nolan: “Goddess. Before you get too comfortable, I need to explain something.”
Velatria lifted her chin, smug.
Velatria: “A speech? In the middle of my battlefield? How dramatic. Proceed.”
Inside Nolan’s head, the Akashic Record’s voice dropped to dry exasperation.
Record (telepathic): “Good. Educate her. She’s been dodging this explanation for three months.”
Velatria made a sound between a gasp and a gaspier gasp.
Velatria (telepathic): “I HAVE NOT BEEN DODGING ANYTHING!”
Record: “You skimmed the draft.”
Velatria: “IT HAD TOO MANY WORDS!”
Out loud, Nolan ignored both divine children bickering in his skull.
He lifted a card between two fingers.
Furnace of Will. The heartbeat-card of his entire deck.
The students didn’t recognize it. The teachers didn’t understand it. The Lich immediately straightened.
Nolan: “Goddess. Do you know the rule called banishment?”
Velatria’s smile twitched—just slightly, like a crack forming in glass.
Velatria: “I am the Creation Goddess. Why should I study rules made by other people? Mortals invent little mechanics all the time. That’s what YOU are for.”
A cold, flat voice chimed in Nolan’s ear.
Record: “This is why the system breaks every decade.”
Velatria: “I HEARD THAT!”
Nolan continued calmly, tone like a teacher forced to explain something very basic on the fifteenth try.
Nolan: “You should know, because banishment was created for one purpose: To let the world exceed its limitations.”
The crowd leaned forward.
The Goddess blinked, unimpressed.
Velatria: “It just means you send a card somewhere else instead of the graveyard. What’s the difference?”
Nolan: “You’re ignoring the implication.”
He tapped the ground.
Nolan: “The graveyard can hold spells, summons, effects, destroyed constructs. It is where magic rests before being reclaimed.”
He tapped the Furnace of Will card.
Nolan: “Banishment happens when the graveyard itself cannot contain an effect. When the potential is too strong. Too volatile. Too reality-breaking.”
A ripple of shock moved across the arena.
Even Arcanus whispered:
Arcanus: “Too strong… for the graveyard? But the graveyard holds everything…”
Nolan continued.
Nolan: “Banishment is rule-breaking codified into a mechanic. It lets the creator unleash the full potential of whatever material went into the card.”
Velatria blinked.
Then frowned.
Then blinked again.
Velatria: “…Full? Full like… FULL full?”
Nolan: “Yes. You saw it once already.”
He raised a brow.
Nolan: “The Hero’s Return.”
Her eyes widened.
Velatria: “THAT WAS BANISHMENT?!” “You— YOU CHEATED THE FIVE-CARD LIMIT—”
Record: “He applied the rule correctly. You didn’t read the update.”
Velatria: “WHY WOULD I READ NOLAN’S HOMEWORK?!”
Nolan cleared his throat.
Nolan: “This one is different.” “I wrote its potential intentionally.”
He raised the card, its surface glowing like a volcano heart.
Nolan: “Furnace of Will. Banished effect: Remove all human limits.”
Velatria froze. The arena froze. Even Ember froze.
Velatria: “Remove… ALL?”
Nolan: “Pain. Fatigue. Neural limiters. Muscle restraints. The body’s natural safety barriers. Everything humans evolved to prevent self-destruction.”
Velatria sputtered.
Velatria: “Then— you’ll hurt yourself!”
Nolan’s eyes glinted.
Nolan: “That’s what the Phoenix Armor is for.”
Before Velatria could protest—
He snapped the card.
The Furnace of Will card didn’t burn. It didn’t fade. It disintegrated into a white, colorless flame—so bright it made color itself retreat.
People shielded their eyes.
The white fire collapsed inward and sank into Nolan’s chest like a dying star turning into a singularity.
The reaction was immediate.
The armor convulsed—every plate cracking open like something inside was pushing outward.
Black metal shed in sheets—revealing glowing channels beneath.
White fire-feathers burst from the vents.
Each feather was jagged, serrated, demonic in shape—like phoenix plumage carved from burning bone.
The black mane around Nolan’s neck tore apart and reformed into long, curved quill-feathers of white fire, bending in unnatural directions, as though gravity no longer applied.
The armor’s plates shifted, re-locking into new configurations:
-
jagged ridges unfolding like wings
-
vents widening into featherlike slits
-
fire leaking sideways like molten breath
-
talon-like gauntlets forming at the fingertips
The entire structure pulsed—alive, unstable, wrong.
Not holy. Not divine.
Predatory.
Vaelreth’s scales rose.
Vaelreth: “…That flame isn’t white. It’s empty.”
The Lich’s sockets glowed.
Lich: “Magnificent. He made an armor that molts.”
Ember hovered with wide white eyes, her small body elongating slightly—absorbing and radiating the same unnatural heat.
Ember: “Papa… so bright… too hot… but Ember can help…”
She reached out and fed him fire—her own flames draining into the armor’s core.
Nolan’s voice echoed strangely—like speaking through an oven.
Nolan: “I don’t feel pain anymore.” “My nerves are disabled. My body no longer slows itself to prevent damage.”
He cracked his neck. The sound was like a stone pillar breaking.
Nolan: “The hotter the human body becomes, the faster it runs.” “Faster reflex. Faster thinking. Faster blood. Faster muscle contraction.”
He clenched a fist. The gauntlet cracked—then immediately reformed with a hiss as Ember stitched it with fire.
Nolan: “My body is trying to kill itself from overexertion.” “That’s what the Phoenix Armor is for.”
Velatria swallowed.
Velatria: “…To protect you?”
Nolan shook his head.
Nolan: “No. To keep me alive long enough to continue fighting while my body destroys itself.”
The arena fell silent.
He stepped forward.
The stone under him melted.
White fire poured from his armor like a demon’s breath.
Nolan: “This isn’t holiness.” “This isn’t heroism.” “This is what humanity looks like without limits.”
He raised his sword—now glowing with white fire.
Nolan: “Let’s continue.”**