CHAPTER - 62

  Narrator: With a push on his back, Dante Di Valverde smiled at Dav and said in a confident voice:

  "I'll take care of the rear."

  Dav, with a half-smile, felt his courage and determination strengthen within him.

  "Leave it to me."

  He stepped through the threshold of the arena, his eyes gleaming as a wave of sound engulfed him.

  400,000 people filled the stands, cheering with joy, waving banners and flags.

  The energy was overwhelming.

  For a moment, the weight of the tension struck him.

  But just one breath—just one—and his smile returned.

  He looked at the crowded stands as a rain of pink petals fell upon him, accompanying his entrance.

  With steady steps, he advanced to the center of the arena.

  Waiting for him was none other than Azrael Kingsley.

  Dav observed him and spoke with a firm tone:

  "Make sure to give it your all."

  Azrael smiled, his face illuminated by the golden uniform with the American emblem etched on his chest.

  "The same goes for you, my friend."

  They shook hands, then their weapons were drawn.

  Azrael looked at him with a puzzled, almost comical expression before bursting into incredulous laughter.

  "Are you kidding me?! You challenge me to a serious duel and then bring a wooden greatsword?!"

  Dav, with a slight smirk, rested the sword on his shoulder and replied calmly:

  "If you manage to break it, I’ll grant you the honor of seeing me use my sacred weapon."

  Azrael burst into laughter, both amused and exhilarated.

  The commentator, holding the microphone, raised his voice above the roar of the crowd:

  "Step back and wait for the countdown!"

  Dav and Azrael distanced themselves by dozens of meters, locking eyes from afar. The audience held their breath.

  The commentator began to count, and with him, the entire world.

  "10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5..."

  Every spectator, from the stands to their homes, clenched their fists.

  "4... 3... 2..."

  A second of absolute silence.

  "1... FIGHT!"

  And in that millisecond, Dav and Azrael were already face-to-face.

  Their swords clashed with a devastating impact.

  A shockwave exploded through the air, lifting a massive cloud of dust that completely obscured the view.

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  For a few moments, no one could see anything.

  As the dust settled, Dav and Azrael remained there, their swords locked against each other.

  Azrael took a step back and unleashed his crimson aura, a pulsating energy that set the air ablaze around him.

  With a blistering burst, he charged at Dav with a flurry of perfect, precise strikes.

  Dav parried them with apparent ease, one hand behind his back, his gaze impassive as he analyzed every movement of his opponent.

  The shockwaves of the blows echoed through the arena, but not a single attack shook Dav or made him budge an inch.

  When Azrael attempted another strike, Dav countered with a frighteningly powerful thrust, pulling him toward him.

  Azrael, acting on instinct, barely dodged the lethal attack, which grazed his cheek and shattered half of the arena floor.

  The crowd gasped. A thin cut appeared on Azrael’s cheek. His eyes lit up with excitement.

  "Interesting..." he whispered, as his aura expanded even further.

  With blazing fury, he launched himself at Dav again, striking from every angle with superhuman speed.

  The ground beneath them cracked, their attacks carving deep trenches into the floor.

  Dav, with absolute calm, raised an arm toward the sky.

  Twenty magic circles appeared around the arena, all aimed directly at Azrael.

  Azrael's eyes widened for a moment, surprised, before he began to move.

  He had to evade them.

  Blasts of energy rained down on him at terrifying speed.

  Some strikes he managed to block with his sword, while others—strangely—seemed to miss him on purpose.

  But every step pushed him further and further back.

  Azrael shouted through the flashes of light:

  "Take your real sword and fight me, my friend!"

  Dav ignored him and gripped his wooden sword with one hand.

  In the blink of an eye, he was in front of Azrael, already mid-strike.

  Azrael barely managed to raise his blade in time to parry.

  The impact was colossal.

  The ground beneath them shattered, creating a massive crater.

  Dav withdrew a few steps, while Azrael prepared his counterattack.

  A fierce exchange of blows began. An impossible speed to the human eye, lightning-fast parries, no breaks.

  The ground was carved by their strikes, debris flying everywhere.

  The earth split into giant floating chunks, twenty meters wide, rising into the air.

  And atop those airborne platforms, the two warriors continued their battle, slicing through stone and air with destructive power.

  With a devastating strike, Dav sent Azrael crashing against the arena wall.

  He gave him no time to recover.

  In less than a millisecond, he was already upon him, ready to strike again.

  Azrael dodged at the last moment, sliding to the side and countering with a series of rapid slashes.

  Dav met each attack blow for blow, as the arena trembled under the intensity of their fight.

  Gusts of wind and tremors shook the battlefield.

  It was a clash of titans.

  And the entire world was watching.

  Azrael leapt back, hovering in midair as he slowed his fall with his flames. He raised his hand, aiming it at Dav.

  A lethal attack.

  A colossal blast of dark magic gathered at an astonishing speed.

  The energy concentrated until it formed a projectile of pure destruction, two hundred times the size of a man.

  Then, with a thunderous roar, he launched it at Dav.

  The impact was cataclysmic.

  The explosion engulfed Dav in a vortex of darkness and sheer power.

  The ground shook, the air vibrated.

  For a long, eternal moment, the crowd held their breath.

  Then, the screams erupted.

  Half the world cheered for Azrael’s victory, while the other half—including all of Italy—plunged into panic.

  Only Azrael, his skin tingling, remained still. He landed slowly, but did not celebrate.

  And then, he saw him.

  As the dust settled, Dav was still there.

  Unscathed.

  Only a tiny scratch marked his skin. But his eyes... were void of light.

  Azrael understood many things in that moment.

  Dav released his dark aura—an oppressive shadow that engulfed the entire arena.

  The weight of his power crushed Azrael, forcing him to his knees.

  And then, the circle appeared.

  A colossal magic circle, identical to the one he had used ten years ago against the final boss of an era.

  But this time... it was on him.

  The energy within it was terrifying.

  Devastating. Deadly.

  Azrael clenched his teeth.

  With his sword, with his barriers, with his enchanted armor—he put everything he had into resisting.

  But it wouldn’t be enough.

  An instant before the attack struck, Dav regained control.

  With superhuman effort, he redirected the blast just enough to lessen the damage on Azrael. But the shockwave was still immense.

  Azrael screamed, fighting desperately against the impact.

  The attack shattered all his defenses—his sword, his barriers, his armor.

  Nothing withstood Dav’s wrath.

  The arena’s barriers exploded.

  The level 8 mages and the great level 10 mage rushed to erect hundreds of protective walls for the audience.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  Their barriers collapsed one after another like brittle twigs.

  Then, the explosion.

  A shockwave so immense that it made all of America tremble.

  The world stood still.

  In the stands, people knelt, trembling.

  When the dust finally settled, silence reigned over the arena.

  The arena was no more.

  It had been reduced to dust.

  And in the heart of the destruction, lay Azrael.

  Wounded. Bleeding. Bones broken. In pain. But alive.

  Not by chance.

  Dav had saved him at the last moment.

  No one spoke.

  Dav walked up to Azrael. Not with arrogance, not with superiority.

  He sat beside him, hands on the ground, just as exhausted.

  And then, without a word, he shook his hand.

  Azrael looked at him, his eyes filled with respect and gratitude.

  With a broken voice, he whispered:

  "Thank you... for not making me look bad in front of my son... my wife... and the whole world."

  Azrael understood.

  Dav could have ended it from the very first moment.

  He didn’t.

  Dav stood up, then extended a hand to Azrael, helping him to his feet. Not only that.

  He raised Azrael’s arm high.

  As if they had both won.

  The world erupted into a deafening cheer.

  Fireworks lit up the sky. People embraced, cried, celebrated.

  That day, there was no winner.

  There was no Top 1.

  There was no Top 2.

  That day, there were only Dav and Azrael.

  END OF CHAPTER 62