My Supernatural Girlfriends Spoils Me Rotten

The remains of Kraag the Bonebreaker had barely turned to dust when the arena's energy rose once again.

Thunderous cheers still echoed in the stadium, but anticipation simmered underneath.

After that overwhelming display of power, the crowd couldn't sit still. Everyone was eager to see what the next battle had in store.

Although the two brothers had very different fighting styles, both ended up gaining their own kinds of fans.

Some admired Ash for his calm and controlled way of fighting, while others cheered for Ashley, who used overwhelming power to crush his opponents before they even knew what hit them.

The announcer's voice returned, this time steadier, more composed, though a trace of awe still lingered in his tone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, after that breathtaking display, we now turn to a different kind of strength… a battle of beauty, and elegance."

"Representing the Fairy Kingdom, and daughter of Queen Mirelyn herself. Please welcome… Ashmae Aurelius!"

Wind began to stir across the arena, and colorful glowing spores floated through the air, making it look like the whole place was filled with sparkling glitter.

From the ground, a single flower bloomed—its petals shimmering with translucent rainbow colors

From within that swirl of light, she stepped out, her feet landing gently on the blooming petals as if she were part of it.

Her dress looked like it was made from glowing leaves and soft vines, as if the forest itself had woven it for her.

Ashmae was small, standing just five feet tall, with a slim and delicate body—so delicate that her hands looked like they could break with just a little pressure.

But anyone who truly knew her wouldn't dare underestimate her power.

"She's even more beautiful than I imagined," whispered a young boy in the crowd, clutching his older sister's arm.

"Don't be fooled by her face," the sister said, her lips curling into a small pout, eyes narrowing with a mix of suspicion and envy.

And honestly, she wasn't the only one feeling that way.

Almost every girl in the arena had the same reaction—silent envy tucked behind forced smiles or stunned stares.

After all, Mirelyn, was already considered the most beautiful of the Three Queens.

People said her beauty could charm gods or stop wars.

But her daughter? Her daughter was even more mesmerizing. And if someone could outshine the queen of beauty herself… well, that said a lot.

The atmosphere changed again.

The ground trembled. Smoke poured from the dark gates at the far end of the arena.

"And her opponent!" the announcer shouted. "From the Lerek Capital, Rak the burner"

The demon stood at nearly twelve feet tall, his body packed with dark muscle and wrapped in rusted armor.

His wings were made of scorched bone, and his eyes glowed like burning coals.

Fire curled around his arms, and his claws were long and hot, like metal fresh from a forge.

He grinned wide. "A flower? Cute."

Ashmae said nothing, and just smiled.

SWOOOSH!

Rak moved fast for someone so big. With a roar, he dashed forward, the fire on his body blazing brighter.

He swung one burning fist toward her, but it just passed through.

A swirl of petals flew where she had been, spinning gently in the air.

"Here," she whispered, voice coming from behind him.

Rak turned too late. A green flash hit his side—not hard, but enough to make him grunt.

"Annoying brat," he growled.

"Oh, mister, you've got such a bad temper," she teased, twirling a finger in the air. "I love poking at grumpy people."

More copies of her began to appear—floating illusions, all slightly see-through but moving and laughing just like the real her.

They zipped around Rak, throwing weak attacks. None of them could hurt him badly, but there were so many that he couldn't focus.

Zap! Flash! Spark!

Rak grunted and swung his arm, trying to swat them away—but they were too fast.

"Enough!"

He roared, voice shaking the whole arena. His fists slammed into the ground, and the stone stage cracked.

Then, fire burst up from the ground. The entire arena floor turned red-hot as magma flowed up in rivers. The copies burned away in a flash of steam and smoke.

Ashmae floated higher, completely untouched by the rising heat below. A playful smile danced on her lips.

"I might be half-dragon. But I really hate fire."

She lifted her hand.

Suddenly, from the boiling magma below, thick roots began to rise—cracking through the molten surface like they didn't care about the heat at all.

There was no reason they should survive in such a place… and yet, they didn't burn.

Instead, they thrived.

The roots kept growing—twisting, coiling, thick as tree trunks.

One by one, they formed into massive figures—twenty feet tall—ancient tree giants with bark that shimmered with magical light.

Their bodies were covered in glowing veins of color, and around their shoulders and arms, multicolored leaves fluttered like cloaks.

The crowd gasped in awe.

Even Rak paused, frowning at the sight of the magma-cracking roots now towering over him like forest titans born from the very fire he summoned.

Rak roared in frustration. "Your silly games won't stop me!"

He swung his claws with a roar, cleaving through one of the thick roots. It burst—not into splinters—but into a puff of colorful pollen.

The forest reacted.

Vines slithered up from the cracks and coiled around his legs like snakes.

Roots surged upward, twisting around his body, tugging them down .

"What the hell is this?!" the demon roared, eyes wide with disbelief as more roots coiled up his arms, tightening like shackles.

He thrashed, flames bursting from his mouth and claws—but it was already too late.

Every blast of fire only made the vines stronger, the flowers brighter, the forest lusher. His strength, his rage, his very heat—it was being consumed.

From above, Ashmae floated gracefully, covering her mouth as a soft giggle escaped.

"Oh no," she teased, eyes twinkling, "are my vines too clingy? Maybe they just like you."