UNMEI: Pantheon's Game-Chapter 110: Two At The Top

"Next battle!" Ramires announced with a sharp flick of his coat, voice booming through the entire arena.

"From the Top 10 ranks, Lucas Neville versus Magnus Solberg!"

A surge of energy ran through the stadium as the names were spoken. Both combatants walked onto the wide stone platform under the eyes of tens of thousands.

Magnus Solberg was broad-shouldered and grim, a hunter's presence about him. His right hand gripped a blade already glowing with a sickly green Neba that buzzed through the air like angry hornets.

Lucas Neville, in contrast, looked calm, slim frame, his brown hair falling across one eye, gloved hands in his coat pockets. He barely seemed to acknowledge his opponent.

"Begin!"

Magnus struck first.

He raised his sword and slashed horizontally through the air, but instead of hitting Lucas, he launched a wave of green Neba, shaped like a crescent blade.

The wave hissed through the air and curved toward Lucas with a roar.

Lucas took one step forward.

And vanished.

The green blade slammed into the ground behind where he once stood, carving the earth open in a spiral line that snapped through stone like it was paper.

The audience gasped.

Magnus spun, sensing danger, and barely raised his blade in time to deflect a fist. Lucas had reappeared in front of him without a sound.

"Did he teleport!?"

Another green slash.

This time Magnus sent four waves at once, two directly and two that burrowed into the earth and launched upward from below Lucas.

But Lucas didn't dodge. He simply stepped again and disappeared.

The green blasts exploded harmlessly in the background.

Lucas reappeared at the edge of the platform and began walking calmly toward Magnus again, hands still in his pockets.

"Lucas keeps defending but Magnus is pressing with raw offense. Let's see how long Neville can slip through chaos!"

Magnus, frustrated, let out a cry and raised his sword high. Green Neba swirled around him like a tornado before surging into the blade.

It began glowing violently, releasing homing streaks of light, each one sharp and fast like a missile.

Dozens of green arcs fired toward Lucas, looping from all angles. Some came from the front. Others from behind, digging out of the stone. A few struck from above like rain.

Lucas closed his eyes for a moment.

Then took a single step.

The entire wave passed right through empty space.

What the hell? Dune thought, eyes narrowing. He glanced at Atlas and Ned. "You guys getting it?"

Atlas shook his head. "I thought it was teleportation, but now I'm confused."

The fight below continued. Magnus turned in circles, sweating, trying to track Lucas, who kept vanishing and appearing at impossible angles. He finally got a lucky swing, grazing Lucas' arm.

Lucas stumbled back, face still unreadable.

Then, he stepped forward again.

And Magnus's foot met empty space. He staggered, caught off balance,

Lucas appeared above him and drove a knee into his chest, forcing Magnus to the ground with a crunch. Magnus tried to roll, but even after he rolled he still stood at the same place.

He froze for half a second. Just enough. "What?"

Lucas grabbed his collar, spun him with brutal force, And kicked him off the platform.

"Winner, Lucas Neville!" Ramires shouted as Magnus hit the ground below, groaning, green sparks fading.

The crowd roared.

Dune, meanwhile, had gone still. His eyes were wide, but focused. Then he finally spoke.

"He's not teleporting," Dune said slowly. "He's erasing the space."

Ned blinked. "Erasing?"

"Yes," Dune continued. "He's deleting parts of the space between him and others. That's why Magnus couldn't change directions properly, he just removes what's in the way and steps through."

Atlas's mouth opened slightly. "That's... insane."

"It also lets him avoid attacks," Dune added. "He's not moving fast, he's removing the area where the attack would've connected. That's why Magnus's tracking waves missed. They weren't outsped, they just had nothing to hit."

Ned leaned forward, voice low. "That kind of ability... It's dangerous."

Dune nodded.

"Yeah. And that's why he's top ten."

As Lucas returned to the waiting chamber with just a scratch, the scoreboard glowed,

his name rising:

Lucas Neville – 3000→ 3500

Another battle done.

"Next match, Atlas versus Groven Elbar!"

As Ramires shouted the names, the crowd went wild.

"That's the guy! That's Atlas!"

"He's second place after the Red Devil! They say he crossed the hundred gates!"

"He's one of the favourites, some even think he'll win the whole thing!"

Inside the preparation chamber, Dune gave his friend a light nod. "Good luck out there."

Ned grinned, slapping Atlas on the back. "Give it your all okay?"

Atlas just gave a small smile. "I'll make it quick."

He stepped forward and ascended the stone stairs to the arena.

Across the field stood Groven, a massive brute of a teenager with cracked stone armor around his fists and neck. The moment he stepped forward, the stone beneath him fractured, just from the pressure of his raw physical strength.

"Tch. One of those types," Dune muttered.

As the two fighters faced each other in the center, Groven cracked his neck.

"You don't look like much," Groven growled, slamming his fists together. "Better brace."

Atlas didn't respond. His breathing slowed. Calm. Focused.

"BEGIN!"

Groven surged forward, a blur of muscle, his punch tearing straight through the stone tile like paper.

Atlas ducked under the first strike, his body flowing like water.

Groven spun, delivering another devastating blow, the air shook with the force, but again, Atlas slipped past it with precise footwork.

"What's he doing?" someone muttered from the crowd.

Atlas was channeling, calmly letting his Neba pulse through his limbs. He didn't need to clash right away. He was collecting rhythm, building energy, drawing in the movement of the fight.

Finally, he moved.

Groven roared and slammed a downward fist that shattered the arena tile in a crater.

Atlas calmly sidestepped and struck.

A clean jab to Groven's ribs.

The hit landed with a burst of force, but something strange happened.

As Groven stumbled from the blow, a second burst of Neba exploded from the same spot, as if the Neba had returned and struck again, a delayed echo of Atlas's punch.

Groven choked, coughing blood, stumbling backward.

"What the hell was that?" one announcer shouted.

"Was that a rebound hit?"

"That's it ladies and gentlemen, Atlas' special technique..." Ramires shouted. "a technique that lets his Neba snap back after impact. It's not just a punch, it's a double strike from one move."

Atlas stepped forward again and another heavy blow.

Two hits. Always two. The second one catching Groven off-guard every time.

Groven tried to launch a wide sweep of his arm, Atlas ducked again, and this time, he threw a leg kick."

Groven was thrown backward, his feet scraping the stone until he hit the platform's edge and tumbled off.

"Winner, Atlas Ceresey!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as Atlas turned and walked away without a scratch.

His name glowed bright on the wall.

Atlas – 7000 → 7500.

Back in the chamber, Dune greeted him with a smirk. "Well done!"

Atlas gave a subtle grin. "For now."

Dune looked back at the arena, his eyes thoughtful.

The battles continued, but with Atlas's calm domination, the tension in the arena had only just begun to build.

"Next battle, Azrael Rodeny against Lukard Nodel."

The bell hadn't even finished ringing.

Lukard stepped forward, barely lifting his arms in a shaky guard, his Neba flickering to life, but it was already too late.

A streak of red blurred across the platform like lightning.

Azrael appeared before him, arm cocked back, his crimson hair catching the sun like a comet's tail.

With a single push, he pressed his fist into Lukard's chest. There was no time for screams or retaliation.

A pulse of invisible pressure shattered the air, and Lukard was launched backward, off the arena, his body hitting the ground like a thrown doll.

The crowd seemed frozen, eyes wide, breaths held... until, slowly, laughter started to echo from different sections.

"That was it?"

"He didn't even use his ability!"

"This is too easy!"

"Azrael! Azrael! Azrael!"

The name rolled like thunder across the stadium, Azrael simply turned, calm and unbothered, and walked off the platform like it was routine.

From the viewing room, Dune narrowed his eyes.

"He's... fast," Ned muttered, fists clenched slightly.

"He won't show his abilities until the finals... smart move," Atlas added, his gaze still locked on Azrael's figure.

The air buzzed with tension.

And then came the whispers.

Did you see Atlas earlier? He's the other one who crossed 100 gates..."

"I want to see them fight!"

"Azrael vs Atlas... that's the real final!"

Even the crowd began chanting it softly, hungrily.

"Red Devil... vs Second Sun..."

"I would pay thousand gold to see that matchup!"