Extra's POV: I am the Sixteenth Son

The Martial Ring fell dead silent.

Ares and Sylas stood across from each other, the last two fighters standing. The stone floor between them felt like a battlefield waiting to explode.

Both had crushed two matches each. Only one would walk away as class captain.

No crowd noise. No instructor chatter. Just the low buzz of magic in the air and hearts hammering like war drums.

Ares sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm the fire racing through his veins. His sword felt solid in his grip.

Sylas stood there like a statue, spinning his spear lazily with one hand before dropping into his fighting stance. He looked so relaxed he might as well have been taking a nap.

'He's not even treating me like I'm dangerous…' Ares thought, his jaw tightening.

"Well, this should be fun," Sylas said with a small smirk. "Try not to trip over your own feet."

A few students snickered from the stands.

Jareth's voice boomed across the field. "Begin!"

Ares exploded forward like a lightning bolt, his boots crackling as he burst across the stone. His sword came down in a wicked slash aimed at Sylas's ribs.

Sylas stepped aside like he was dodging a lazy fly. His spear whipped around in a backward sweep that would have taken Ares's head off if he hadn't ducked.

The fight erupted into chaos.

Ares came at him like a wild animal, throwing everything he had. Flames roared from his palm, ice spikes shot up from the floor like deadly flowers, and lightning wrapped around his blade like an angry snake. The air sizzled and crackled with raw power.

But Sylas moved like he was dancing with the wind itself. Every punch, every slash, every blast of magic met nothing but empty air or the smooth wood of that cursed spear. He took tiny steps that looked effortless but kept him just out of reach.

"Come on, is that all you've got?" Sylas called out, not even breathing hard.

Ares snarled and launched another attack, ice coating his fist as he swung.

Sylas waited. He always waited, like a cat watching a mouse run around in circles. When Ares stretched too far on a desperate lunge, Sylas finally struck.

CRACK!

The butt of his spear slammed into Ares's ribs like a hammer. The sound echoed through the ring as Ares went flying backward, skidding across the stone on his back.

"Ouch," someone in the crowd winced. "That's gonna leave a mark."

Ares rolled over and pushed himself up, spitting blood. His ribs felt like they were on fire. 'He's barely even trying... and I'm already falling apart.'

They clashed again.

Ares tried his ice touch, frost spreading from his fingers. Sylas ducked under it smoothly, wind magic lifting him up as he spun, forcing Ares to stumble backward.

Another brutal exchange.

Ares roared like a beast and charged in with flames coating his sword. The blade glowed orange-hot, trailing fire. Sylas pivoted like he was made of smoke and drove his spear point straight into Ares's shoulder with surgical precision.

'He's making me look like a child.'

Ares staggered backward, eyes wide with shock and pain. Sylas hadn't used a single flashy technique. No big magical explosions. No fancy footwork.

Just perfect movement, perfect defense, perfect counters.

The worst part? He wasn't even sweating. His hair wasn't even messed up.

And Ares... was falling apart.

He backed up, gasping for air, watching Sylas walk toward him like a predator stalking wounded prey.

'I could use Fire Bolt.'

His eyes narrowed as the desperate thought hit him.

That technique... the crazy fusion of flame and lightning that had nearly killed him in practice. It had worked once. But it drained everything he had. He might land a hit, but afterward he'd be as useful as a wet noodle.

'If I miss, I'm finished. If I hit... I'm still probably finished.'

Sylas kept walking closer, his spear spinning lazily in his hand.

"Still standing?" he asked, sounding almost bored. "Color me impressed. Most people would be crying by now."

A few students laughed, but it sounded nervous.

Ares gritted his teeth so hard they might crack. 'If I'm going down... then I'm going down swinging.'

He took a shaky breath. His hands started to spark and crackle. A golden flame bloomed in his palm, small and innocent at first. Then it grew sharper, wilder, angrier. Lightning wrapped around it like a tiny tornado made of pure electricity.

Sylas's casual expression vanished. His eyes went sharp as knives.

"What in the seven hells is that?" he breathed.

Ares's magic core felt like it was screaming. His arms turned to lead. His vision got fuzzy around the edges, but he held the pose, aiming his hand like a gun.

The crowd leaned forward. Even the instructors looked tense.

"FIRE BOLT!"

The blast shot forward like a comet, blazing gold and white, fast as lightning and twice as angry.

Sylas moved purely on instinct. He threw up his spear and wrapped himself in a spinning wall of wind magic, the air howling around him like a miniature hurricane.

Too slow.

BOOOOM!

The explosion rocked the entire arena. The stone floor cracked and split in a perfect cone of destruction. Wind scattered dust and debris into the stands. Students dove for cover. Even Instructor Veltrissa's eyes went wide.

The barrier held, but just barely.

Sylas was launched backward like a rag doll, his spear spinning through the air as he hit the ground hard and rolled. Smoke rose from his arms and chest where the blast had touched him.

The crowd sat in stunned silence.

He slowly pushed himself up, coughing and shaking his head. The moment his eyes cleared, they found Ares...

Flat on his back.

Not moving.

Out cold.

His chest rose and fell steadily, but he was completely drained, like a battery that had given everything it had.

Sylas limped over to retrieve his spear, moving like every step hurt. He stood over Ares's still form and gently placed the spear tip at his throat, then looked up at the instructors.

"He can't continue," he said, his voice rough from smoke. "I win."

Jareth nodded slowly, still looking shocked.

"Match over. Winner: Sylas de Eisenklinge."

---

There were no cheers.

No victory roars.

Just dead silence that felt heavier than stone.

Even Instructor Veltrissa was staring with something that might have been respect.

Ares had lost the match, but that final attack had shaken everyone to their core.

In the stands, whispers started spreading like wildfire.

"Did you see that thing he threw?"

"What kind of spell was that?"

"Two elements at once? That's supposed to be impossible..."

"Kid nearly took Sylas's head off, he's definitely a monster."

Instructor Sinclair leaned over to Jareth and whispered, "He lost the fight..."

Jareth nodded, but his eyes stayed on the unconscious boy. "But he might have won something much bigger."

Down in the ring, Sylas looked at his singed arms and shook his head with what might have been admiration.

"Crazy bastard," he muttered under his breath. "Almost killed us both."

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A/N – Was it fire or mid? Don't just vanish—powerstone, comment, review. Let me feel your presence.