the angel who lost his power but not his Will

The sun climbed higher above the stadium, casting a warm sheen across the sprawling tournament arena. The crowd's cheers surged like waves crashing against the cliffs, shaking the very foundation of the amphitheater as the semifinal matches commenced. Aevion stood beneath the shade of the arched hallway, gazing out toward the battlefield as his name echoed across the sky.

From the start of the chapter, eyes had already found him.

In the upper reaches of the coliseum, seated in an isolated balcony carved from silvery marble, Yui sat quietly. The wind tousled her honey-gold hair, and her bright lavender eyes followed Aevion with quiet intensity. Unlike the roaring crowd, she was silent. Her fingers rested delicately on the carved railing, a small bundle of parchment and petals tucked by her side. She had arrived before the matches began—alone, unnoticed. Though the world cheered for strength, her gaze searched for something else entirely.

Aevion stepped onto the battlefield.

No clones now. No shadows to echo his footsteps. He had been told before the semifinals began: this fight must be his and his alone. And so, he welcomed it.

His opponent was a stocky, stone-faced martial artist clad in thick navy robes. Muscles like granite and eyes like iron. Aevion bowed, respectfully, then dropped into his Taekwondo stance. The silence between them cracked like a whip—then the battle began.

The first clash sent a shockwave across the ring.

Aevion's movements were a storm of technique and adaptability. He used every form he had mastered: the snap of an axe kick, the fluid rotation of a spinning hook, the punishing force of a back kick, and the deceptive motion of a crescent to control space. His mastery was evident—grace wrapped in lethality.

His opponent blocked, countered, adapted—but Aevion's body had become a vessel of learning. Each motion folded into the next, refined further by the thousands of sparring hours against his own adaptive clones. Every kick was the culmination of infinite battles fought in solitude.

The match raged longer than most before it.

Sweat dripped from Aevion's brow, but his expression never changed. There was no smirk, no arrogance—only precision. The crowd's voices rose and fell like tides, unable to predict the outcome until, finally, a perfectly executed jumping roundhouse collided with the man's temple. The match ended in a flash.

Silence.

Then thunder.

The crowd erupted, and the announcer declared Aevion victorious. But he didn't raise his arms. Instead, he walked off the field, his eyes flickering once—just once—toward the marble balcony above.

Yui wasn't smiling. She clutched her parchments a little tighter.

The next match—his final opponent before the championship—awaited. A man cloaked in layered red sashes stood on the opposite side of the ring, eyes glowing with inner fire. Aevion stepped forward without hesitation.

This battle was faster. More brutal.

The red-cloaked fighter relied on elemental speed and burst strikes, each attack surging with heat. But Aevion's calm shone through. Using a mixture of evasive spinning kicks and direct knee counters, he closed the gap, forcing the man into pure reaction. Sweat stung his eyes, yet his breathing remained level, his footwork sharp, every kick clean.

In a final flourish of motion, Aevion spun low, sweeping his opponent's legs. As the man hit the ground, Aevion's heel hovered inches from his chest—but did not strike. A signal of control. Mercy, even now.

The final bell rang.

As Aevion turned away, the sun caught the shine of lavender light in the distance.

Yui was still watching.

The semifinals had ended. Aevion had emerged victorious—alone. No celebration. No conversation. The crowd chanted his name, but he disappeared back into the shade of the corridor.

In the silence of his chambers, as the cheers continued to echo outside, Aevion stared at his wrapped hands. Bruised. Calloused. Strong.

Tomorrow was the finals.

But for now, he simply breathed.

The arena was drenched in silence, broken only by the shifting murmurs of the crowd, anticipation thick enough to taste. Aevion stood at the center of the battleground, muscles coiled, senses alert. This was the last step — the fight he had prepared for in countless hours of training and solitude.

From the opposite side emerged his final opponent. Calm. Calculated. Every movement measured, as if every strike was a question posed to Aevion, waiting for the perfect answer.

Aevion's eyes narrowed. He felt the weight of the moment but kept his mind clear. No clones this time. No distractions. Just himself — his skill, his will, his body.

From the stands, Yui watched intently. Her honey-gold hair caught the fading sunlight, her lavender eyes steady and unwavering. No cheers, no calls — just a quiet presence, lending strength from afar. The slightest clench of her fists betrayed the concern she held deep inside.

The battle began.

Aevion moved first, launching a swift roundhouse kick, fluid and precise. His opponent dodged effortlessly, retaliating with a series of strikes that tested Aevion's defenses. Blow after blow, the fight escalated — a dance of speed, strength, and cunning.

Sweat slicked his brow, breath coming in controlled gasps. The opponent's technique was flawless, adapting instantly to every tactic Aevion employed. Each exchange forced him to dig deeper, to summon every ounce of skill he had forged in his relentless training.

Yui's gaze never wavered. She leaned forward slightly, eyes bright with a silent plea, urging him onward without a single word.

Aevion's muscles burned, but something inside him sparked — a quiet flame of determination. He recalled his countless hours mastering taekwondo kicks, perfecting his strikes, bending and reshaping abilities as he'd practiced alone.

With renewed focus, he shifted his stance, flowing into a spinning hook kick that caught his opponent off guard, landing solidly.

The tide turned.

Pushing forward, Aevion combined a flurry of precise kicks and sudden ability conjurations, breaking through the opponent's defenses. The air crackled as his final strike landed — a decisive blow that sent his adversary staggering.

Silence fell, then shattered by the eruption of the crowd's cheers.

Aevion stood panting, every muscle screaming, but victorious.

From the stands, Yui was suddenly moving — running toward him, her face alight with relief and something deeper. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him.

Aevion responded instantly, his hug firm and grounding.

No words were spoken. None were needed.

In that embrace, amid the roaring crowd and flashing lights, they both understood: this victory was only the beginning.