The arena floor had been cleared of debris from the previous match, but the tension in the air remained. The announcer's voice rang out over the colosseum.
"Dren, The Beastmaster vs. Isolde, The Frost Reaper—enter the ring!"
A murmur spread through the audience. This was a battle of extremes—nature's wild fury against the unrelenting chill of winter.
Dren was the first to enter.
He moved with a casual, almost lazy grace, his cloak flowing around him as he stepped into the ring. His dark eyes gleamed with intelligence, scanning the battlefield with a calculating gaze. His lean frame was clad in reinforced leather, layered for flexibility and silent movement. At his heels, two enormous shadow panthers padded forward, their black fur shifting like liquid darkness, muscles coiled beneath their pelts.
And that wasn't all.
Something shifted beneath Dren's clothes.
Two serpents coiled around his wrists and forearms, hidden beneath his sleeves, their scaled bodies pressing lightly against his skin. Overhead, a black falcon perched on the colosseum's edge, watching from above.
Dren never fought alone.
Then came Isolde.
She strode into the arena like a phantom, her very presence sending a chill across the battlefield. A thin mist curled around her boots, and her silver-white hair shimmered in the daylight. Unlike Dren's dark and layered armor, Isolde wore only a fitted deep-blue coat, lined with enchanted fabric resistant to the cold she wielded. Her pale, almost translucent skin, along with her piercing ice-blue eyes, gave her an ethereal, almost otherworldly beauty.
But no one mistook her for fragile.
At her back, a greatsword of glacial steel rested—a weapon nearly as tall as she was, humming with frost magic so potent that even the air around it crystallized.
The crowd held their breath.
One fought with the cunning of beasts.
The other was the storm itself.
The announcer raised a hand.
"BEGIN!"
Ice vs. Instinct
Dren didn't waste time.
"Go."
At his command, the shadow panthers vanished into the mist. Their black forms flickered like phantoms as they spread out, one circling left, the other right. The black falcon shrieked from above, taking flight.
Isolde remained completely still.
She didn't need to chase them.
The air around her dropped in temperature, her very breath turning into white mist. The ground beneath her feet froze solid, ice creeping outward in jagged lines.
Dren's panthers pounced.
CRACK—!
A wave of frost exploded outward.
The first panther skidded to a stop, its paws coated in ice. It barely leaped back in time to avoid being frozen completely.
The second, more cautious, circled again, waiting for an opening.
Dren smirked. "Nice trick."
He flicked his wrists—
The serpents shot out.
They darted through the air, striking like arrows toward Isolde's exposed arms.
But the moment they neared her skin—
They froze midair.
Their scales turned brittle, tiny frost flakes spiraling to the ground.
Dren's eyes narrowed.
"Damn. She's colder than I thought."
Isolde moved.
In a blur of motion, she closed the distance, her greatsword raised. Dren barely dodged as the massive blade smashed down, sending a shockwave of ice across the arena.
The temperature plummeted.
The shadow panthers hesitated, their sleek fur frosted at the tips.
Dren clicked his tongue. "Too dangerous for you two."
At his command, they retreated.
But he wasn't done.
The black falcon swooped down.
Its wings cut through the cold, a sleek form diving toward Isolde's head—
But her hand shot out.
The moment her fingers brushed its feathers, the falcon let out a single piercing cry—
Then froze solid.
Midair.
Like a sculpture of black ice, it shattered against the frozen ground.
Dren's smirk faded.
The crowd gasped.
Isolde turned to him, expression unchanging. "Surrender."
Dren exhaled.
He reached into his cloak—
And tossed something to the ground.
A vial.
It shattered, releasing a thick, swirling smoke.
Isolde didn't move.
She didn't need to.
With a single swing of her greatsword, she parted the mist, sending a wave of frost through the cloud.
Silence.
The crowd waited.
The mist cleared—
And Dren was gone.
Isolde's eyes narrowed. She turned—
A shadow panther leaped from behind.
She raised her sword—
But it was a distraction.
Dren appeared behind her, a dagger aimed at her exposed back.
Too close.
She couldn't swing her sword fast enough—
So instead, she touched the ground.
A spike of ice erupted beneath her.
Dren barely twisted midair to avoid being impaled.
But the cold caught him.
His arm froze solid from the elbow down.
"Tch—!"
He landed, gripping his frozen limb, his breath quick. His dagger shattered in his grasp.
"One touch and I lose a limb. Just great."
Isolde tilted her head. "Last warning."
Dren chuckled, shaking his head.
He called his last shadow panther back, his movements slower now. He wasn't foolish. He could see the ending.
He had tried everything. His beasts, his tactics—
But she was too cold.
Too fast.
Too ruthless.
Dren let out a slow breath.
Then, he raised his hands.
"I surrender."
The announcer's voice boomed through the colosseum.
"Match over! Winner—Isolde, The Frost Reaper!"
The audience erupted into cheers and gasps, the intensity of the match leaving many breathless.
Dren flexed his frozen fingers, shaking his head with a wry grin. "That was brutal."
Isolde stepped forward, holding out a hand.
A pulse of magic thawed his arm in an instant.
Dren blinked. "You could've done that earlier, you know."
Isolde shrugged. "You needed to learn."
Dren chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
With that, the Frost Reaper turned away, her presence leaving the battlefield just as cold as before.
Match 5: Winner – Isolde!