chapter 60 - The Day the Dome Started Melting
The Colosseum did not shake because of motion.
It trembled because the air itself was trying to run away.
Heat rolled off Nolan in waves—white-fire heat, the kind that didn’t glow or flicker, but bent the world around it. The stone beneath his feet darkened, bubbled, then sagged like wax beneath a torch. Every breath he released made the air drier, thinner, as though the world couldn’t afford moisture anywhere near him.
Students shielded their faces.
Professors reinforced their barriers.
Even the royal viewing box shimmered from the thermal distortion.
The Phoenix Armor moved with each breath—its white-fire feathers flicking sharply, vent-slits along his arms throbbing like the gills of a furnace beast. Ember perched on his shoulder, shrunken into a compact flame-child so she wouldn’t vaporize the nearest wall, her white eyes glowing like twin stars.
Nolan lifted his sword.
He didn’t swing.
Simply raising it tore the air.
“Buying—Aura Blade,” he murmured.
A ripple of tokens vanished from Ember’s hands, and the sword howled as white fire condensed along its edge. A second mechanic layered over it—
“Shockwick—activate.”
The moment both effects fused, the atmosphere buckled.
A rift of compressed air tore open in a straight line from Nolan’s sword tip to the far end of the arena wall, a heavy sonic crack thundering through the dome. The light bent. Dust leapt away from him. The ground trembled again—not from impact, but from recoil.
Up above, Velatria hovered, shielding her eyes against the pressure wave.
“…You’re actually using those together?” she breathed.
Inside Nolan’s mind, her voice sharpened:
Velatria (telepathic): “Are you TRYING to cut the planet?”
Nolan (telepathic, calm): “If I were trying, the stadium wouldn’t be standing.”
Record (dry): “Both of you stop dramatizing. He is town-level at best. But at THIS temperature, yes, he could incinerate the Colosseum by breathing wrong.”
Velatria’s eyebrows twitched.
Out loud, she tried to keep her tone regal.
“I see. Weakening you won’t work anymore.”
Nolan lowered the sword just enough to speak.
“You finally noticed.”
She clicked her tongue.
“Every rule suppressing you drains mana. And every time I rewrite the field, it strains the local world fabric. I can’t afford to destabilize reality over a duel.” She huffed. “So weakening you is pointless.”
Inside the channel—
Record: “Velatria, if you use one more suppression field, I swear I will file a divine misconduct claim.”
Velatria: “I KNOW. I KNOW. The mortal world can’t handle it! Stop breathing on my neck—”
Record: “Then buff yourself, you glittering liability.”
Velatria: “…Rude.”
She lifted her arms, gold radiance swirling around her wrists. Instead of flicking rules outward, she curled the sigils inward toward her own body.
Her hair lifted as if gravity forgot to apply.
Her eyes narrowed, glowing sharper.
Her fingers flexed, and air rippled around her like she’d stepped into her own private atmosphere.
“Rule: Reaction Overclock.”
A circle of spiraling runes wrapped her skull.
“Rule: Velocity Correction.”
A gold ring circled her legs.
“Rule: Kinetic Shield Reinforcement.”
Three floating sigils snapped into place like armor plates.
Her aura tightened—and the playful goddess expression faded into something competent.
Inside Nolan’s mind:
Nolan: “Good. Use your real strength.”
Velatria: “Oh now YOU want me to take this seriously?”
Nolan: “We’re at the climax. You need to show you’re still a goddess. And I need to show I’m still a threat.”
A cold, monotone sigh cut across the channel.
Record: “Both of you. Listen carefully.”
Nolan and Velatria paused.
Record: “Velatria—if Nolan beats you too badly, people lose faith in you. Nolan—if Velatria does something foolish, you will beat her too badly. So BOTH of you stop being idiots and fight properly.”
Velatria shrieked in offense.
Nolan exhaled through his nose, adjusting his grip.
White fire crawled along the phoenix-feather vents of his armor—hungry, pulsing, melting the ground beneath his feet one heartbeat at a time.
Velatria finished her final buff rule.
She spread her arms.
Her divine aura sharpened like a blade.
“Fine then,” she said. “Let’s show them why gods are still gods.”
Nolan stepped forward.
The world cracked like thunder.
“Agreed.”
Heat rolled off Nolan like a furnace coming to life. The stone below him crackled, fissures spiderwebbing outward as dried earth fractured under the sheer temperature. The air around him turned thin and brittle, humidity evaporating in seconds.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Velatria floated above the arena, surrounded by three rings of runes glowing faint gold. These weren’t decorative symbols—they were Creation Runes, divine logic in motion. Each ring rotated with its own rhythm: one predicting momentum, one rewriting local force vectors, one calculating the shortest path for light to travel.
She should have been unstoppable.
But she wasn’t using any of it correctly.
Nolan raised his flaming sword. Ember drank the fire leaking from his armor, her small arms stretched wide as she sucked in heat like a starving spark.
“Papa hotter! More tokens!” she chirped.
Nolan bought another card with a flick of his fingers.
“Buying: Aura Blade.”
The aura coated his sword like a burning current. Nolan swung once—
WHOOOM—
A crack split the arena air. He broke the sound barrier with raw physical speed alone.
Velatria flinched mid-air, hair flying back.
Inside Nolan’s mind, the divine channel snapped open.
Akashic Record’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass.
“Velatria. You went to the Celestial School of Combat for FOUR TERMS. Use something from the syllabus.”
Velatria’s eyes flew open in offended shock.
“Excuse YOU—I passed that school!”
“You passed because you correctly wrote your name on the attendance slate,” the Record replied.
Velatria sputtered mid-defense, barely dodging Nolan’s next sonic slash. Her rune rings scrambled behind her like frightened birds.
“It was elegant handwriting!”
“ELEGANT HANDWRITING DOES NOT EQUAL COMBAT PROFICIENCY.”
Velatria whirled on Nolan.
“Stop hitting so fast! I can’t—”
Another swing cut the air and she was forced to dodge again.
She twisted mid-flight, forgetting her own runic assistance, and nearly tripped over her own divine light.
The Record groaned.
“Why are you fighting like a mortal mage? You are a Creation Goddess. You can bend local physics.”
Velatria puffed her cheeks. “I am fighting!”
“No you are NOT,” the Record snapped. “Where are your friction patches? Your repulsion zones? Your teleport anchors? Your gravity points? Your vector-inversion fields?”
A moment of silence.
Velatria stared blankly.
“…My what?”
Nolan sighed while parrying three of her light rays and flicking them upward so they dispersed harmlessly.
The Record’s voice dropped in disbelief.
“Velatria. Did you not attend the advanced practical modules?”
Velatria looked away.
“…I may have skipped them.”
“Why?”
“…They were early in the morning.”
Another Aura Blade swing cracked the sound barrier. Velatria squeaked and dodged sideways, ricocheting off one of her own shields.
Nolan charged her again, Phoenix Armor shedding molten sparks as his weight hit the ground like a meteor. His steps melted small craters into the stone.
Ember’s little body shivered as she drank the heat.
“Papa’s fire! Tasty!”
Nolan swung again—Aura Blade, layered with Scorchweave—so sharp it left a burning rift in the air.
Velatria threw up three shields at once—crooked, frantic, poorly angled—like someone stacking plates in panic.
The Record’s voice sharpened again.
“You can reinforce your shields by rewriting the refractive index of light. You can place a teleport anchor behind Nolan’s feet to displace him. You can create sticky points on the ground. You can twist the angle of his momentum.”
Velatria blinked. “I can?”
“YOU LEARNED THAT IN YEAR TWO.”
“But the professor was boring!”
“HE TAUGHT YOU HOW TO FIGHT WITHOUT DYING.”
Velatria huffed as Nolan’s blade struck her shield, shattering it like glass.
“Fine! Fine! I remember some things!”
The rings around her arms spun, faster this time.
A patch of ground beneath Nolan shimmered—
He stepped on it—
—and sank three inches into the stone as it turned to a soft, divine gel.
Nolan raised an eyebrow. “Finally.”
Velatria spread her fingers, and three more patches appeared—sticky zones, friction shifts, vector pulls. A repulsion bubble formed behind Nolan, ready to push him off-balance.
The Record clapped sarcastically.
“THERE. Was that so hard?”
Velatria stuck out her tongue at the sky. “I’m TRYING!”
She dashed forward—cleaner, faster, her runes aligning her body like a guided missile. The Creation Goddess finally fought like a deity, not a panicked mage.
Nolan met her head-on.
He bought another Aura Blade mid-swing, Ember converting the spilled flame into another burst of tokens.
Velatria snapped her fingers— and a teleport anchor formed in the air. She vanished— and appeared behind him, palm glowing.
Nolan twisted—radius bone spinning with impossible speed—parrying her strike and sending it into the sky.
His counterattack broke another sound barrier— BOOM —forcing her runic rings to scatter like startled birds.
Velatria gasped. “STOP BREAKING PHYSICS WITH YOUR BODY!”
Nolan exhaled. “You’re the one editing the battlefield.”
The Record cut in dryly:
“And you still look incompetent. Try harder.”
Velatria screamed into the telepathic channel:
“I’M TRYING!!!”
And the fight finally became a real duel— god against a limit-broken human, rule-crafting against raw physical mastery, divine runes against demonic phoenix armor.
Outside the Academy, the ground shook from the Duelist’s sonic cracks.
Riven’s fire burst across a pile of skeletal warriors; Ashfeather’s corrupted arrows split another. Kaelen’s staff crushed a cluster of undead—yet no matter how many they defeated, more rushed them.
Then Kaelen froze mid-swing.
Because the Lich they were fighting…
…was gone.
Velnira squinted. “Wait. Where is he?”
Thara looked up toward the Colosseum dome. The barrier flickered—and a tiny figure stood beside the principal’s platform.
Thara: “He’s not here. Look there.”
All three turned.
Above the stadium—the Lich stood calmly beside the principal and faculty, staff in hand, robes unruffled, as if he were merely supervising.
Kaelen: “…He left us fighting his army alone?” Ashfeather: “Not surprising. Efficient, but rude.” Riven: “He didn’t even SAY anything!”
On the principal’s platform—
Principal: “We must intervene! The stadium won’t survive!” Arcanus: “Where are their commanders? We fought the army but not the elites—”
The Lich didn’t turn.
Lich: “Do not go in.”
Principal: “Why not?! The Duelist and the Goddess will destroy the Colosseum!”
The Lich tilted his head.
“Entering will simply make it worse.” A pause. “Do not interfere.”
(And deep in the Lich’s mind: You promised her. No deaths inside that Dome.)
Down below, Kaelen muttered while crushing another skeleton:
Kaelen: “He’s up there giving advice while we’re down here wrestling skeletons.”
Ashfeather: “Classic.”
Riven spat flame. “I’m done wasting time.”
A shadow passed over them.
Vaelreth spread her wings—heat crackling across the field.
“…This is boring.” “I’m leaving. The real fight is over there.”
She shot toward the Colosseum.
Riven yelled: “HEY! Don’t leave us!”
Eira followed. “We should reinforce. The Duelist and the Goddess are escalating.”
Kaelen and Thara exchanged a look.
Kaelen: “If the dragon moves, we move.”
They sprinted.
Behind them, undead advanced—until a shimmering golden soundwave burst across the ground.
Zephyr strummed her lute once.
“Tempo Surge. Triple speed! Move your legs or get left behind!”
A pulse of Bardic light wrapped around them. Their exhaustion vanished. Steps accelerated.
Riven shouted: “GOOD! Keep that up, Zephyr!”
Zephyr grinned. “If we don’t hurry, the Duelist might punch a hole through the Dome before we even get there!”
With Vaelreth leading, flame streaking skyward, and Zephyr’s magic pushing them forward, the group raced toward the Colosseum—
—toward a battle no mortal should ever stand near.
Inside the Dome, the structure trembled from the Duelist’s latest sonic strike.
The Royals rose from their seats.
Queen Selvaris: “If this continues, the Dome will not hold.” King Varros: “They’re limiting themselves, but the Coliseum will not survive another ten minutes.”
Dungeon-Keepers panicked.
“Intervene!” “Stall the Duelist!” “Support the Goddess!”
Lucien and the Principal ran forward—
A shadow appeared.
The Lich.
He simply raised both hands.
“Well… we can’t have that now, can we? You entering the fight?”
Lucien froze. The Principal halted.
Above them, the Royals mistook it as agreement—
But inside the Lich’s mind:
If they walk in, they’ll die instantly. Better they fight me than become ashes.
Three runic circles opened—
Dullahan stepped out. The Armored Undead dragged chains. The Horseman thundered in.
Students screamed.
“Weren’t we fighting his army earlier?!” “Then what were those skeletons?!”
The Lich turned slightly.
“Decoys. Did you really believe I used my real summons on students?”
Dungeon-Keepers bristled.
“Summons are weaker than a contractor!” “A skeleton is worth less than a student—!”
The Lich stared.
“You describe normal summoners.” His tone dropped. “I am not one.”
Their skin crawled.
Meanwhile—
In the dungeon halls, Kaylin Dreystra, Thara of the Grave Road, and Velnira cut down skeletal stragglers—
Until they noticed something off.
Kaylin: “These aren’t reforming.”
Tara: “The command tether moved… upward.”
Velnira looked at the ceiling. “The Lich is at the main battlefield.”
Kaylin groaned. “We’re fighting scraps. The real battle’s over there.”
They sprinted.
Bursting into the open—
They found Vaelreth fighting stragglers. She sighed, bored.
“…That’s enough. The interesting fight is in the Coliseum.”
She dove underground toward the Duelist’s battle.
Kaylin stared. “She just left.”
Tara: “She is a dragon.”
Velnira: “We follow.”
Zephyr arrived panting.
“He’s already in the center.”
Kaylin: “Then move.”
Zephyr pulled an instrument card.
“Inspiration Arcana: March of Tempest Stride!”
Magic surged. They sprinted after the dragon—
Back toward the Arena.
The Royals descended from their seats, ready to enter.
The Lich raised one hand.
“If you insist on entering… you may try.”
I can’t let you die. I’ll hold all of you back if I must.
Dullahan lifted its burning head. The Armored Undead wrapped chains. The Horseman pawed the ground.
The Royals braced.
The Coliseum shook as the Duelist clashed with the Goddess.
The Lich whispered:
“Let us begin.”
