ONLINE: Blades of Eternity-Chapter 205: CHAOS AMBASSADORS

The cheers in the coliseum quieted once more as Sebastian took center stage, his expression unreadable, though his eyes gleamed with intrigue. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice adopting a darker tone, "brace yourselves, for what you are about to witness will chill your very souls. The next participants hail from a house shrouded in mystery and fear—a lineage that dances with death itself. I present to you... the Blightmore House!"

A deathly silence fell over the crowd as the entrance at the far end of the coliseum grew unnaturally dark. A chilling wind swept through the arena, causing even the brightest flames of torches to flicker and dim. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees, sending shivers through the spectators.

From the shadows emerged a skeletal-looking boy at the forefront of the group. His gaunt face was pale as the moon, his hollow eyes glowing faintly with an eerie green light. His robes were black and tattered, adorned with symbols of decay and death, and he carried a long staff crowned with a sinister skull that radiated malevolent energy.

"This," Sebastian continued, his voice subdued but clear, "is Mortis Blightmore, heir to the Blightmore legacy and a prodigy in the arts of Necromancy and Death Magic. An individual said to be as much death incarnate as a boy of flesh and bone."

Behind Mortis, a procession of necromancers and death magic practitioners followed in solemn silence. Each was clad in dark, flowing garments that seemed to absorb the very light around them. Some carried grim artifacts, while others were trailed by faint specters that flickered in and out of view, causing murmurs of fear among the audience.

As Mortis stepped into the coliseum, the air grew heavy with a palpable dread. A gloomy, almost tangible aura began to spread from him, creeping along the floor like a dark fog. The lower parts of the coliseum became enshrouded in this miasma, and many spectators found themselves instinctively clutching their seats or holding their breaths.

Even among the participants already present, a reaction rippled through. The Ferrum Clan warriors shifted uneasily, their steadfastness faltering for just a moment. Vivienne Lucent narrowed her eyes, the faintest flicker of distaste crossing her otherwise serene expression. Aric Alexandria, however, stood unshaken, though a sharp glint of caution appeared in his gaze.

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Sebastian let the tension hang in the air for a moment before continuing, his voice cutting through the eerie silence. "The Blightmore House, masters of death and decay, have made their presence known. Their power is a reminder that even in a world of life and vitality, the shadow of mortality is ever-present."

Mortis halted at the edge of the stage, his glowing eyes scanning the crowd with a chilling detachment. When his gaze fell upon the VIP section, he gave the faintest of bows—a gesture of respect or mockery, it was hard to tell.

The crowd, though overwhelmed with dread, couldn’t help but applaud—though it was a hesitant, fragmented sound. The sheer presence of the Blightmore House, despite the fear they instilled, was undeniably awe-inspiring.

Mortis and his entourage took their place beside the Ferrum Clan, their oppressive aura lingering as a stark contrast to the sturdiness of the Ferrum warriors and the elegance of the Lucent Family.

Sebastian, ever the composed host, stepped forward again with a sharp smile, his voice carrying a note of excitement despite the lingering tension. "And now, my dear audience, prepare yourselves for the next contenders. The grand spectacle continues!"

The coliseum buzzed with anticipation once more, though the haunting presence of the Blightmore House lingered in the minds of all who had witnessed their entrance.

Sebastian raised his arms again towards the eastern region of the coliseum, his voice clear and resonant as the audience eagerly awaited the next announcement. "Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves for a tempest on the horizon. The next participants have a legacy of commanding the skies themselves, wielders of thunder and lightning, heirs to the storm. I present to you... the Stormfell Family!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as the gates on the eastern side of the coliseum slowly opened. A low rumble, like distant thunder, echoed through the arena, growing louder with each passing second. From the shadows of the gate emerged a boy, impossibly young for his commanding presence.

He couldn’t have been older than fourteen, with tousled silver hair that shimmered like lightning under the sunlight. His piercing storm-gray eyes seemed to flicker with electrical sparks, and his lean frame exuded a confidence far beyond his years. Despite his youth, his aura spoke volumes—a crackling energy that demanded respect and awe.

The boy’s attire was a mix of sleek armor and flowing robes, both in shades of deep blue and silver, reminiscent of a stormy sky. A long staff topped with a swirling orb of lightning was strapped to his back, and the faint hum of charged magic surrounded him like a cloak.

"And leading the Stormfell Family is none other than Alaric Stormfell," Sebastian announced, "a prodigy who has mastered the art of storm magic at an age where most are still discovering their affinity. Do not let his youthful appearance deceive you, for his power has shaken mountains and torn skies asunder."

Behind Alaric followed a disciplined team of storm mages, all older than him, yet deferring to his lead without hesitation. They carried themselves with the poise of seasoned warriors, their attire marked with the emblem of the storm—a roaring thundercloud pierced by a jagged bolt of lightning.

As Alaric strode toward the stage, the air itself seemed to hum with energy. Tiny arcs of lightning crackled around his footsteps, and a faint breeze began to swirl through the coliseum, carrying with it the fresh scent of rain.

The crowd cheered louder as the young prodigy led his team toward the center, their presence invigorating the atmosphere. People from the stands shouted his name, and whispers of admiration rippled through the audience.

"Alaric looks so young! Is he really the leader?"

"Don’t be fooled by his age. They say he summoned a hurricane at just eleven!"

"With a leader like him, the Stormfell Family might dominate this convention!"

On the stage, Aric Alexandria glanced at Alaric with a raised brow, his expression a mixture of surprise and intrigue. Vivienne Lucent observed the young storm mage with a faint smile, as though curious about his abilities. Even Mortis Blightmore’s hollow eyes lingered on Alaric for a moment before returning to his own thoughts.

Alaric reached the stage, his youthful features calm and composed as he turned to face the audience. With a slight nod to Sebastian, he acknowledged the crowd, his storm-gray eyes sweeping over the vast sea of spectators. The cheers grew even louder, the crowd energized by the Stormfell Family’s electrifying entrance.

Taking his place beside the other participants, Alaric’s aura remained steady, the faint crackle of storm energy serving as a subtle reminder of his power.

Sebastian waited for the cheers to subside before stepping forward once more, his grin broad and his voice brimming with excitement. "The Stormfell Family has joined the stage, bringing with them the might of the skies. And now, my esteemed audience, prepare yourselves for the next contenders of this grand event!"

The anticipation in the coliseum surged once again, the crowd eager to see who would step forward next in this gathering of legends.

Sebastian stepped forward, his posture straighter, his tone deep and reverent, a stark contrast to his earlier introductions. The atmosphere in the coliseum shifted, the crowd holding its collective breath in anticipation.

"And now," he began, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade, "we come to the most powerful family in the human territory. Known far and wide as the Chaos Ambassadors, they stand unmatched in might, their name striking fear and awe into the hearts of all who hear it."

The audience was frozen, their excitement giving way to a tension that pressed heavily upon the coliseum. Even the previous participants on the stage turned their attention toward the northern gate.

"I present to you... the Dragonyx Family!"

A sudden roar shook the coliseum, followed by a low, guttural growl that sent shivers through the crowd. The northern gates creaked open, and from within emerged a massive, six-clawed dragon with obsidian scales shimmering like molten lava. Its crimson eyes glowed with primal intensity, its very presence radiating raw, unrestrained power.

The crowd gasped as the dragon stomped forward, each step sending tremors through the coliseum floor. The air grew heavy, suffused with a strange, chaotic energy that seemed to warp reality itself.

Standing atop the dragon’s massive head was a girl who looked no older than sixteen. Her crimson eyes matched the dragon’s, glowing with an eerie, commanding brilliance. Her long black hair cascaded behind her, streaked with vivid red strands that seemed to ripple like flames. She wore a sleek, form-fitting outfit adorned with intricate patterns of gold and crimson, resembling dragon scales.

Her aura was suffocating, a weight that seemed to crush all who dared to meet her gaze. Despite her youth, she exuded a terrifying authority, her presence more imposing than even the legendary dragon beneath her feet.

The girl raised her hand, and the dragon stopped, letting out a low, rumbling growl that echoed ominously through the coliseum. Behind her, a group of elite warriors emerged, each one cloaked in dark armor that bore the insignia of the Dragonyx Family—a chaotic vortex encircling a dragon’s eye.

Leading the entourage alongside her was an old man with a sharp gaze, his presence nearly as suffocating as the girl’s. His aura spoke of years of experience and unparalleled strength, his posture a testament to his role as the family’s right hand.

"Leading the Dragonyx Family’s delegation," Sebastian continued, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and trepidation, "is none other than Althea Dragonyx, the Crimson Heir! Her mastery of chaos magic is said to rival the gods themselves, and her presence here cements this convention as the most monumental in history."

As the dragon descended toward the stage, the crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers, gasps, and nervous murmurs.

"That’s Althea Dragonyx?"

"She’s just a girl, but her aura... it’s unreal!"

"I can’t even breathe properly with her presence here. How terrifying!"

Althea leapt gracefully from the dragon’s head, landing on the stage with an effortless elegance that belied her overwhelming power. She straightened, her crimson eyes sweeping over the other participants with a cold, calculating gaze.

Vivienne Lucent met her stare with a composed expression, though a faint tension betrayed her unease. Aric Alexandria’s confident smirk faltered for a moment as his eyes narrowed, assessing the girl before him. Even Alaric Stormfell and Mortis Blightmore, who had maintained their calm thus far, visibly tensed at her arrival.

The dragon let out one final roar before taking to the skies, circling the coliseum like a sentinel. Althea turned toward the crowd, her lips curving into a faint, enigmatic smile that sent chills through the audience.

The old man accompanying her stepped beside her, his gaze sharp and watchful. With a subtle nod from Althea, the Dragonyx entourage took their place on the stage, their presence casting a long, dark shadow over the other participants.

Sebastian cleared his throat, regaining his composure after the awe-inspiring display. "The Dragonyx Family has graced us with their presence, solidifying this as a gathering of legends. And now, with all the families present on the stage, it’s time to call out the three great academies!"

The crowd erupted into a thunderous ovation, their cheers reverberating through the coliseum. But amidst the applause, an unspoken tension hung in the air, a palpable awareness that the balance of power had shifted with Althea Dragonyx’s arrival.