"The draw for the next battle begins."
As the voice faded, silence fell around the Arena once more.
The draw had begun. That meant the next battle was close at hand.
The champions on both sides stared at one another across the distance.
Every pair of eyes brimmed with hatred.
Not fear.
Hatred.
After fighting this far, the two sides had reached a point where only death could end their feud.
Neither side wanted to lose, so the battles to come would be fiercer still.
The other champions watching held their breath and fixed their eyes on the scene. They waited in silence for the next great battle to begin.
A trace of anticipation shone in their eyes.
They, too, sensed that something had shifted in the air. The next battle might be even more spectacular.
And they could hardly wait.
"The draw is complete."
"Next match: number eleven."
As the words fell, the fighters on both sides were revealed.
On the Origin Continent's side, a breathtaking woman in a long purple dress stepped forward.
She emerged from the boundary between light and darkness like a spill of moonlight cast by mistake into the mortal world.
Her purple dress rippled though there was no wind. Light as mist, its fabric shimmered with an elusive glow.
The hem trailed across the stone of the Arena without gathering a speck of dust, as though she walked among clouds over water.
Her figure was perfectly proportioned. A little more fullness would have spoiled its grace; a little less would have left her too slight.
Her shoulders were finely sculpted, her waist slender. Every step followed some ineffable rhythm, as though a heavenly craftsman had measured her ten thousand times with a jade ruler before daring to set brush to paper.
Her brows held