His emergence from the icy inferno was met with relief from the caring and cheers from the invested.
His sword wrapped in mana like that of first-class knight, the fire from the demonic beast dancing along his shoulders, the weight of his stride indenting the dirt.
His image was briefly divine within the mind of every spectator.
The young count was no longer being tested, he was becoming witnessed.
The flow of the fight, after only one exchange was now turned.
The Demonic Incinerator knew it was feared. Its heart had whispered it since birth, it was instinctive. It took time to understand why, but once it discovered the nature of its innate fire, it embraced it completely.
His fire some say is the closet ability to Aether, almost divine. It could burn mana from existence. It was the peak of magic.
And the beast was conscious to this fact.
Which is why Ashton, cutting and wearing the fire like it was made for him, alarmed something deep within the beast. Backing away and aiming its tail, releasing balls of fire in quick succession but none connect.
[Is this fear or confusion?] Ashton guesses as he continues to approach. [Probably both... how disappointing]
Ashton was truly upset with his opponent. The Demonic Incinerator was gifted power that perfectly fits its given ability.
It was created as the peak but could not reach the pinnacle.
It had favored one innateness to the other and neglected progress.
As Ashton stood before the beast, his sword raised and pointing behind his head he had only one thought.
[This used to be me. The greatest, evolving slowly as I thought I had everything figured out]
The fleeting moment of maturity passed and all that remained was the job to finish.
"I forgive you." Ashton says solemnly, quietly, a private goodbye heard only by the two.
As the sword was swung at his throat, no longer just enhanced by mana but imbued in a fiery incantation, the Demonic Incinerator rose from its mental shackle. Empowered by a greater instinct.
While fear was rampant within its mind, a deeper realization floated to the surface.
While it was instinct, it was more an earned right. It was a call from his soul, a reminder that he is the king of the jungle.
The call from within triggered a subconscious reaction, the beast met Ashton's sword with its claw.
The collisions impact focused in Ashton's wrist, loosening his grip on his weapon and forcing him to dash backward in retreat.
The momentum had shifted again.
The Demonic Incinerator was now on the offensive, not with magic, but with physical reverence.
From the bleachers, the scene looked like something from a picture book, the most agile and domineering magical beast in pursuit of an even more elusive one.
Ashton was moving side to side, forwards and back, until his motion became almost a blur.
As he ducked and weaved the typhoon of claws, the smile on his face had caught the attention of the crowd.
The madness, to find joy treading the thin wire between life and death.
However, what the crowd was not aware of, his technique was becoming complete.
His ability to enhance his body with mana was sublime but like all talent untrained, it was unrealized.
Its potential, to fully bloom, needed this moment.
While Ashton was growing from a technical standpoint, the beast was growing in its own way.
The aggression that has always lived within him, was no more. His attacks slowly started to connect with one another like a form, it was creating technique.
It was hard to believe, the human in the arena was laughing and enjoying the chaos of this winner takes all battle. All the while, the beast was calm and unreadable.
That was until, Ashton stopped dodging. [It is clear now. No matter how much I grow in this regard, I can never match his physical might.]
It was easy, hardly work at this point. The hunger in his stomach was becoming visceral, certain it was feeding time.
Confident it had defended its position at the top of the food chain. His opponent was ripe and unguarded.
And yet, it was a lion's head rolling on the ground. Not Ashton's.
It was not the sight of the beastly head rolling, or the sound of its cadaver hitting the ground that shocked the crowd.
It was how it happened that left them speechless.
It was the Invocation of the mana within the air, the magic of the earth left untethered to any flesh. It was such mana that Ashton commanded, turning the pure unfiltered energy into his weapon.
The silence was heavy, what had happened was something ancient. Thought to be nothing more than a myth, there were only stories of this phenomenon.
"What?" Duke Raine the first to speak, rising from his seat. "An Invocation?"
Those who were lacking in theory, turned their heads back and forth between the duke and Ashton. Finally aware of what the other half knew, cheering erupted within the colosseum.
Invocations in theory could be performed by 1st circle mages. It didn't require exorbitant amounts of mana, and it couldn't be reached just with magical knowledge. It was a state of being, a mindset with unknown and untold requirements.
Like a painter with a blank canvas, an Invoker could shape the mana in nature into spells without incantation or craft. They folded reality to their will, manifesting magic anywhere, at any time, with only a thought.
For the brief span an Invoker remained active, they were unquestionably, invincible.
Ashton was still unmoved, motionless in his victory. Looking up into the third floor viewing booth of the duke, reading the mana in the room, and meeting eyes with him.
How he could see through the formation was obvious, why he was looking at him with narrow eyes was even more obvious.
Fearful but certain assassination was not his destiny, the duke takes his seat and falls deep into contemplation.
Since the moment the duke arrived for his trial, Ashton was forging a plan to step around him. Throughout the course of his plans, he grew distracted, while he gained from the sidetracking, his direction was now refocused.