Earth's Greatest Magus

The deafening roar of the crowd shook the very stones of the colosseum.

Mount Olympus had become a stage not only for battle but also for spectacle. Nearly ninety percent of the spectators were Kronos citizens—devoted followers, magus, and nobles. They filled the stone bleachers, chanting in thunderous unison for their champions. Only a small section, tucked high in a corner, bore Earth’s banner. A few hundred supporters from Terra City had come. Their cheers were drowned in the sea of Olympian pride.

Two shining figures floated above the arena—Hermes and Iris, the charismatic announcers, their voices booming with magical amplification.

“Welcome, divine citizens of Olympus!” Hermes declared, his silver wings fluttering behind him. “Let the duel between Earth and Kronos begin!”

Iris followed with a theatrical bow. “This will be a ten-versus-ten battle. Each side may choose the order of their fighters. After each match, the losing side may send one additional combatant to challenge the winner.”

“Ooooh! That means more fights for all of us to enjoy!” Hermes laughed.

“The winning team will be determined by the number of points,” Iris added. “One point for every opponent defeated!”

“And surely,” Hermes smirked, “we all know which side will claim them?”

The crowd erupted again, louder this time, chanting in perfect rhythm:

“KRONOS! KRONOS! KRONOS!”

On the ground level, inside the Earth magus preparation chamber, tension filled the air like a coiled spring. The walls vibrated with the crowd’s energy. The team exchanged glances, nerves taut. Despite all the preparation, nothing could erase the reality: they were the underdogs.

With the arena prepared and the rules set, all eyes turned to the Earth faction. As the challenger in this duel, Earth was obligated to reveal their first fighter. It was a tactical disadvantage—whoever revealed their card first gave their opponent the opportunity to respond with the perfect counter. This opening match could determine the momentum of the entire tournament.

Despite the risk, Earth had made their decision. From the stone tunnel beneath the colosseum’s seating, a single figure stepped into the sunlight.

A weak-looking woman, slight in frame. Her steps were cautious, uncertain, her green cloak trailing behind her like moss disturbed by wind. The crowd’s confusion instantly turned to contempt.

“BOOOOOO!”

“What is this? A child?”

“Send in a real warrior!”

The jeering echoed from every tier of the colosseum, swelling like a tidal wave. Nearly all the Olympian crowd erupted in laughter. Even some of the more neutral realm ambassadors exchanged amused glances.

From the Earth camp’s private balcony, Gwen shouted, “You can do this, Glita! Do your best!”

Glita heard her. She flinched slightly, but nodded. Her fingers twitched with nervous energy. This was the largest crowd she had ever seen—far from the quiet, mist-veiled forest where she’d spent most of her life. Her stomach churned with the pressure.

The decision to send her as the first challenger had not been taken lightly. They had debated it for days.

If Kronos led with a powerful magus, Glita could simply concede. A forfeit would cost one point, but it would also remove a powerhouse from Kronos’s rotation early, reducing the threat. However, they gambled that Kronos would underestimate Earth’s opening and send one of their weakest instead—giving them a chance for a win.

The gamble had begun.

Laughter rolled across the Olympian side of the arena like thunder. And then a voice rose, cold and venomous.

“Father…” the voice hissed. “She is mine.”

A pale figure stood from the Kronos bench, his black hood falling back to reveal a face drained of all warmth. His skin was corpse-white. His eyes glowed faintly violet. And from his back trailed a bident—his weapon of choice.

Klea’s eyes narrowed. “That aura…”

She recognized it. They all did. Even after more than twenty years, the energy signature had not changed.

“Hades,”

The youngest of the Kronos children, once defeated in the battle of Camelot, had been reborn. His new body radiated pure, oppressive malice. The dark cloak around him billowed like smoke as he approached.

The arena trembled as both fighters faced each other. The countdown began.

“READY!” shouted Iris.

Glita’s fingers trembled. Hades sneered at her.

“Little girl… don’t worry. I won’t kill you,” he said, licking his lips. “I’ll make you suffer… slowly.”

The final word slithered across the stones like a curse.

“BEGIN!”

Hades made the first move.

With a casual step forward, his foot touched the arena floor and the world seemed to shift. The air warped. A crushing, unseen force radiated from his body—a pulse of gravity magic so intense that dust rose in swirling circles around him.

BOOM!

The force slammed into Glita like a mountain falling from the sky.

Her knees buckled instantly. She dropped to one knee, her fingers digging into the dirt, breath caught in her throat. Her limbs felt like lead. It wasn’t just pressure—it was a divine weight, meant to humble her, crush her spirit before a single blow was even struck.

Hades exploded in laughter.

“HAHAHA! A mortal dares to fight a god!?”

Then, without warning, he raised his hand.

A gravitational surge burst outward. Glita’s body lifted into the air against her will. Her eyes widened in panic—she hadn’t had time to prepare a defense. She was pulled forward violently, dragged across the arena like a ragdoll, directly into Hades’s waiting grip.

Gasps rang out from the Earth faction’s platform.

Thrax stood up in alarm. “He’s going to crush her!”

The entire group of Earth magus turned in panic. For a moment, they regretted sending Glita into the arena.

But one person remained still—Morgana. Her eyes burned with something far deeper than fear.

Her voice cracked like a whip across the battlefield.

“GLITA!”

That voice slammed through Glita’s consciousness like a thunderclap. Her eyes snapped wide. And something deep—something ancient—woke up inside her.

A surge of power coursed through her body.

Her bones shifted. Muscles expanded. Pale blue light rippled beneath her skin as frosty fur sprouted along her arms and shoulders. Her face elongated slightly, fangs gleaming beneath her lips. Hades’s grip loosened—startled—as the woman in his hand grew, swelling in size until she dwarfed him.

Gasps filled the colosseum.

“She’s a half-blood”

But Hades didn’t flinch.

“I knew it,” he spat. “You’re just like him… a filthy mutt.”

He tightened his grip. More gravitational pressure flooded the space, aiming to crush her from the inside out. Cracks began forming in the stone beneath her. Her monstrous form trembled… then shrank.

“She’s collapsing,” someone muttered. “She is just a mortal after all!”

Yet just when it seemed Glita would break—runes ignited across her body. Ancient symbols glowed along her arms, chest, and forehead. A freezing mist erupted from her core, swirling violently.

Hades stumbled back, caught off guard.

With a mighty roar, Glita shattered his grip and blasted him away with a wave of elemental frost. The ice cracked and hissed as it spread.

When the mist cleared, a new figure stood tall at the center of the arena. Glita, in her Fey Shaman Form, with glowing runes and eyes like twin moons, faced Hades with steeled calm.

No longer trembling.

No longer afraid.

The real battle was about to begin.