The grand expanse of Dean Aric Tamsin’s office exuded an air of intellectual authority, with arched windows filtering beams of fragmented light across shelves filled with ancient scrolls and magical tomes. The faint hum of protective wards buzzed softly, woven into the very walls of the chamber. At the room’s center sat the wiry Ratkin, his graying fur immacutely groomed and his sharp gold-rimmed spectacles resting snugly on his nose. His tail flicked subtly beneath his robes, betraying a tension that his otherwise calm demeanor did not.

  Across from him sat Rynn Yogini, legs zily draped over the arm of his chair. His jet-bck curls, unkempt as always, framed his sheepkin face with an air of practiced indifference. His sapphire eyes, sharp and glinting with mischief, stood in stark contrast to the ever-present smirk dancing at the corners of his lips. Even in the heart of scrutiny, Rynn carried himself like a storm waiting to strike.

  "Mr. Yogini," Tamsin began, his voice steady yet heavy with purpose. "Your recent defense against the Birdkin incursion has not only saved countless lives but has thrust you into the nation’s spotlight. The Academy owes you a debt, as does the Republic itself."

  Rynn flicked an ear idly, letting out a mock sigh. "Here we go—fttery first, consequences second. What’s the damage this time?"

  Tamsin adjusted his spectacles, his gaze narrowing. "A challenge has been issued in your name. A duel. One that we could hardly decline."

  Rynn straightened slightly, curiosity flickering behind his amused expression. "A duel, huh? Sounds fun. Who’s the lucky victim?"

  Tamsin’s tail flicked again, betraying his unease. "Your opponent is the Republic’s most esteemed warrior—the national hero, Hyper Fang."

  Rynn’s smirk faltered, though only for a heartbeat. Hyper Fang—a legend cd in bck-pted battle armor, the very embodiment of the Republic’s justice. He wielded the feared psma bde, a weapon of unmatched precision and devastating power. A duel with Hyper Fang wasn’t merely combat—it was theater, propaganda, and execution all in one.

  "Ah," Rynn drawled, his grin sharpening like a bde. "So this isn’t just a duel—it’s a very public, very creative way to assassinate me."

  Tamsin exhaled slowly, his fingers steepling. "You aren’t wrong. Certain factions see you as… disruptive. They’ll exploit this duel to remove you from the equation, all under the guise of sport."

  Rynn rose from his chair, stretching his arms as though preparing for a casual stroll. "Then I’ll make it entertaining. Tell your Republic hero to bring his bde, his armor, and his best excuses. He’ll need all three."

  The vibrant chaos of Forge Alley pulsed with life as Beastkin of all shapes and sizes gathered to trade, craft, and argue over weaponry and enchantments. The air was thick with the scent of molten steel and glowing sigils, as Lionkin smiths hammered at anvils while Wolfkin artificers tinkered with alchemical contraptions that hissed and crackled.

  Rynn walked through the bustling alleyway, his sharp eyes scanning the array of gear with an unusual intensity. Normally, he despised relying on tools. His fists, his Juggernaut strength, and his Scionic adaptability were more than enough. But this wasn’t a normal fight. This was a spectacle.

  A Foxkin vendor caught his eye, her fme-colored fur glinting under the enchanted nterns that illuminated her stall. She leaned over the counter, her amber eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Looking for something special, Sheepkin?" she asked with a grin.

  Rynn smirked, gesturing to an obsidian-hued Magitech Gun with gold engravings that pulsed faintly with energy. The weapon seemed alive, its runes whispering promises of destruction.

  "That," he said simply, picking it up. "What’s the deal?"

  The Foxkin chuckled. "That’s the Synergy Rifle. Weaponizes the wielder’s css abilities into raw energy. You feed it your power, and it spits out death. You’re a Juggernaut and a Scion, right? This thing will turn you into a walking apocalypse."

  Rynn weighed the gun in his hands, feeling its hum resonate with his own energy. He grinned, the sharp edge of mischief flickering in his eyes. "Perfect."

  The Ebonvale Colosseum, a monolithic structure carved into the very bones of the earth, was alive with the roar of thousands of voices. The air crackled with anticipation as Beastkin of every tribe and cn packed the stands, their cheers shaking the protective wards that shimmered around the arena floor. Above, banners bearing the Republic’s emblem fpped violently in the wind, illuminated by floating orbs of enchanted light.

  Hyper Fang made his entrance first, his bck-pted battle armor absorbing the light as though it were a void. The psma bde in his hand roared to life, its azure energy pulsating with lethal intent. He stood tall and unyielding, a war machine sculpted from duty and precision.

  "And now," boomed the announcer’s voice, amplified by magic, "the Academy’s rising star, the breaker of storms—Rynn King!"

  Rynn strolled into the arena, his steps unhurried, his expression unbothered. The Synergy Rifle rested casually over his shoulder, its runes glowing faintly against the backdrop of the arena’s shimmering wards. Compared to Hyper Fang’s grandeur, Rynn looked almost irreverent—no armor, no theatrics, just his tattered coat and an aura of absolute confidence.

  Hyper Fang wasted no time. He surged forward, his psma bde carving through the air with terrifying precision. The crowd gasped as the bde descended, its glow casting sharp shadows across the arena.

  Rynn didn’t dodge. Instead, he swung the Synergy Rifle like a club, meeting the bde with brute force. The resulting impact sent a shockwave rippling through the arena, the psma bde shattering into fragments as Hyper Fang was hurled backward. His armored form smmed into the arena wall, leaving cracks webbing the stone.

  The crowd fell silent, their cheers repced by stunned disbelief. Hyper Fang rose slowly, his stance less confident than before. "You mock this duel with cheap tricks," he growled.

  Rynn smirked, leveling the rifle at him. "Mockery? No, Fang. This is just forepy."

  The rifle hummed as it absorbed Rynn’s Juggernaut and Scionic abilities, the runes glowing brighter with each passing second. When he pulled the trigger, the arena was bathed in blinding light as a single, devastating projectile tore through the air.

  Hyper Fang raised his gauntlets in a desperate attempt to shield himself, but the bullet was relentless. It consumed him, unraveling his armor and form in a storm of raw energy. When the light faded, the arena stood silent once more.

  Hyper Fang was gone.

  Back in the Dean’s Office, Aric Tamsin paced nervously, his tail flicking with unease. Rynn sat sprawled in the chair, the Synergy Rifle resting across his p. His smirk was as sharp as ever.

  "You’ve turned the Republic’s hero into dust," Tamsin said, his tone a mixture of awe and apprehension. "This will not go unanswered."

  Rynn leaned back, his sapphire eyes glinting with amusement. "Then let the

  m send their answers, Dean. I’ve got plenty of bullets left."