Earth's Greatest Magus

The Earth Magus had three days.

Three days to pore over every scrap of intelligence that Jinkan had shared. Three days to learn the rules, study their opponents’ strengths and weaknesses, and simulate dozens of battle scenarios in hopes of uncovering a winning strategy.

Their goal was clear: to win. To earn the caretaker position of Earth, and with it, the right to protect their homeland from domination by Kronos or any other factions.

Now, with all of Kronos’ surveillance devices removed from the facility, they were finally free to train without masks. They unleashed their true abilities and competed for a place among the lineup.

Tensions escalated when the time came to decide who would face Kronos’ strongest. Morgana, Thrax, Julian, and Chumo stood at the center of attention, each demanding a place. What shocked everyone, however, was Chumo. The once-silent warrior moved like a ghost, his divine skill and pressure even rivaling Thrax’s raw fury and Julian’s divine technique.

He had returned changed—no longer just a Full Moon Magus, but something else. Stronger.

Questions were whispered across the group. But Chumo offered no answers. He remained quieter than he had ever been.

By the end of the day, nine names were chosen and officially submitted to the Olympus registrars.

###

One day before the duel, Olympus City transformed.

What was once a serene highland metropolis nestled among the clouds erupted into a vibrant, thunderous festival. That day, the sky was filled with the descending silhouettes of hundreds of spacecraft. Some were sleek cruisers bearing the insignias of noble houses and elite factions. Others were old cargo freighters filled with excited onlookers from the lower realms.

Millions had come.

They poured in from every corner of the Magus universe. Some arrived for the spectacle, others out of duty, and many out of hope.

Though only a minor inter-factional duel by official terms, the confrontation between Earth and Kronos drew more interest than anyone had predicted. The underdogs had become a symbol.

To some, Earth was a laughingstock—a lower realm foolish enough to challenge a Grade One titan. “Entertainment,” they called it—a tragedy in the making. The mighty humbling the desperate.

But not all came to jeer.

Among the crowds were the dreamers. The watchers from obscured, overlooked worlds. Small planets and forgotten stations whose people saw in Earth’s magus a reflection of themselves—undervalued, unprotected, underestimated. For them, this duel wasn’t just a contest. It was proof that perhaps, just perhaps, the hierarchy of realms wasn’t carved in unbreakable stone.

The energy of the city surged like a current, electric and impossible to ignore. And then, finally, the dawn of the final day arrived.

Mount Olympus itself—already a symbol of ancient divinity—had become the eye of the storm. At its summit stood the venue prepared for the duel.

It was no mere arena.

The colosseum had been carved into the mountain long ago. Towering marble columns circled the outer walls, each engraved with the names of past champions. Massive golden archways welcomed the incoming crowds as winged statues of gods loomed above, their eyes glowing faintly with eternal mana.

The arena itself was colossal—wide enough to hold a dragon’s corpse or a small town. The battleground was inlaid with glowing lines of ancient runes, forming sigils and ley-line amplifiers. These had been reawakened for this duel, flickering to life with energy pulsing from deep within the mountain.

Floating platforms hovered above the arena, carrying elite guests and dignitaries. Magical projection orbs buzzed in the air, broadcasting live images of the venue to realms across the stars. The air rang with excited voices, rhythmic chanting, and the booming of ceremonial drums that echoed through the heavens.

Every seat in the stone stands was filled. From lowborn realm-travelers to high-ranking emissaries in regal attire, all eyes were locked on the field below.

Within the central podium sat the figures of authority.

Jinkan Nephilim, poised and elegant in a deep violet robe, whispered something to an elder beside her—Grand Overseer Olberyn, one of the Nephilim elders who had sanctioned this event. Yet their authority was shadowed by the three present Magisters of the Magus Alliance, seated above all.

A portly magister snorted loudly as he leaned toward the others.

“I hear Earth only has one Grand Magus… a young woman… There won’t be much to see, will there?”

The second, a sharp-eyed woman, folded her arms. “Don’t underestimate these lower realms. The desperate are often the most dangerous. We’re here to ensure they don’t cheat.”

The third, silent until now, offered no comment. He was Emissary Duncan of Centauri City, the man who had once worked closely with Earth’s representatives. If anyone still carried faith in the challengers, it was him.

Then came a blast of ceremonial trumpets.

From the opposite platform, two dazzling figures stepped forward—Hermes and Iris of Kronos, dressed in gold-stitched robes that sparkled with embedded starlight. Their voices echoed across the arena, magnified by sorcery.

“Behold!” Hermes shouted with grandeur. “Your champions—our beloved Olympians!”

Ten figures marched forward beneath banners of fire and wind. The crowd roared with approval as the elite warriors of Kronos ascended the arena stairs. At their head was Kronos himself, tall and regal in silver-black armor, a cruel smile resting beneath eyes that gleamed with contempt.

Thunderous cheers rattled the colosseum.

Back in the Earth preparation chamber, a heavy silence reigned.

They had heard the crowd. The fanfare. The scoffing remarks from the Magisters. Each step of Kronos’ warriors felt like a drumbeat against their hearts.

Klea stood at the center, her arms crossed, her mind whirling. She had hoped—desperately—that Emery would arrive at the last second, that his shadow would appear. But the fireworks had already begun. The time had come.

She exhaled and turned to her team. Her voice rang with steady resolve.

“We owe it to our predecessors,” she said. “To the late Senior Izta. To Sage Fuxi. To everyone on Earth who sacrificed so we could stand here. We do this for them. We do this to take our future back.”

Thrax slammed his fist into his palm, lightning surging down his arm. “LET’S BRING THEM HELL!”

Julian nodded sharply. “Let’s go!”

Together, the nine Earth challengers emerged into the light of Olympus, stepping onto the marble platform that rose to meet their opponents across the field.

They were: Klea, Julian, Thrax, Morgana, Chumo, Ashaka, Damo, Glita, and Gweeneth.

The crowd’s response was mixed—cheers from a small group, mocking laughter from others. But the Earth Magus paid no heed. They stood united, armored in will and destiny.

Above them, the final announcement echoed.

“Let the duel… begin!”

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