Getting a Technology System in Modern Day

780 -Begets the fall

Hearing the Valthorin's brazen invitation, Aron paused, his initial plans slipping away as he considered this unexpected opportunity.

"I won't decline your offer," he replied, a faint smile forming as the chance to hit a stationary and powerful target presented itself. "And I trust you won’t go back on it."

The Valthorin fighter, arms still spread wide, didn't respond, his expression one of complete disinterest. His silence spoke volumes, making it clear he was eager for Aron to act without delay.

Unbothered by his opponent's silence, Aron clapped his hands together before spreading them shoulder-width apart, as though measuring an invisible force. Within moments, an explosion rune appeared, pulsating with raw, contained energy.

"One percent should be enough," he remarked, channeling precisely one percent of his total mana reserve into the rune—a fraction that still exceeded the mana used in all his previous battles combined.

With his preparation complete, Aron looked up and addressed the Colosseum's AI referee. "Referee, activate every defensive measure to maximum capacity, or this Colosseum might split in two."

{... Understood. Proceeding.} The referee didn’t indulge in any bravado or try to lecture Aron on arrogance. Instead, she quietly initiated every defensive measure to maximum capacity. If Aron’s warning proved accurate, it was better to be safe than sorry; and if he was exaggerating, taking precautions posed no harm. The potential destruction of the Colosseum wasn’t covered by any contingency clause, as no one had ever anticipated such an event.

"Just to be sure, let’s add this," Aron muttered, making final adjustments to the explosion rune, altering its structure with precise, formulaic changes before launching it.

As Aron finally unleashed the rune, sending it toward his opponent at a deliberate pace—knowing it would neither be intercepted nor deflected—the Valthorin fighter watched it approach with prideful confidence. “So, this is your strongest attack? Let’s see what it can do to

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

The fighter's words were drowned out in an earth-shattering explosion. The entire area around him transformed into a kilometer-wide sphere of blistering energy, expanding relentlessly. The blast swelled so rapidly that the referee had to switch to an external view, revealing the colossal explosion now engulfing over sixty percent of the Colosseum, continuing to grow by the millisecond, with no signs of stopping.

Viewers felt a chill run down their spines, realizing that if Aron was given time to fully charge his attacks, he could decisively dominate every fight. Yet, it seemed only the Valthorin fighter had been bold—or foolish—enough to allow him such an opportunity.

Among the Conclave viewers, a flicker of hope sparked. Aron had been only a few kilometers from the Valthorin fighter, and he, too, had been swallowed by the explosion in an instant. Perhaps he had been caught in his own devastating blast, they thought, daring to hope that this attack had backfired and ended his streak of dominance. If Aron’s defeat could be confirmed, then the Valthorin fighter’s sacrifice would be a price well paid.

Even as the explosion engulfed over seventy percent of the Colosseum, showing no sign of slowing, the AI referee remained silent. No announcements were made—neither a victory nor a tie—leaving the audience to wonder. Were both fighters still alive within the inferno? Or was the sheer force and obscured visibility preventing the referee from making any calls until the chaos settled?

With the explosion expanding ever outward, concerns grew not only for the outcome but for the integrity of the Colosseum itself, which now looked dangerously close to breaking under the relentless assault.

But the explosion didn’t keep expanding endlessly. Although everyone could sense that it still held immense power, what happened next nearly made the audience’s hearts stop. The explosion, which they now realized had been oddly contained in a dumpling-like shape, began to contract rapidly. This sudden reversal revealed that a protective barrier had been holding it in place all along.

As the explosive force compressed into an increasingly smaller area, the flames intensified, shifting from fiery orange to blinding yellow. Soon, they turned a searing white, and for a brief, startling moment, they flickered into an intense blue before settling back to white. The colors hinted at the staggering levels of heat, pressure, and trapped radiation reverberating within the barrier, which seemed strained yet resolute, preventing the energy from breaking loose.

{Match over. Winner: Terran Empire, Aron Michael.}

The announcement jolted the audience, snapping them back to reality. As the explosion compressed down into a one-kilometer sphere, Aron emerged unscathed, not even a hint of injury marring his form. At the same time, the message confirmed that the Valthorin fighter, who had miraculously held on through most of the blast, had finally succumbed to its overwhelming force, marking the end of the battle.

“Pride begets the fall,” Aron murmured calmly, watching the compressed explosion continue to seethe within its containment. That was an overkill, he thought, realizing that the blast was only halfway spent and still brimming with destructive energy.

Seeing that it might take far too long for the energy to dissipate naturally, Aron raised his head and addressed the AI referee, “Can you open the shield? I need to expel the remaining energy—it’s still holding on to half of its force.”

{...................} The referee AI was momentarily silent, caught off guard by the sheer audacity of Aron’s request. But only for a brief moment. She quickly regained composure and, without hesitation, complied with his instructions.

The massive energy of the explosion, still compressed and holding back its full force, began to shift as the AI disengaged the shield. It was then that Aron finally released his control, sending the concentrated blast hurtling far from the Colosseum.

Had there been air in space, the sound of the explosion would have been devastating enough to kill anyone within range. But since it was sent into the vacuum of space, far from the Colosseum, only light and its destructive power remained as tangible evidence of its existence. The explosion's shockwaves, void of sound, rippled through the emptiness, leaving behind a silent testament to its might. Yet, in the minds of the viewers, the sound reverberated—a phantom echo of the catastrophic force they had just witnessed.

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