Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 80: Apollo vs Dante Roan

Chapter 80: Apollo vs Dante Roan

The whole place was buzzing, the crowd on their feet, voices crashing together in pure excitement.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the chaos.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS IS A CLASH OF PURE POWER!"

The massive screens lit up, flashing both fighters’ names in bold, glowing letters.

"ON ONE SIDE—THE IMMOVABLE FORCE! THE UNBREAKABLE TITAN! THE MAN WHO TURNS THE BATTLEFIELD INTO HIS DOMAIN—DANTE ROAN!"

The crowd exploded, chanting Dante’s name, hyping him up like he was unstoppable.

"AND ON THE OTHER SIDE—THE RELENTLESS HUNTER! THE PREDATOR WHO NEVER STOPS! THE ONE WHO EVOLVES WITH EVERY STRIKE—APOLLO!"

Another wave of cheers ripped through the stadium, the energy hitting a fever pitch.

This wasn’t just a fight.

This was a war.

A battle of who was stronger.

A battle of who would dominate.

The bell rang.

And they charged.

The First Clash

Apollo lunged, his body already shifting, muscles tightening, instincts firing on all cylinders. His Primal Apex kicked in instantly, his movements fluid, his speed climbing with every step.

Dante stood his ground, his Titan Veil warping the battlefield around him. The air thickened, gravity pressing down, making every movement feel heavier, denser.

Apollo felt it—the weight, the suffocating force—but he didn’t stop.

He accelerated, his body adapting, his momentum building.

Then—he struck.

A clean, brutal swipe aimed at Dante’s ribs.

Dante didn’t dodge.

Didn’t block.

He absorbed it.

The impact fed his power, his body reinforcing itself, his next attack growing stronger.

Then—he countered.

His fist swung, carrying the weight of Apollo’s own strike, amplified, dense, unstoppable.

Apollo vanished.

Phantom Pounce.

He reappeared behind Dante, claws flashing, aiming for his back—

But Dante was ready.

His Dominion Pulse activated, releasing a shockwave of stored force.

Apollo was blasted backward, skidding across the battlefield, his body adjusting instantly, his muscles tightening, his stance shifting.

The crowd lost it.

"WHAT A COUNTER! DANTE ROAN JUST TURNED APOLLO’S OWN ATTACK AGAINST HIM!"

Apollo grinned, breath steady, instincts sharpening.

Dante smirked, rolling his shoulders, his presence suffocating.

Neither was backing down.

The Battle Escalates

Apollo moved, faster now, his body adapting, his Predator’s Momentum kicking in.

Every step made him stronger.

Every movement made him sharper.

He vanished again—Phantom Pounce—reappearing at Dante’s blind spot, claws flashing.

Dante planted his feet.

Absolute Stance.

Apollo’s strike connected—but Dante didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even budge.

Apollo’s eyes widened.

Then—Dante grabbed him.

His grip was unbreakable, his strength overwhelming.

Apollo roared, his Sovereign Roar shaking the battlefield, the sheer force making the ground tremble.

Dante felt it, his muscles tensing, his body resisting the primal fear—but it slowed him.

Apollo used it.

He twisted, breaking free, his body adjusting, instincts sharpening.

Then—he attacked.

Faster.

Stronger.

More relentless.

Dante absorbed every hit, his Force Conversion stacking power, his next attack growing more devastating.

Then—he released it.

Dominion Pulse.

The shockwave erupted, sending Apollo flying, crashing into the ground.

The crowd screamed, the announcer barely keeping up.

"THIS IS INSANE! APOLLO KEEPS GETTING STRONGER, BUT DANTE JUST WON’T BREAK!"

Apollo stood, his body adjusting, his muscles refining, his instincts sharpening.

Dante rolled his shoulders, his presence suffocating, his power undeniable.

They charged again.

The Final Exchange

Apollo vanished—Phantom Pounce—reappearing above Dante, claws ready.

Dante planted his feet—Absolute Stance—ready to absorb the impact.

Apollo didn’t strike.

Instead—he roared.

Sovereign Roar.

The battlefield shook, the force unleashed, the pressure overwhelming.

Dante felt it, his stance faltering, his body resisting—but Apollo was already moving.

He struck, claws flashing, momentum unstoppable.

Dante absorbed it—Force Conversion—his power stacking.

Then—he released it.

Dominion Pulse.

The shockwave erupted, but Apollo vanished before it could hit.

He reappeared behind Dante, claws aiming for his neck.

Dante turned, his fist swinging—

Apollo ducked, his body adjusting, instincts perfected.

Then—he struck.

A clean, brutal hit.

Dante staggered.

Apollo didn’t stop.

He attacked again, claws flashing, momentum unstoppable.

Dante tried to absorb it, but Apollo’s speed was too much.

The final strike landed.

Dante collapsed, his body hitting the ground, breath heavy, strength spent.

The crowd froze.

Then—exploded.

The announcer screamed.

"APOLLO WINS!"

The stadium erupted, cheers and boos colliding, the energy unreal.

Apollo exhaled, rolling his shoulders, his body still buzzing with adrenaline.

The stadium was chaos, but Apollo?

He barely looked fazed.

His breathing was steady.

His posture was relaxed.

Not a single bead of sweat touched his skin.

Dante Roan—one of the strongest fighters in the tournament—lay unconscious, defeated with almost no effort.

Apollo rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly, his expression unreadable.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the chaos.

"AND JUST LIKE THAT—APOLLO ADVANCES TO THE NEXT ROUND!"

The crowd cheered, though some murmured in disbelief.

Had it really been that easy?

Had Dante—the immovable force—really been taken down so effortlessly?

Apollo didn’t react to the noise.

Didn’t acknowledge the cheers.

Didn’t even glance at Dante’s fallen body.

He simply turned, walking off the arena, his mind already shifting toward the next fight.

As Apollo stepped out of the arena, his posture relaxed, his breathing steady—completely unfazed by the battle he had just won.

The moment he entered the waiting area, his teammates and fellow students rushed toward him, their voices filled with excitement.

"You made that look too easy!" one of them laughed, clapping him on the back.

"That was insane!" another chimed in. "Dante didn’t even stand a chance!"

Apollo smirked, rolling his shoulders. "He was strong," he admitted, though his tone was casual, almost indifferent. "Just not strong enough."

His teammates cheered, some shaking his hand, others patting his shoulder, their admiration clear.

Milo grinned. "You didn’t even break a sweat."

Apollo shrugged. "Didn’t need to."

Shylo chuckled. "You better hope your next fight isn’t that easy. Wouldn’t want you getting bored."

Apollo smirked, his gaze flickering toward the tournament brackets. "We’ll see."

The energy around him was electric, his school rallying behind him, their confidence in his strength unshakable.

The three of them all become proud of each other, how strong they’ve become since they were last together.