Breathing heavily, heart pounding and feet planted firmly into the ground, Elliott came to a daunting realization—Faustina's way of fighting was unlike any elemental user he'd faced before.
"She's... mending her body with ice," he muttered, analyzing her uncanny mastery. "She's not just attacking—she's becoming the ice. Defense, offense... it's all fused into one."
He clenched his jaw as her wide, confident grin sent a shiver crawling up his spine. There was no denying it—Faustina was a true master of her element. Where others enhanced their strikes with power, she was the weapon, the shield, and the battlefield all at once.
"If she can twist her body and turn into ice at will..." Elliott's thoughts scrambled, no clear strategy forming. Landing a solid hit felt almost impossible—attacking head-on meant playing right into her game.
"What's wrong, big boy?" Faustina purred, her voice laced with mockery. "You look like you've seen a ghost and haven't had sleep in days. Too cold for someone who clearly prefers things hot?"
As she taunted him, Faustina bent her arm upward in a graceful sweep, ice bursting from her palm and rushing toward him like a creeping tide. Elliott jumped to dodge, but the frost was too fast—before he could escape, his feet were locked in place, frozen solid.
Suddenly, the very ice trail she had summoned warped and twisted. Faustina melted into it, skating along the slick surface like a phantom. Then, without warning, she burst forth just inches from him—her hands latching onto his shoulders, encasing them in chilling frost.
"You're supposed to be fast, aren't you?" she whispered darkly, slipping behind him with the fluid grace of a serpent. "Yet you got caught... again. Too slow?"
Her voice slithered around him, playful but sharp. Faustina circled him slowly, deliberately, like a predator enjoying the chase. She reached forward, fingers tilting his chin up so she could study his expression—his frustration, his fear, and the grim realization in his eyes.
"Now this," she smirked, "is the part I love."
Would you like to continue from here with Elliott planning a counterattack or someone interrupting?
"We need to help him," Tarot urged, glancing anxiously at the others. Kyora stood frozen, clearly unnerved by the overwhelming presence of the marine admirals. Joker, meanwhile, remained composed—his mind hard at work.
"I'm in the process of analyzing their fighting patterns," Joker stated calmly, eyes sharp with calculation. "So far, I've been unable to detect any clear weaknesses. The woman with blue hair, in particular—her technique eludes conventional logic. Her movements and responses don't follow any standard style I've encountered."
He continued studying the two admirals, his focus unbroken. Tarot stepped forward with hesitation, casting a glance back at him. "Then think of something fast," he said with a shaky grin. "I'm not exactly built for strategy—I punch things. That's about it."
Joker didn't respond immediately, but his narrowed eyes showed he was already calculating the next move.
As the group strategized, two sharp gunshots rang out across the district. Bullets sliced cleanly through the air, striking the ice path Faustina had conjured. The force of impact shattered the trail entirely, sending shards of ice flying and freeing Elliott from his frozen restraints.
The moment his feet hit solid ground, Elliott moved without hesitation—almost as if he'd been waiting for this exact window. Spinning on his heel, he delivered a powerful backward kick, his legs suddenly encased in steel. Electricity crackled around his limbs as the reinforced strike slammed into Faustina's midsection, hurling her backwards across the ice. The hit was clean, direct, and forceful—his first solid blow.
"Forbidden Technique of Enchantment. That's how I'm able to hit someone like you," Elliott said, turning toward her, electricity still arcing across his body as the steel on his limbs shimmered with residual energy.
Faustina, now motionless for a moment, chuckled softly, clearly still enjoying the thrill of battle. "Oh? So you can reinforce your body. Impressive. But your power is elemental too, isn't it? Tell me, why haven't you mastered formation or deformation yet?" Her eyes sparkled with amusement, even through the pain.
Elliott didn't bother answering Faustina's question. Instead, he locked his gaze onto her, his stance firm, feet planted solidly against the ground.
She's right… he admitted to himself silently. I've always leaned on my blade more than my ability. My lightning was just a means to enhance my strikes, not a weapon of its own. Without the blade, I'm exposed—I never truly learned how to wield it properly.
His brows furrowed as Faustina grinned, her expression almost taunting, as if she could sense the doubt surfacing in him.
Temoshí mastered both—ability and combat. But me? I've always favored one. And now, it's clear just how much I've neglected the other.
Lost in thought, Elliott barely registered Faustina gliding toward him, ice forming beneath her feet as she surged into offense. In a flash, she slammed her palm against his stomach, freezing his midsection before spreading her stance wide—jagged ice spikes erupting from the ground in a chaotic burst, aiming to impale him like a storm of frozen lances.
But Elliott reacted just in time. With a flicker of electricity, he vanished, reappearing at a distance. Though he escaped, patches of ice clung to him, weighing him down. In contrast, Faustina seemed completely at home in the cold—ice coiling around her limbs, an arctic breeze whirling about her figure.
She straightened with a playful glint in her eye, pressing her hands together and flashing a teasing grin, her tongue playfully poking out. "Why so guarded? No need to be shy—I'm quite the laid-back type."
Elliott didn't answer. He saw through the facade. Her charm was a distraction, nothing more. He tuned out her games and focused inward, pushing his power to evolve—refining his lightning, not to enhance a blade, but to become his weapon.
Certainly! Here's a cinematic and intense start to the battle between Nathaniel and Lucina, matching their abilities and personalities, while ensuring the fight remains balanced and unresolved:
---
The moment was tense.
Across the cracked stone street of the ruined district, Nathaniel and Lucina locked eyes—two sharpshooters standing at the edge of a storm. The air between them was still, taut like a bowstring.
Lucina stepped forward with grace, boots barely making a sound. Her coat flowed behind her like ripples in the sea. She carried both elegance and danger, her rifle slung across her back and a blade sheathed at her hip. The moisture in the air around her began to twist unnaturally, a faint mist coiling at her feet.
Nathaniel, silent and unreadable, clicked open his violin case beside him, revealing the rocket launcher nestled inside. Then, with swift motion, he holstered one pistol, resting his fingers lightly on the trigger of the other. "You've got the look of someone who doesn't miss," he muttered coolly.
Lucina smiled thinly. "And you've got the look of someone who won't admit when they're outmatched."
A crack of thunder wasn't far off—no storm in the sky, just the gunfire that erupted as both moved.
Bullets tore across the distance.
Lucina leaned and spun in fluid arcs, bending her body unnaturally, water swirling up to deflect a few shots mid-air. Nathaniel zipped across the field with short, high-speed dashes, avoiding her retaliatory shots by fractions of an inch. Every time he pulled the trigger, it was with cold precision.
Then Lucina flicked her wrist and the street shimmered—water surged up in slicing tendrils, chasing Nathaniel. He slid under one, fired backward mid-roll, and ducked behind a chunk of rubble.
Lucina disappeared—her body shifting into water as Nathaniel's next shot pierced straight through her. She reformed behind him, blade drawn.
He twisted around just in time, guns crossing to parry the slash and propel himself away with a blast from his launcher. The force cracked the ground and hurled both fighters back—Lucina landing effortlessly with water absorbing the impact, Nathaniel skidding across the pavement and flipping upright.
His eye narrowed. Time froze.
Everything turned black and white.
Lucina's slow motion figure raised her rifle, unaware. Nathaniel weaved between her slowed shots, then slid to her side and raised his own gun—aimed at her heart—but hesitated. Time resumed.
Lucina's eyes widened—she spun, deflected the barrel, and swept a wave of water that knocked him off his feet.
Lucina rested a hand on her hip, exuding calm confidence as the water surrounding her dripped softly to the ground like gentle rain. "Slowing down time… I've got to admit, I'm a little envious. That's quite a skill for a gunslinger. I must admit, I respect that."
Nathaniel flicked his pistol, reloading it with a practiced motion before closing the violin case and gripping it in his left hand. His stance was composed—pistol raised, expression unreadable. "I've changed, Lucina. I'm not ruled by fear anymore… not like when I was a kid."
Lucina gave a small nod, equally composed as she spun her rifle once and reloaded its twin barrels with smooth efficiency. "I can see that. It's clear that childhood experience shaped you. Maybe now, I can finally consider you a marksman worthy of the title."
To be continued...