Xain's voice cracked inside his head. "Wha–wha–what is happening!?" His eyes were wide as he stared at the TV screen. "Annie? How is she controlling my body right now? How is she even real? Tha–th-that was me! That was me being delusional!"
His breathing hitched. His hands trembled as he looked down at them.
"…Wasn't it?"
Ercale, arms crossed, leaned back into the couch. He let out a thoughtful hum, rubbing his chin as he watched the screen. *This probably has something to do with the fact that he has a part…* he mused silently.
Meanwhile, Xain's mind flashed back to another time. He remembered the demon of hatred. He remembered watching from the inside when he took over. "…Are you like him?"
Back in the arena, Annie's eyes twitched.
*Why don't you shut up and let me win this, 'hero'?* she said inside their shared head, venomous and smug. The voice hit both of them like a slap—Xain recoiled, Ercale raising his brows in surprise.
On the outside, "Xain is back up! That was one nasty blow, but he's on his feet again—and he's changed his hairstyle!" Quincy's voice rang out over the crowd, brimming with excitement. "Could he be trying something similar to his last fight?"
Mae stared for a moment. The shift in posture, the glint in the eye, even the hair falling to shadow one side of the face—this wasn't the same boy she was fighting seconds ago.
Then Annie smiled. A slow, mocking smile.
"Ohh, okay," Mae chuckled, trying to brush off the unease crawling up her spine. "I'll call you by your preferred name, then. Annie." She exaggerated the name with a sarcastic bite as she burst forward. So what if he changed his hair and called himself something else? She'd knock him out all the same.
She feinted a punch—then snapped into a high kick aimed for Annie's ribs.
CRACK.
Mae stumbled back a step, clutching her nose. Blood trickled down from between her fingers.
"…Huh?"
She hadn't even seen a hit. Hadn't even seen Annie move.
"When did you…" Her voice trailed off in disbelief.
Annie tilted her head, smirk never faltering. "Ah ah~ a girl never reveals her secrets," she cooed, wagging a finger as she stepped forward, fluid and easy—then, in a heartbeat, exploded into motion.
Mae barely raised her guard before it hit: a savage twelve-strike chain that came at her like water crashing down a cliff. Annie's feet slid and shifted perfectly with each motion—there was no waste. Every strike was a blur of precision: short jabs to bait Mae's guard, palm strikes to the chest and throat, elbows slamming in at angles she couldn't follow, knees ramming into her thighs to kill her stance. Her arms were bent close, guard tight, but it didn't matter—Annie fought with terrifying efficiency, every blow angled to slip between Mae's defenses or crush right through them.
It was overwhelming.
Mae's body screamed to keep up. She wasn't unskilled, far from it—but the difference between their levels was grotesque. Annie moved like she was born for this, like the fight was already finished in her head and she was just playing. Mae stumbled back, her balance shattered, and finally—finally—the combo ended.
She saw a small gap—an opening—and went for it.
She drew both of her elven daggers in one smooth motion and lunged, teeth grit—
—and instantly collapsed to her knees.
A white-hot pain bloomed deep in her side—her liver—sending waves of nausea through her. Her mouth parted in a gasp, but only a choked sob came out as the tears welled from the searing impact.
"You think I'm going to let you attack~?" Annie purred, now crouched beside her. She gently patted Mae's head, fingers curling into her hair like a lover's caress.
"How cute~" Her voice dripped with condescension, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, her smile twisted somewhere between euphoric and deranged. "But that's not going to happen."
She leaned closer.
"I'm going to make you feel utterly hopeless~"
In the fighters' waiting room, the silence was heavy, broken only by the crackle of the viewing orb.
"…Is that even Xain at this point?" Calvinel asked, his brow raised as he leaned in with narrowed eyes.
"Is he doing what he did last time?" Zeva added, studying every twitch of Annie's movement.
"No," Callum muttered, almost under his breath. "It—it doesn't feel the same."
Bryanard stood with arms crossed, gaze sharp. "The way the boy's moving… it's different. Too different."
"That combo just now," Gurion added, his voice barely audible, "the way he moved through it—it's grotesque. No normal fighter moves like that." He clenched his fists, the edge of envy and self-doubt biting into his pride as a martial artist.
Even shook his head slowly. "Just what the hell are you hiding, brat…"
In the stands, Nori's eyes went wide, heart thudding against his ribs. Even with the Hatred, Xain had never fought like this.
"D-Did Cain take over?" Zee blurted, her voice brittle, heart hammering against her ribs as she watched her twin get humiliated.
"I dunno…" Larkin replied, swallowing hard, "…but I don't think Mae's winnin' this anymore."
Elsewhere in the stands, Clara's breath hitched. "I-I don't like this… It's so unlike him." Her hands trembled in her lap.
Beside her, Elsa gently took her hand. "We haven't known him long. Maybe this is what he's like…" But her own voice lacked conviction. Her eyes stayed glued to the arena—watching with unease.
In another corner of the stands, Amara leaned forward, her knuckles white. "What is happening? How the hell did he get that good so fast? And why'd he change his hairstyle?" Her voice was tangled between confusion and growing frustration at her lack of knowledge.
Somewhere else in the stands, "That's different," X said aloud, his tone low.
Sarandel turned toward him. "Explain."
"I can't," he replied, still staring ahead. "But whatever that is… it's not the same thing he did before."
In one of the VIP stands, Samwell's face twisted with fury. "How is that barbarian pushing back The Elf?" he snarled, slamming a clenched fist into the padded armrest.
Matthew, who had barely been paying attention before, now sat upright, watching intently.
In another VIP stand, Tianteng let out a quiet sigh, her eye twitching. "Another one…? Just how many damned unknowns are crawling around in this generation?"
Beside her, the Emperor of Aeruna said nothing. He cast her a brief glance, then returned his focus to the arena without a word.
In yet another VIP stand, "…Impressive," Prince Mark murmured, eyes fixed. "Grotesquely impressive."
Zara nodded slowly beside him—speechless.
Quincy's voice rang out once again, riding the wave of crowd energy. "What a turnaround! Xain now has the complete upper hand! Can Mae recover from this?!"
Down in the arena, Mae glared daggers into Annie's smiling face. Her lip curled.
"Utterly hopeless?" she echoed, almost amused. Her mouth curled into a defiant grin. "You really don't know me well enough yet, do you?"
With a sudden snap of motion, she launched herself backward to reset her stance, dragging in a sharp, slow breath.
Her eyes shut.
Then—
A violent surge of motion tore through her body like lightning. Her muscles tensed. Her stance widened. Her eyes snapped open—cold and sharp, glowing with a seething, barely-contained rage.
Elven Rage.
She locked eyes with Annie, who still wore that same crooked smirk.
"You think that's going to help you?" Annie purred, brushing dust off her knees as if the moment wasn't worth taking seriously. "Let me put those delusions to rest."
They both charged.