Even walked through the halls of his childhood home, eyes scanning every corner, every piece of furniture, every painting. It wasn't perfect—details were off, the polish of memory dulled by reconstruction—but it was close enough. Close enough that each sight pried open memories he hadn't wanted to face. Memories that, while not exactly good, were still better than the day his lack of magical affinity had been discovered. His lips curved into a dark chuckle. "That old bastard is probably raging right now."
And he was right. In the stands, Samwell seethed, face twisted with venom. "That little rat, how dare he…" he whispered, the tone so poisonous that Matthew, sitting besides him, flinched involuntarily.
Back in the arena, Xain looked confused as he glanced around. "Two indoor fights in a row. Well… at least this will make it easier to fight him," he muttered, striding forward.
Soon, both he and Even approached the hall leading into the dining room—or what seemed like it. Even pushed through first, cracking his knuckles as he squared his shoulders. "Alright. Let's finish the fight that started on the road," he said, expecting Xain to come through the opposite door. But when the handle didn't budge, his brow furrowed. "Did he get lost?" he muttered, reaching for the door himself.
The moment he came close—BAM! The door exploded outward, smashing into his face as Xain kicked it off its hinges and sent Even reeling.
A rush of energy surged through the coliseum. The crowd roared. Quincy's voice rang out over the chaos like the call of a ring announcer. "And we are off! Xain lands the first sneaky hit!"
Even staggered back, blood spilling from his nose, though he immediately began knitting the damage shut with a shimmer of water magic. "You sneaky little—" His words cut short as Xain's foot rammed into his sternum, forcing the air from his lungs. Before he could catch a breath, Xain seized his head, slamming him into the wall. Plaster cracked, and in the same motion Xain dragged him down, scraping his face harshly across it before driving a knee up into his jaw.
In the fighters' waiting room, the spectators had no shortage of commentary. "So brutal," Calvinel muttered with a low whistle, watching with narrowed eyes. Vilak leaned forward, brow raised. "Is he turning into Annie again?" Mae shook her head almost immediately. "No. If he were, this would look a lot more clean." Hittag nodded in agreement, his voice steady. "He's focused."
Back in the arena, Even coughed as his body slammed to the ground from the last blow, pain spreading through his skull. He barely had a chance to move before Xain's heel came crashing down onto his ribcage with a sharp stomp that echoed through the hall.
"This is a one-sided beatdown! Even hasn't been able to respond at all!" Quincy announced, her voice carrying the same steady energy as always, though her face betrayed a flicker of concern.
"I'm sorry, Even," Xain said, standing over him, fist drawn back, eyes set. "But I have a reason for winning too!" He swung forward—only for a raw burst of blood to explode from Even's right hand.
The crimson blast smashed into Xain like a cannon, his angelic armor negated the damage from its cutting edge but not its force. He was hurled backward, boots skidding across the floor.
Even hauled himself up, his body already glowing faintly as his wounds sealed over. "You fucking brat! Give me a moment to breathe!" he snarled, summoning once again the same blood blade he had conjured twice before.
Even came charging in, his blood blade cleaving down in a vicious arc. Xain's eyes went wide—panic flashing across his face—before he ducked low and sprinted straight for the dining room, shoving the door open and diving inside.
"Don't run now, brat!" Even roared, storming in after him.
But the moment his foot crossed the threshold, Xain came swinging a chair at him. Even's eyes narrowed sharply—his blade flashing as he split the chair clean down the middle with one swift motion. Splinters scattered across the floor.
"I'm ready for your cheap tricks now! They're not going to work anymore!" he barked, lashing out with another swing.
Xain stumbled back, now clutching only the two jagged chair legs. "Whoa!" he yelped, backstepping frantically. With no other option, he hurled the chair legs at Even's face. Again, the blood blade carved them apart with ease, but the distraction bought Xain the time he needed to dive across the long dining table, sliding to the far side.
"Looks like Xain's on the retreat! Can he stand up to Even now that the blood blade's out!?" Quincy's voice rang over the arena, hyping the crowd into a frenzy.
Even exhaled sharply, regaining control of his breathing as his glare tracked Xain's every movement. "You know," he muttered, tone dropping to something calmer, "I was actually going to talk before all this started. But you came swinging first." His eyes narrowed as Xain fiddled with something behind his back, casually plucking up a salt shaker from the table.
"What are you even…" Even started, then sighed, shaking his head. "Never mind. I just wanted to say—thanks. For not agreeing with me. For telling me I was wrong." His hand rubbed the back of his neck, his blade still firm in the other.
Xain gave a short nod, his grip tightening behind his back on the salt shaker he had subtly opened. "You're welcome, I guess. And I'm glad you've chosen to…do something else, too."
Even scoffed, his grip on the blade tightening again. "Yeah, yeah. Enough talk—let's finish this."
The instant he said it, Xain hurled the salt shaker.
Even frowned, blade snapping up as he sliced through it midair. "What, you think that's gonna—"
His words cut short as a spray of sand burst out, blasting across his face. "Agh—fuck! What the hell!?" He staggered, one hand flying to his eyes. The stinging sand forced them shut, his concentration breaking. The crimson blade collapsed into a useless spill of blood, dripping onto the floor.
Xain didn't waste a second. He grabbed another chair and smashed it across Even's back with a resounding crack.
"Xain pulls another dirty trick and is back on the attack!" Quincy shouted as the stands erupted in cheers.
"Really apologize for breaking the moment!" Xain yelled over the crowd, snatching up a plate and shattering it against Even's head. "But I need to do everything I can to win!"
He followed up immediately with a tray, hammering it down again and again across Even's shoulders while his opponent was still clawing at his burning eyes.
In one of the VIP stands, Samwell clenched his fists, muttering through gritted teeth, "Is that blue-haired barbarian really going to win again…?"
Matthew leaned forward, voice low but tense. "Come on, you can't lose like this, Even…"
Elsewhere, Lia covered her mouth in disbelief. "Oof… Even's having a really bad day."
"Don't just stand there, fight back!" Dirk bellowed, slamming a fist against his seat.
Elsewhere in the stands, Clara practically bounced in her seat, her usual excitement for these matches coming back. "Look, look, look at him! He's fighting just like his old self again!"
"He really is," Elsa murmured, her eyes locked on the fight. "I didn't expect him to do this well."
Somewhere else in the stands, "He's doin' it! He's actually doin' it!" Larkin shouted, arms thrown up as he cheered with Zee and Nori.
Elsewhere in the crowd, Amara, more restrained, folded her arms as her eyes stayed on the fight. "The usual tricks—but this time he isn't giving the Mathers a chance to breathe."
The crowd's divided voices clashed in the air—half screaming for Xain's relentless tricks, the other half urging Even to get back on his feet.
Then, in the arena—
"Enough!" Even's roar tore through the chaos.
The floor buckled as jagged walls of stone erupted, bursting through the wooden boards of the dining room. Xain was thrown backward as a wooden pillar burst from the ground behind him. He rolled across the floor, colliding with the jagged stone with a grunt, the force rattling the air around him.
Xain shook his head as he slowly looked up to see Even weave together earth and blood magic, the same combination he had used against Annabel. Half a dozen jagged stone spikes erupted from the ground, their surfaces slick with blood, each one poised to launch straight at Xain. Sweat began to bead nervously across his forehead, his chest tightening as the weight of the moment pressed down on him. Even's voice boomed over the tension, "This is it, brat! You are not winning this one!"
Xain swallowed hard, his throat dry, then drew a steadying breath, forcing his shoulders to relax. "I am," he said, his hands rising deliberately, a calm certainty threading through his tone. Even's eyes went wide, disbelief flickering across his features. "No, you just learned about them last night—you can't—!"
Before his protest could finish, Xain's voice cut through, sharp and resolute. "Soul Chamber."
Even's hands froze mid-motion, the spikes hovering in the air as he dropped his spell. He shifted his stance immediately, preparing to counter with the Soul Veil technique—but before he could react, Even's world blurred.