Geist drew his sword as the referee signaled the start of the match. His opponent raised a gleaming knife, and when their blades met, sparks scattered into the air, pressing close, the knife fighter leaned in and whispered, "My name is Ram. And you are?"
Geist gritted his teeth. "Geist... Thunder Geist."
With introductions made, the two sprang apart, Ram shrugged off his tattered robe, revealing a chest strapped with holsters bristling with knives, Geist steadied his stance as Ram's muscles flexed, his barrage of strikes coming fast and vicious, Geist parried skillfully, each movement honed, but step by step he found himself edging toward the boundary of the arena.
Ram noticed, and smiled, Certain of victory, he drew four knives at once, ready to unleash a storm. But in that instant, Geist's focus sharpened… the world dimmed around him, as shadows swallowed the noise of the crowd. A ripple spread beneath his feet, in his mind, every trajectory unfolded, every possible outcome laid bare.
With a single, flawless strike, Geist shattered Ram's knives and disarmed him, Ram staggered, about to fall, but Geist caught him by the arm a gesture of respect and sportsmanlike.
Ram met his eyes, nodded, and admitted defeat, together, they exchanged bows of honor before leaving the arena as the crowd erupted in cheers.
Fran stepped forward to face the opposing team's brawler, the arena trembled as their fists collided again and again, each blow met with equal force. The clash raged until, with one decisive strike, Fran dropped his opponent, raising his fist in victory, he declared the match his.
Next came Colt, facing a mage whose hands shimmered with frost, with a sharp gesture, the mage unleashed a barrage of razor-sharp ice shards. They rained down in a deadly storm, but Colt did not flinch. Instead, he leapt from shard to shard, turning them into stepping stones, in a flash, he closed the distance, pressing his dagger to the mage's throat.
The mage froze, then lifted his arm in surrender, the referee signaled the end, and with that, Geist's team advanced to the next round.
While waiting for their next round, the team returned to Simone's workshop. There, Simone unveiled his latest creation for Cael, a sword with a crimson gem gleaming in its hilt, runes etched along the blade.
The group leaned in to admire it, Geist, unable to resist, picked it up and gave it a testing swing, the moment the blade moved, the rune flared, a pulse of energy burst forth, blasting a clean hole straight through Simone's guest lounge wall.
Simone froze, hands resting on the back of his head in disbelief. "What… what have you done?!"
Geist smirked sheepishly. "Tehee~."
The others stood wide-eyed, jaws dropping at the sudden destruction, Simone's face darkened, his foot tapping furiously against the floor. With a grumble, he shoved tools into their hands. "Fix it. Now."
Geist muttered apologies while patching the wall, Fran sawed planks, and Annisa brushed debris from the floor. Simone watched them with arms crossed, still fuming.
When the repairs were finally underway, Cael reached for the sword, Geist's eyes lit with anticipation as Cael raised the weapon and swung it experimentally, this time, no energy arcs appeared.
Simone explained, "The sword resonates only with Geist because he is a rune user. It draws in ethereal energies from outside as its power source, it lays dormant until it collects enough energy.
Cael examined the blade in awe, his fingers brush over the crimson gem. "A weapon that channel energy beyond its wielder… this could truly help mankind." He mutters to himself.
As they returned, Geist and his squad caught sight of the arena from afar, the roar of the crowd carried to them as if they stood right beside it. Inside, Murdoc lifted his opponent by the collar, raising his arms high in a brutal declaration of victory.
The brackets had shown, Geist's team had fought their way to the final match from Bracket A, while Murdoc's team now stood as champions of Bracket B, the collision was inevitable.
On the benches, Albert slumped with his book clutched to his chest, muttering about his earlier loss. Geist placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, offering a silent spark of encouragement.
Colt, meanwhile, could barely sit still, he cracked his knuckles, a wild grin spreading across his face. "Finally," he said, his voice sharp with excitement. "Now I get to show those fools who's the boss!"
The finals awaited.
The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers as the referee called both teams to the center of the arena. Murdoc's squad strode forward, towering over Geist's team, their grins edged with menace, Murdoc rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, the sound sharp as a warning.
Geist met his gaze and smiled.
The first bout began, Fran versus Brandt.
Brandt stepped into the arena clad in a white hoodie, his face shadowed while his hands buried deep in his pockets. Fran calmly wrapped his fists in bandages like a boxer, tugging the final strip tight with his teeth before stepping forward.
The referee signaled.
Fran struck first, driving a sharp left straight for Brandt. But his punch stopped cold, as if caught by something unseen. Fran grit his teeth and unleashed a furious barrage of blows, yet each one was stopped just as easily. Smoke curled from his fists with every impact.
Frustrated, Fran backed off, channeled his energy, and lunged in again. His empowered strike cracked with smoke and force, but as the haze cleared, Brandt stood exactly as before, untouched.
"You can do it, Fran! Beat 'em up!" Geist shouted from the sidelines.
"Shut up!" Fran barked back, not taking his eyes off his opponent.
Geist shrank back, fiddling with his thumbs, eyes watering like a scolded child.
Fran drew a deep breath, thinking deeply. He replayed the exchanges in his mind, too fast for the eye but not for the body. His fists remembered the truth, there was no barrier.
Brandt was blocking every strike, at impossible speed.
Fran shifted his stance, feet scraping against the ground as he launched into rapid footwork. His eyes glowed, the runes etched into his body flaring to life as white veins pulsed down his arms, then, like lightning, he unleashed a blinding flurry of punches.
Brandt didn't move, he stood rooted in place, hands still hidden, as if nothing could touch him. But Fran wasn't just striking, he was measuring, testing, waiting for the slightest opening.
Then, boom! A punch slipped through, crashing against Brandt's cheek and drawing blood. Fran's lips curved into a sharp smile as he followed with a devastating uppercut. The strike roared upward, its force tearing the air in a shockwave that sent Brandt staggering back for the first time.
For the first time, Brandt raised a hand to his face, his fingers coming away wet with blood. His grin faded, silently, he lowered his hood, revealing his face at last. His eyes sharpened as he settled into a stance, serious now.
The clash reignited, fist versus fist, kick followed punch, strikes ringing like thunder, Fran ducked and weaved, dodging desperately, but it was clear he was being pushed to the edge, Brandt's speed and strength only grew, each blow landing heavier than the last.
Then it came, a brutal low kick, arcing upward from below, Fran barely crossed his arms in time, the strike crashing against him with bone-rattling force, pain ripped through his body, and blood spewed from his mouth as the impact drove him backward.
Fran staggered back, knees trembling, blood dripping from his lips. But he didn't retreat, he spat to the side, lifted his head, and fixed Brandt with a glare sharper than steel.
Brandt, unrelenting, pressed forward, his fury only grew, determined to finish the fight, fists flying in a relentless storm. Fran blocked as best he could, arms screaming with pain until one strike slipped through.
A brutal uppercut crashed into his chin, his head snapped back, and for a heartbeat the light in his eyes went out, his body swayed, nearly collapsing.
But Fran's spirit refused to die.
With what strength remained, he drove his fist forward, ignoring the punishment to his own body, Brandt's punch smashed across his face at the same instant but Fran's knuckles landed square on Brandt's jaw.
The force of their blows sent both men staggering back, breath ragged, eyes blazing.
Two fighters. One resolve.
A smile crept across Brandt's face. He was enjoying this. The two clashed again, fists colliding in thunderous rhythm.
Fran's strikes grew heavier, each punch carrying more weight than the last. For the first time, Brandt began to give ground.
From the sidelines, Murdoc's grin widened. "Here it comes…" he muttered.
Brandt's hoodie tore under the strain, seared away to reveal a scarred, muscular frame a dragon's mark etched across his chest. Power erupted from him, a crackling aura distorting the air.
Fran only smiled wider, though pain tavels through his body. His rune flared to its peak, white veins blazing across his body like a radiant network.
They charged.
No guards, no blocks, only fists, each one finding its mark, each impact echoing through the arena. The crowd held its breath, unable to look away as the two fighters endured, their grit laid bare with every punishing blow.
Then one final, devastating strike.
Both men froze, fists still raised, eyes locked, a beat of silence stretched across the arena.
Brandt's gaze flickered, then his eyes slid shut as his body collapsed, unconscious.
Fran, trembling on the brink of collapse himself, raised one arm high in victory before nearly falling to his knees.
The arena erupted, the crowd roared his name.
Fran had won.
Geist caught Fran as he collapsed, easing him onto the bench. A wet towel pressed to his face, Fran let out a ragged breath while Geist smiled down at him. "You did great," he said softly.
Fran managed a faint nod.
Meanwhile, Colt was already on his feet, brimming with restless energy. The referee's call rang out, summoning the next fighters, from Murdoc's side, Sentry stepped forward, a chained sickle gleaming in his grasp.
Colt met him at the center of the arena, Sentry dragged his tongue along the blade of his weapon, a grin twists across his face, Colt grimaced.
The referee raised his hand. "Fight!"
Almost instantly, chaos erupted, the referee himself stumbling as Sentry's first strike whipped past, chains rattling violently, he yelped and scrambled out of the way.
"You won't be so lucky this time!" Sentry snarled.
"Blah, blah, blah. You never shut up, do you?" Colt shot back, his grin widening. "You run your mouth like a girl!"
Sentry's expression darkened, fury flashing in his eyes, with a hiss of metal, his chains uncoiled from his legs and lashed out. The sickle whirled, hurled forward before snapping back into his grip with fluid precision.
Colt's forearms split open with a metallic rasp as his twin blades extended, sparks flew as he deflected each sickle strike, step by step forcing his way closer, narrowly slipping between Sentry's deadly intervals.
At last, Colt broke through the storm of chains, he seized Sentry's face in his palm.
"Got you!"
He slammed him into the arena floor with bone-cracking force, the chains writhed once… then fell limp, Colt grinned, triumphant.
But then, the ground trembled.
Colt froze, hand still pressed to Sentry's face, the stone beneath them rumbled, dust rising in thin clouds, his instincts flareed, and he pushed away, retreating to the side.
Sentry's chains rattled again, louder this time, echoing like metallic laughter, Murdoc's grin spread wide as the arena quaked.
Stitches split across Sentry's body, and with a grotesque crack, he rose from the rubble, his eyes burned with a eerie glow, and the rune carved into his back ignited, Chains slithered across his frame, wrapping him in a grotesque armor, his arms stretched unnaturally, each wielding a sickle, while two more chains hissed and writhed above him like serpentine whips.
The crowd fell silent.
Colt, however, didn't flinch, he leveled his blades, smirking with defiance until Sentry moved.
A flash of steel tore through the air, Colt leaned back just in time, the edge of a sickle grazing so close it nearly slit his throat.
For the first time, Colt's grin faltered.
One after another, the stone floor around Colt split open, carved apart by the violent arcs of Sentry's slashes, each strike rang out like steel shrieking against stone, forcing Colt to retreat step by step.
Then, in a single blur of movement, Sentry lunged, his hand clamped around Colt's throat, nails unnaturally long and purple, piercing the skin. He squeezed, then released. Not out of mercy, but cruelty.
Colt staggered back, clutching his neck, a sudden dizziness washed over him, his vision doubled, sentry's image split into two, then three.
"He's poisoned," Geist muttered, his eyes narrowing from the sidelines.
Colt grits his teeth, struggling to steady himself. but Sentry gave no quarters, chains lashed and sickles whirled in a merciless barrage, Colt's blades met them with clumsy deflections, with limp body and sluggish movements.
A final strike knocked him from his feet.
Chains surged up around him like serpents, coiling tight, with a sickening crunch, they pierced through his shoulders and yanked him into the air, suspending him helplessly.
"Colt!" Annissa's voice rang out in alarm, her face pale with worry.
The crowd roared, torn between awe and horror.
Colt hung limp in Sentry's chains, unmoving. The referee climbed hesitantly back into the arena, raising a hand to declare the victor.
With a sneer of disinterest, Sentry uncoiled his chains and flung Colt aside like a corpse. "Pathetic," he spat.
But before Colt hit the ground, his hand shot out and caught one of the dangling chains. Blood streamed from his mouth, yet a wild grin spread across his face.
"That wasn't enough to wake me!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd, Colt swung himself up on the chain and yanked, dragging Sentry toward him.
The referee shrieked, threw his arms over his head, and leapt out of the arena in panic as the clash reignited.
Colt's blades snapped out from his forearm, their edges became jagged, with a savage slash, he tore through Sentry's chain armor. Sparks and steel shrieked, Sentry stumbled back, eyes wide, clutching at his chest where two deep gashes now bled.
But Colt didn't stop, his grin only widened as he hammered strike after strike, splintering the armored chains piece by piece.
"This… this can't be! How are you still alive?!" Sentry roared.
Colt's body gleamed, his skin hardening until it shimmered like iron. "Because this is my ability," he growled. "Die you say? Die by my blades!"
With a furious cry, he drove both blades forward, the twin thrusts pierced through the last of Sentry's armor, ramming straight into him, a sickening thud echoed across the arena.
Colt raised his weapons high for the finishing blow.
"Gya! I give up! Spare me!" Sentry cried out, trembling.
Colt froze, then scoffed, he pulled back, his body reverts back as he spat at the ground beside his opponent. "Tch. What a hogwash."
The referee, still trembling, scrambled back onto the stage. "W… winner… Colt!"
The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers, Geist rushed forward, raising his arm, Colt slapped his hand in a sharp high five, sealing his victory.
The atmosphere crackled with excitement, two matches down, one left, all eyes turned to the next stage, where Rebecca prepared to face Murdoc's mage.
Cael studied the opposing mage carefully, a chill pricked at his skin. Something about her felt… off.