The wind pressed against the ruined trees, carrying the scent of ash and smoldering bark. Neither man moved.
Chandler's red-and-black kimono shifted only slightly as the breeze coiled around him. His face remained unreadable—stern, cold, surgical.
Sir 8 rolled his shoulders. The bottle at his side clinked softly against the sheath of the short stick tucked into his belt. His dreadlocks fell over one eye, but the other burned with sharp calculation.
Kai groaned behind them, still holding his shoulder, watching the stand-off unfold with a swelling dread.
"You gonna fight him?" he rasped.
Sir 8 didn't answer.
Instead, he said quietly, "I can't take him."
Kai blinked. "What?"
Sir 8 stepped forward, keeping his eyes locked with Chandler's. "I could stall him. Maybe even trick him. But if I take Chandler head-to-head…"
He glanced back at Kai with a bitter half-smile.
"I die. And you die too."
Kai swallowed hard.
"Then—run?" he offered, almost embarrassed by the idea.
Sir 8's voice was low. "I run, you're a target. You think that man plays fair?"
Chandler took a slow step forward. "Wise of you to acknowledge the gap."
Sir 8's jaw flexed.
"But I'm not here for a duel," Chandler continued. "Not yet. You should be grateful my elder brother still wants you alive."
Sir 8's eyes narrowed. "...Akuma."
"Mm." Chandler's voice carried no joy. "His will is the law. So I give you one chance to come quietly. Let the boy go. And kneel."
Sir 8 snorted. "That's the problem with you nobles. Always talking like you're the gods."
Chandler's brow twitched.
Sir 8 tilted his head. "But if you really want me…"
The ground beneath Chandler's feet clicked.
Boom—
A shock burst of pressure exploded from the earth, sending up a cone of dirt and smoke beneath Chandler's feet. Sir 8 was already gone from his position—having set a pressure trap beneath the leaves during their standoff. A diversion.
The smoke curled high, and from within it, a shadow lunged—
Sir 8 struck out with his stick, mid-spin, the movement flowing like water, guided by experience and instinct.
The stick hit nothing.
In the blink of an eye, Chandler had already leapt backward—five meters away—his arms still crossed, face unbothered.
"I've read your playbook, Eight."
Sir 8's eyes widened. "Tch—"
Chandler blurred.
One moment he was yards away, and the next—
Crack!
A fist slammed into Sir 8's chest with crushing force. The blow hit like a warhammer wrapped in lightning.
Sir 8 coughed violently, his feet skidding back through ash and gravel, blood flying from his lips.
Chandler appeared in front of him again—this time with a second blow to the ribs. Sir 8 managed to block with his elbow, but the power sent him flipping through the air and crashing into a tree.
Kai stood frozen, watching in wide-eyed horror.
Chandler exhaled, eyes still cold. "Your tricks are wasted on me."
Sir 8 groaned, staggering to one knee.
And Chandler began to walk forward.
One slow, surgical step at a time.
To be continued...