Steel shrieked through air as both blurred into motion. This time there was no waste of time, no cautious circling.
Only violence sharpened to an art. Elior's daggers whirled like twin vipers, one cutting high, the other twisting low. Vincent's sword met them in clean arcs, sparks showering as their weapons clashed again and again, each collision ringing across the cold midnight arena.
Vincent broke away first, boots grinding dirt, and snapped his hand outward. The blade hummed, not the blade. The air above it cracked.
Elior saw a shimmer gather around the noble's edge, faint streaks of pale blue light splitting the sky.
Sky magic.
The sword swung down, and the heavens obeyed. A crescent of cutting wind ripped toward Elior, tearing the ground in its path. Elior rolled aside, dust exploding where he had stood, a jagged scar cut deep into the arena floor.
He narrowed his eyes. So he's not just an assassin. He knows magic too....
Vincent smirked, crimson hair shifting in the breeze stirred by his own strike. "Surprised? You thought blades alone defined me?" Another swing. This time the gust curved, homing like a falcon mid-dive. Elior twisted his daggers into an X and let the force slam against the steel.
It rattled his bones, his stance almost buckled, but he pushed the attack aside, the wind splitting around him like broken glass.
From the stands, Sassy Star leaned against the railing, clapping mockingly. "Oh, this is precious. A noble showing off, a silent dagger-boy resisting. Which one of you will fall first?"
Neither of them spared her a glance.
Elior darted forward, faster than before, his daggers a storm of thrusts and slashes. Vincent met him with flawless rhythm, sword gliding between offense and defense seamlessly.
Steel scraped skin at last, a shallow line opened on Elior's cheek. He didn't flinch, only pushed harder. His dagger kissed Vincent's ribs in return, a red streak seeping into his noble jacket.
They broke apart, both breathing sharper now, both bleeding lightly.
"Not bad," Vincent said, brushing a finger against his own blood. "But shallow cuts mean nothing."
Elior said nothing. Instead, he pressed his palm subtly to the ground mid-step.
Unseen to most, faint sigils sparked beneath the dust, lines curling like a spider's web. His movement disguised the ritual, his daggers already up for another clash.
They collided again, blades ringing. Vincent laughed as he swung his sword, releasing another wave of Sky magic. In mid-swing, his aura flickered. A sudden hitch on his body stuttered for a fraction of a second, as though his veins were pulling the wrong way.
Elior's sigils which he was planting all the time on the floor, had awakened, pulling at Vincent's psychic flow. His energy bled faster than it should, draining subtly with each burst of magic.
Vincent gritted his teeth, realizing too late. "You—"
Elior pressed forward ruthlessly, his daggers carving lines in the air like execution strokes. Vincent defended but with each block, his precision frayed.
Sparks flew, dust rose, and for a moment it seemed the noble was cornered.
From above, the crowd roared, unable to tell who held the advantage.
Then Vincent's eyes hardened. He forced energy from his chest with a growl, magic erupting like a sudden gale.
The arena howled. The sigils cracked under the flood, their grip tearing away as raw Sky magic swept them apart.
Elior staggered back, his chest rattling under the gale's force, blood dripping from his temple.
Vincent advanced, panting, his jacket torn, his own blood trailing. His blade lifted once more, but his strikes were heavier now but reckless, brutal. Steel clashed, sparks stung their faces.
Elior caught the blows, but his arms shook under the sheer pressure.
He could have turned it. His movements were still sharper, his strategy cleaner. He felt Vincent's every gap, saw where the noble was bleeding power.
He could have pressed the dagger deeper, twisted the rhythm in his favor. He didn't.
Instead, he let one strike slip past. The sword tore across his side, cutting deep enough to stagger him.
He collapsed to one knee, one dagger still gripped tightly in his palm but unmoving.
Vincent loomed over him, chest heaving, sweat running down his face. He didn't speak at first, only breathing hard, his sword angled down at Elior's throat.
The arena exploded in screams. Some cheering, some booing, many confused. No one was certain how Elior had let it slip.
Sassy Star's laugh cut through the noise. "Well, well! Looks like our quiet hero isn't untouchable after all!"
Elior remained still, eyes calm even in defeat. He had chosen this. Holding back. Testing.
Letting the crowd and the other leaders see only part of what he was.
Vincent stepped back slowly, wiping blood from his lip, his expression unreadable. He had won, but the fight's taste was bitter.
He knew Elior could have ended him if not for something unseen.
The arena had gone quiet except for the sound of Vincent's boots scraping across stone.
Elior was still down on one knee, his breath ragged, blood soaking through his torn suit.
Vincent stared at him for a moment longer, lips pressed in a thin line. Then, without warning, he snapped forward and drove his boot into Elior's face.
Elior's head whipped sideways, his body sprawling across the dirt. His daggers slipped from his hands.
"Pathetic. Seems like your pain tolerance level is high." Vincent muttered coldly, spitting blood on the ground beside him. He turned away, blade lowering. "Stay down. You weren't worth my time."
The crowd erupted in laughter and jeers, some cheering Vincent's cruelty, others just howling for more blood.
Elior lay still, cheek pressed to the dust, his arm twisted at an angle that wasn't natural. A sharp pain lanced up his shoulder.... broken. His body screamed, but his mouth stayed shut. Not one word.
Minutes passed like hours. The noise blurred.
He moved. Slowly, unshakably, Elior pressed his good hand into the dirt. His body trembled with effort as he forced himself up to one knee, then wavered to both feet. Bones screamed in protest, ribs aching with every shallow breath, blood running freely down his temple. His left arm dangled useless, broken clean.
The people who had cheered for him once stared now with contempt. Whispers turned sharp. Stones scraped against palms.
The first rock struck his chest.
The second clipped his shoulder, jolting the broken bone harder.
Then one heavier stone cracked against his temple. Warm blood rushed down his face, staining his jaw, blinding one eye red.
He didn't move, didn't cry out, didn't even look at them. His jaw loosen, breath shaking, but his silence was unbroken.
The crowd laughed louder. To them, the fallen hero was nothing now, just another weak body to spit on.
Elior stood, again. Broken, bleeding, his head lowered and eyes shadowed, he stood on his own feet again.
Quiet as stone, unbending as if even humiliation couldn't pull him to his knees.
....
Grace sat on the cold floor of the bunker, a dim lantern flickering against the cracked walls. Other survivors are also there, coughing.
Radahn rested beside her, his small frame wrapped in the worn quilt, eyes half-closed yet still murmuring that strange, ancient line under his breath.
She'd grown used to the sound which was steady, almost rhythmic, like a broken prayer.
Suddenly her chest ached. An unease she couldn't name pressed down on her heart. She froze, one hand on the boy's shoulder.
It wasn't the chill of the night nor the creaks of the bunker. It was sharper, heavier. A ripple of dread, like the air itself had shifted.
Radahn stirred. His scratched eye glinted faintly in the lantern glow, and his muttering stopped.
He looked at her. He really looked, wide-eyed, as if he too had felt the same invisible weight. Grace pulled him near, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Her instincts told her Elior was out there, and something was terribly wrong. She couldn't explain it. There was no logic, no reason.... no, she doesn't know what is going on there.
Radahn tugged at her sleeve gently, almost seeking comfort, but she realized her own hands were trembling. She forced a soft smile for his sake, even though her thoughts were burning inside.