Silence fell abruptly over the road.
Rastaban stepped forward, calm.
Facing him, Marine stretched her neck, yawned without a hint of shame, then exhaled slowly.
"Alright... let's get this over with quickly, I don't feel like sweating."
Rastaban's brow furrowed slightly.
"You talk a lot for someone who's about to fall."
She shrugged.
"People tell me that a lot."
Jean-Marc raised his hand with a flourish.
"LET THE DUEL BEGIN!"
Marine breathed out.
A soft breath.
Almost lazy.
In the air, structures of glass appeared.
Translucent blades.
Floating spikes.
An imperfect circle around Rastaban.
"Glass...?" Arata murmured.
Rastaban didn't step back.
He planted his foot on the ground.
Purple energy burst forth.
The ground trembled.
The glass structures suddenly shook, as if something inside them refused to obey.
They cracked... then shattered.
"Hah! Too fragile," Rastaban said.
Marine didn't move.
She breathed in slowly.
Very slowly.
Hastur watched closely, eyes narrowed.
"Arata... watch carefully."
"Huh?"
"Rastaban's power... you could sum it up in one word.
Rebellion."
Rastaban charged.
His fist came down, wrapped in purple energy.
The ground rose up against itself, throwing Marine backward.
She slid across the ground, got up with a sigh.
"Ouch... you're a violent one."
"Anything that depends on something else...
I force it to turn against itself."
Rastaban clenched his fist.
Purple cracks ran along his arms.
Unstable energy pulsed beneath his skin.
Hastur continued, not taking his eyes off Rastaban.
"His ability makes two linked structures rebel against each other.
An object against its wielder.
An energy against its own flow.
Even his own anima..."
Arata swallowed.
"Wait... his own power attacks him too?"
"Yes.
Every use infects him.
Little by little, his anima becomes something else."
As if in answer, a shape began to appear on Rastaban's back.
A dragon's head made of purple, raw energy.
Marine tilted her head.
"Oh.
That looks painful."
Rastaban vanished.
He reappeared right in front of her.
One strike.
Then another.
Each blow shattered the glass structures she tried to form.
CLACK.
CRASH.
SHARDS.
"Too slow!" Rastaban called out.
Marine was thrown against a tree.
She spat up a bit of blood... then smiled.
She breathed in.
Deeply.
The glass shards still suspended in the air trembled.
The air itself seemed to converge toward her.
Arata's eyes went wide.
"Huh...?"
Marine exhaled.
This time, the glass structures were different.
Thicker.
Darker.
At their center...
a sphere of condensed fire pulsed.
"Seriously...?" Harvey murmured.
Rastaban attacked without hesitation.
He struck.
The glass exploded.
BOOM.
Rastaban was thrown backward, dragging along the ground.
His arm was smoking.
"How...?!" Arata cried out.
Jean-Marc adjusted his moustache, his expression suddenly serious.
"You thought Marine was fragile...
But you're sorely mistaken."
He smiled.
"She's truly formidable."
Marine exhaled again.
Lances of explosive glass formed around her.
"I create as I exhale.
I absorb as I inhale.
And I give it all back to you... with interest."
Rastaban slowly stood up.
A second dragon head appeared on his back.
"Then... I'll just have to break you harder."
"Try it."
They lunged at each other.
Glass.
Fire.
Purple energy.
Explosions.
Every impact pushed Rastaban closer to his limit.
Every destruction made Marine more dangerous.
The duel had only just begun.
Rastaban straightened up, panting.
A single dragon head now lit up his back, his purple eyes blazing.
"Not bad..." he said, wiping a drop of blood from his lip. "But it won't be enough."
Marine raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips.
"That's all you can do with a purple breath? Let me teach you the true power of glass."
She took a deep breath.
The broken glass fragments floated around her.
She drew them in as if swallowing the air itself.
An invisible energy seemed to circulate through her body.
Then she exhaled again.
This time, the glass structures took on a more complex shape.
Great translucent pillars rose up, each with a ball of condensed fire at its center.
The ground trembled slightly under their weight.
Arata watched, mouth agape.
"But... how...?"
Hastur tilted his head.
"Her power works in two stages.
She creates, absorbs the energy of your attack, then converts it back into offensive power.
That's why Rastaban has to be careful.
The more he uses his anima to break her, the more dangerous she becomes."
Rastaban frowned.
He felt his first dragon head shift, as if aware of the threat.
"You're going to regret underestimating me," Marine breathed.
She launched a series of blades and spikes.
Rastaban leapt, dodging with perfect fluidity, his movements leaving purple trails behind him.
"You're fast..." she murmured, amused. "But this is only the beginning."
"Hey, not bad, huh," Hastur whispered to Arata. "Watch his movements carefully. They're measured... each dodge lets him channel energy for the counterattack."
"That's amazing," Arata replied, fascinated.
Rastaban struck.
The blows followed one after another, each creating a purple wave.
Marine blocked with her glass, but with each impact, the fire spheres at their center exploded in small blasts, pushing her back slightly.
"Ah!" Marine exclaimed, pleased to feel the energy transforming. "Now this is getting interesting."
Jean-Marc raised his voice from the edge of the road.
"Yes! You thought she was just a glass artisan, but Marine was born to create... and to destroy. Every breath, every inhale, is a weapon."
Rastaban felt the pressure rising.
The dragon head on his back pulsed faintly.
It wanted to grow... but he slowed its activation, aware of the devastating effect if it appeared too fast.
"You know that if I let everything go, it could kill us both?" he murmured to Marine.
She smiled, a flicker of madness in her eyes.
"I love this kind of challenge. Show me what you've got... and let me have some fun."
Their bodies clashed against each other.
Glass shards, fireballs, purple trails.
Every one of Rastaban's attacks sought to shatter the pillars, every one of Marine's dodges absorbed and reconverted the energy.
"Hah!" Rastaban said, a tense smile on his face. "You're going to end up killing me... and not just me."
"Exactly!" Marine replied, cackling.
Arata, mouth open, looked at Hastur.
"I can't keep up! How is he not losing control?"
"His power is dangerous," Hastur explained. "The anti-anima progresses slowly... every attack consumes his body. But if you watch closely, he chooses his movements carefully to survive while still keeping up the pressure."
The fight continued.
The ground was covered in glass fragments.
The wind from the purple energy and the explosions made the air shimmer.
Rastaban leapt, rolled, struck.
Marine sculpted the glass, sent it flying, absorbed it, sent it back.
Jean-Marc shook his head.
"And you still think this girl is weak...! She has all the art of turning energy into destruction. A true artisan of the apocalypse."
Rastaban felt fatigue rising.
His dragon head trembled slightly, still refusing to fully manifest.
He had to manage the anti-anima, stay alive, and keep attacking.
Every second was a balance between power and survival.
"Not bad..." he breathed between two leaps. "But I'm not done yet."
"Neither am I," Marine replied with a cruel smile.
The fight went on, the duel becoming a deadly dance of fire, glass, and purple energy.
The moment when Marine would seize full control was drawing near, and Rastaban knew the smallest misstep could be fatal.
The fight reached a critical point.
The ground was covered in broken glass, Marine's pillars cracked, and the air vibrated under Rastaban's purple waves.
"I... I need to find an angle," Rastaban murmured, panting. "If I keep going head-on, I'll burn myself out..."
He began to step back slightly, analyzing Marine's movements. Each of the girl's breaths revealed a weakness, a moment when the energy would be vulnerable.
"Hey, huh, you still planning to keep fighting?" Hastur whispered to Arata. "Watch... he's using his anima like a trap, each attack setting up the next."
"Incredible..." Arata replied, mouth agape.
Rastaban leapt. He activated his rebellion power, but subtly.
Instead of forcing the glass structures to rebel directly, he made the already-shattered fragments around them react, turning them into unpredictable obstacles.
Marine had to pivot and adjust her attacks at the last second.
Rastaban struck, slid, grazed the explosion of a fire sphere — and gained the advantage on a precise breath.
"What... how...!?" Arata exclaimed.
"She's formidable..." Hastur murmured. "But Rastaban... he found a way to attack her by working around her strengths."
The duel reached its **peak**.
They were evenly matched.
Every strike anticipated, every dodge calculated.
The glass explosions and purple trails merged into a harmonious chaos.
Rastaban gathered his anima, preparing his most powerful attack.
Marine exhaled, swelling her glass structures to their maximum power.
Their attacks were about to collide, an imminent titanic clash.
The air seemed suspended, vibrating with pure energy, and time slowed.
But then...
A **second dragon head** burst from Rastaban's back, still fragile, trembling.
It bit into both his sides at once, causing a searing pain that made his stance falter.
The force of his attack weakened slightly, thrown off by the pain.
Marine didn't hesitate.
She launched her breath of glass and fire straight into the opening.
The impact was **incredibly violent**.
Rastaban was struck head-on, thrown backward. His strength gave out.
A chilling silence settled in.
Marine dropped to her knees, exhausted, panting, out of breath.
Her hands trembled, her shoulders finally relaxed.
Rastaban lay completely knocked out, his anima still flickering, unable to move.
"Phew... whew," Marine breathed, out of breath but conscious. "I... I'm exhausted..."
She sank gently to the ground, but not unconscious.
Just... fallen, drained of her energy.
The wind stirred the glass fragments around them.
The duel was over.
Arata, Efa, and Hastur stood frozen, impressed, watching the two fighters.
A mix of fear, admiration, and relief hung in the air.
The fight had been **brutal, perfect, and revealing**.
Marine had won the victory... but at what cost.
Rastaban, for his part, had held on to his very last breath, pushing his limits to the extreme.
A respectful silence settled over the battlefield, before everyone slowly caught their breath again.
Jean-Marc: The winner is Marine!
Hastur, his gaze dark, approached Rastaban, who suddenly woke up.
Rastaban: I... I think I lost.
Hastur took his hand with a warm smile: You fought well, my brother. He picked him up and set him down away from the arena: let me take care of the rest.
Jean-Marc: Let the next fighters step forward!
Rust jumped up at once and came onto the arena. Hastur stepped forward.
Rust, with a predatory smile: So you're my opponent. I hope you won't disappoint me.