Leo frantically tried to calm the furious Bell, who was practically vibrating with rage in the spectator pavilion. "Hey, can you please sit down?" Leo pleaded, his voice a low, urgent murmur.
Bell ignored him, his eyes fixated on the distant ring. "You better win this, Zack!" he roared, his voice cutting through the arena's general hum.
Immediately, King Neon's voice boomed, resonating with a regal authority that silenced the sprawling stadium. "That's enough! You're interrupting the tournament. Any other word from you and our guards would escort you out!"
Bell, his face contorted in a mixture of fury and helplessness, glared at the King, then sank back onto his chair, seething but with no option but to comply.
Back in the heart of the tournament ring, Zack, though clearly exhausted, somehow found the strength to push himself back onto his feet. His breath came in ragged gasps, but his eyes, sharp and unwavering, locked onto Tanker. "Oh, I assure you that I'm not going to quit anytime soon, Elite Soldier or not," he rasped, his voice hoarse but filled with chilling defiance. "Your defeat is certain. I will admit, all the fights I've fought have taken a number on me, but you should appreciate that. Because this, Tanker," he staggered a step forward, a grimace fighting with his determined expression, "this is your handicap."
Tanker stared at him, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his usually stony features. "Normally, you're a cocky brat," Tanker rumbled, his massive form still unyielding. "But you're showing more cockiness than usual. What's the catch?"
Zack took another heavy breath, pushing past the pain and exhaustion, a chilling glint in his eyes. "I was gonna save this trick for when I meet Rider at the finals," he hissed, the words cutting through his ragged breathing, "but it seems I have no other choice but to use it in this final." With a sudden, explosive motion, Zack pressed a hidden mechanism on the hilt of his single blade. With a sharp click and a subtle whirring sound, the sword split perfectly into two distinct, razor-sharp blades, one in each hand.
He charged at Tanker with blinding speed, a sudden, unexpected whirlwind of steel. Tanker, surprised by the maneuver, brought his massive sword up to parry. He managed to block one of Zack's now twin blades with a resounding clang, but the other, a silver streak, slid past his guard and through his torso. A collective gasp rippled through the stunned crowd, but Tanker, incredibly, remained standing, a thin line of blood emerging on his side, his grin unwavering.
"Come on, kid," Tanker scoffed, a flicker of something akin to admiration in his eyes. "You gotta do better than that." He charged back, his massive blade swinging in a wide, powerful arc.
Zack, ever agile, drew one of his swords back while keeping the other extended forward. He spun mid-air, a dizzying display of acrobatics and precise blade work. Tanker, anticipating a descending strike, used his massive blade to meet the perceived attack. But Zack didn't use his blade. Instead, with a lightning-quick kick, he connected with Tanker's sword, knocking it violently out of his grasp. Before Tanker could react, Zack was upon him, thrusting both of his now-separated swords through Tanker's body – one through his chest, the other through his shoulder. The crowd collectively gasped, a horrified murmur sweeping through the arena.
Despite the seemingly fatal blows, a slow, grim smile stretched across Tanker's blood-stained face. He could sense the deep, profound tiredness in Zack's rapid, shallow breathing, the strain in his strained movements. The chilling grin made Zack instinctively step back, just out of range, his own labored breaths echoing in the tense silence.
"You're not bad, at least," Tanker wheezed, blood beginning to bubble on his lips, yet his voice held a chilling amusement. "But to be that cocky, and this is the best you have to show for it? That's pathetic. If you were at a hundred percent, no doubt you would have won against me by now. But you're all out of shape. How long can you hold?"
Zack, breathing heavily, a deep frown etched on his face, glared at Tanker. "Do you ever stop talking?" he growled, pushing past his limits. "I'm only getting started, so bring it on!"
Tanker's smile widened, a testament to his own monstrous resilience. With a renewed roar, they charged at each other again, two battered titans locked in a desperate, unyielding dance of death.
Rider, watching from the contenders' area, gripped the railing, his knuckles white. He gritted his teeth, his mind racing, a fierce resolve burning in his eyes. (Who am I facing? Is it Tanker or Zack? To be honest, anyone of them would be fine. I have beef with Tanker for doing all that to Bianca, and Zack... because he's my rival. So whoever wins, I'm glad to face them.) His internal monologue was cut short by a familiar voice from directly behind him.
"Hey! So Tanker and Zack are the finalist?"
Rider spun around, a wide smile breaking across his face as he saw them: Valen, Tusk, Rebel, and Kael. "You guys are here!" Rider exclaimed, genuinely delighted by their presence. "How are you holding up?"
Their responses were varied but heartfelt.
Valen, ever the calm Warrior: "Better than ever, Rider. Wouldn't miss the finals for anything."
Tusk, boisterous as always: "Good, thanks for asking. Ready for a real show!"
Rebel, ever the prickly one: "Mind your business, you bastard," he grumbled, though a small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at his lips.
Kael, eager for a challenge: "I want my rematch with Tanker!" he declared, already flexing his arms.
Rider's genuine smile faltered, a forced grimace replacing it as the painful memory of Bianca resurfaced. Tusk, ever perceptive, noticed the shift immediately. "Where is Bianca?" he asked, his usual boisterousness replaced by a rare gentleness.
Rider's forced smile vanished completely. His shoulders slumped, and his gaze drifted towards the medical ward. "She is in the medical center," he responded, his voice low, tinged with a profound sadness.
Rebel, Kael, and Valen looked at Rider in shock, their expressions turning serious and sympathetic. Rider continued, his voice gaining strength, infused with raw emotion. "She was badly injured from Tanker's fight. And she did all of that for me. So I can't let her pain be in vain. I'm going to win this tournament, that's a promise."
Tusk, ever the supportive friend, smiled gently and playfully roughed Rider's hair. "You must be a lucky guy for a girl like that to put herself in danger for you." He then looked at Rebel, a playful twinkle in his eye, trying to lighten the mood. "Sorry, brother, but I guess she's been taken. Try again on another one!"
Rebel's face immediately flushed crimson. "Stop it, Tusk! I never liked her!" he stammered, clearly embarrassed and defensive.
Valen rolled his eyes with a sarcastic sigh. "Yeah, sure."
Rebel's blush deepened into a furious red. With a flash of anger, he pulled out his double polearm, twirling it menacingly. "Wanna die?!" he roared, glaring at Valen.
Before Rebel could even take a step, Aingo appeared as if from nowhere, a formidable shadow. His fist connected with Rebel's head with a dull thud. Rebel yelped, clutching his bruised skull, his polearm clattering to the floor. Before Rebel could react, Aingo's voice, high and menacing, cut through the excited buzz of the arena. "COULD YOU LOWER YOUR VOICE DOWN, REBEL?! I'M FINDING IT HARD TO IGNORE YOU! WE LITERALLY HAVE A MATCH IN FRONT OF YOU, SO YOU ASSHOLES SIT DOWN OR DIE!!!"
A collective shiver ran through the group. Valen, Tusk, Rebel, and Kael immediately snapped to attention, their faces pale with fear, and scrambled to their seats, like scolded schoolchildren. Rebel, rubbing his head furiously, sank down in angry silence, though he dared not utter another word. With the threat of Aingo's wrath hanging heavy, they all turned their attention back to the brutal, ongoing match in the ring. The fight for supremacy continued, a testament to unwavering will.