The arena trembled.
Smoke curled from the cracked tiles where Zarek Volen and Cassian Veyne stood locked in a lethal embrace, their combined energy scorching the air. The crowd had fallen silent—no more cheers, no more gasps. Just the electric hum of impending devastation.
Zarek's teeth were bared in a feral grin, his fingers digging into Cassian's wrist as lightning arced between them. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"
Cassian's stolen electricity flickered in his veins, his pupils dilated with the strain of holding it. "Neither do you."
Then—
The explosion.
---
A shockwave of force and fire erupted outward, hurling both combatants apart. Zarek twisted midair, telekinesis cushioning his landing as he skidded back. Cassian wasn't as lucky—he hit the ground hard, rolling twice before forcing himself up, his borrowed lightning sputtering.
Zarek didn't wait.
Fire erupted from his left palm, lightning from his right.
The twin surges roared toward Cassian in a helix of destruction.
For the first time, Cassian looked uncertain.
He dodged the lightning—barely—but the fire caught his shoulder, searing through fabric and flesh. The scent of burning skin filled the arena.
Kenneth's grip on the railing tightened.
Zarek advanced, his voice low. "You can't copy what you can't touch."
Cassian wiped blood from his lip, his breathing ragged. Then, slowly, he smiled.
"Who said I needed to?"
---
Cassian moved—not toward Zarek, but along the edge of the arena, his steps deliberate.
Zarek frowned. "Running?"
"Learning."
Then Cassian changed tactics.
He wasn't trying to copy Zarek anymore.
He was using what he already had.
The phantom limb from Lira Voss materialized—not to strike, but to deflect, swatting aside a bolt of lightning.
The kinetic absorption from Dain Holloway's power flared as Cassian took a fireblast head-on, storing the force.
And then—
He combined them.
The phantom arm hurled the absorbed fire back at Zarek, not as a wave, but as a scorching lance.
Zarek barely telekinetically yanked himself aside in time, the heat singing his cheek.
"Cheap tricks," he snarled.
Cassian adjusted his stance. "Effective ones."
---
Zarek had trained for years to master his gifts. Lightning was his birthright. Fire, his temper given form. Telekinesis, his precision.
But Cassian?
Cassian fought like a man with nothing to lose and everything to prove.
The mimic lunged, phantom limb and kinetic force merging into a devastating haymaker. Zarek blocked with telekinesis—but Cassian twisted, redirecting the phantom strike at the last second.
Impact.
Zarek's head snapped back, blood spraying from his nose.
The crowd erupted.
---
Zarek staggered, vision swimming. He could taste copper, feel the static of his own lightning still lingering in Cassian's stolen arsenal.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He was Zarek Volen.
He didn't lose.
With a roar, he unleashed everything—fire, lightning, telekinetic force—in a single, catastrophic surge.
The arena shook.
Cassian didn't dodge.
He met it head-on.
Phantom limb. Kinetic absorption. Stolen lightning.
The collision was blinding.
When the smoke cleared—
Cassian stood, battered but unbroken, his hand clamped around Zarek's throat.
Zarek's own lightning sparked weakly in Cassian's grip.
"Yield."
Silence.
Then—
Zarek laughed, blood dripping from his teeth. "...Damn. You're scary."
His fingers twitched—a signal.
The referee's voice rang out.
"Winner: Cassian Veyne."
---
The crowd was on its feet, roaring.
Kenneth watched, something unreadable in his gaze.
Kael adjusted his tech-lens, murmuring, "Fascinating adaptation curve."
And Master Rhelgar?
He smiled.
The Gauntlet had its first true upset.