Russell lay on the cold durasteel, the hum of the arena and the point of the spear at his throat the only things he could process. His pride wasn't just stung; it was shattered. He heard a few snickers from the other rookies.
Maria let out a light, dismissive laugh.
"Now, give up. You wouldn't win against me. Not today."
The words cut deeper than any blade.
He saw Juliet's dismissive smile.
He heard the inspection officer's sneer about nepotism.
He saw his uncle's worried face. You're… well, you're you.
A strange calm washed over him. The hot anger was gone, replaced by something colder, more determined.
"Yeah," Russell muttered, his voice low and resigned. "I think I should…"
His left hand, away from Maria's view, slowly—imperceptibly—began to creep across the floor. His eyes remained locked on hers, selling the act of defeat.
"…I'm outclassed."
His fingers found the familiar leather-wrapped hilt of Emma.
In a move fueled by pure desperation and sheer will, he exploded upward. He didn't try to get up; he used his purchase on the ground to violently twist his body, swinging the sheathed katana in a hard, horizontal arc.
CRACK!
The solid scabbard connected perfectly with Maria's spear shaft, just below the head. The shock of the unexpected blow—delivered with all of Russell's strength—numbed her hands. The spear clattered to the platform.
The arena, which had been murmuring, fell utterly silent.
Russell was on his feet in an instant, Emma now drawn, the blade gleaming under the lights. Maria stared at her empty hands, then back at him, her calm façade finally broken—replaced with wide-eyed shock and a flicker of rage.
No words were exchanged.
She dove for her spear.
He lunged forward to stop her.
What followed was not a duel of finesse. It was a brutal, exhausting brawl.
Russell, now fighting with a raw, furious energy, pressed his advantage with powerful, clumsy strikes meant to overwhelm her. Maria, back with her spear, was on the defensive, her precise movements now used to parry and deflect his wild attacks. She was still the more skilled fighter, but Russell's raw power and unpredictability had leveled the field.
They were a storm of clashing metal, grunts of effort, and scraping boots. He'd force her back with a heavy overhead chop; she'd effortlessly deflect it and thrust toward his exposed side, only for him to twist away at the last second.
They were evenly matched in their exhaustion and desperation.
Finally, they both saw an opening at the same time. Too tired for complex maneuvers, they committed to a final, simultaneous exchange.
Maria thrust her spear hard at Russell's side.
Russell slashed his katana in a wide arc toward her waist.
A collective gasp echoed through the arena.
The attacks landed at the same instant.
A sizzling CRACKLE of energy erupted from both their armors as the solid-light training safeties registered simultaneous "kill" shots to vital areas.
Both of them stiffened, the numbing shock washing over them, and collapsed to the floor—unconscious before they even hit the ground.
The holographic screen above the arena flickered and updated between their names:
<< MATCH STATUS: DRAW >>
High in his observation booth, Archmagus Theodore leaned forward, his elbows on the railing. The grunt of approval from earlier was now a full, slow nod. The boy had the cunning and grit of a survivor. The girl had the skill of a natural.
Together, they had just put on the only interesting show of the day.
"Now that," he murmured to himself, "is potential."
---
Two rookies just brought an entire arena to silence.
A draw wasn't supposed to be possible—yet Russell and Maria shattered every expectation.
But unconscious bodies can't hear the audience whispering one question:
What happens when two prodigies wake up and realize the other isn't done fighting yet?