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Richard was barely standing.
One arm hung uselessly at his side, frozen solid from the elbow down, the shattered remains of bone and ice fused together like a grotesque sculpture. Chrome energy leaked from his body in violent pulses, flickering along his veins like broken lightning. Every breath scraped his lungs raw. Every heartbeat felt borrowed.
Zero hovered above the battlefield, boots not touching the ground, the air around him crystallizing into spirals of frost. His expression had finally changed—not impressed, not amused.
Focused.
"So," Zero said calmly, voice carrying through the frozen air, "this is you actually trying."
He moved.
The kick landed square against Richard's face.
The impact sounded like a gunshot.
Richard flew backward, skidding across the concrete floor of the Phantom containment zone, carving a trench through ice and steel. He coughed blood, rolled once, then forced himself upright using sheer momentum rather than strength.
Before Zero could follow up, Richard lunged.
He drove his shoulder forward and slammed a gut punch straight into Zero's abdomen.
For the first time, Zero moved back.
Not much. Just a step.
The chrome energy around Richard flared violently, reacting to survival instinct alone. No technique. No finesse. Just raw output. Every movement tore muscle. Every second shaved years off his life.
Zero tilted his head slightly. "Interesting."
The temperature dropped.
Not gradually. Instantly.
The air itself froze.
Moisture crystallized mid-breath, oxygen stiffening into translucent shards. A massive structure began forming overhead—air compressed, frozen, stacked layer upon layer into a descending crater of absolute zero ice.
Zero raised a finger.
The crater fell.
Richard didn't dodge.
He roared and jumped straight into it.
The impact buried him completely, ice swallowing his body whole. The ground shook as the structure collapsed inward, sealing him beneath meters of frozen air-turned-solid.
Silence.
Zero exhaled slowly. "You lasted longer than predicted."
Then the ice exploded.
Richard burst out from the crater like an animal tearing free from a trap, chrome energy screaming around him. He landed on one knee, then charged again, smashing through ice clones, spikes, and constructs with his single functional arm. Every hit was inefficient. Brutal. Effective.
One clone impaled him through the side.
He ripped himself free and kept moving.
Another froze his leg.
He shattered it by sheer force.
Zero watched, arms crossed now, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
"Five minutes," Zero murmured. "You're still standing."
Richard staggered. His vision tunneled. The world began to blur at the edges.
Then a voice cut through the noise.
Richard.
Luna.
Her presence slammed into his mind like a lifeline.
We see you, she said, strained, blood leaking from her eyes as she pushed past her limits. Hold him. Just a little longer.
Richard laughed weakly, blood running down his chin.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Figures."
Zero raised his hand again, ice spiraling outward in lethal patterns.
Richard stepped forward anyway.
Each blow he threw landed heavier than the last, chrome energy compensating where flesh failed. Zero absorbed them effortlessly at first—until one punch connected cleanly with his jaw.
Zero's head snapped to the side.
The battlefield froze.
For a moment, Zero simply stared at Richard.
Then he smiled.
"Alright," he said softly. "Now I'm trying."
A shockwave of cold detonated outward. Richard was flung backward, his body slamming into the far wall hard enough to crack reinforced alloy. His ribs gave. His vision dimmed.
He slid down the wall, barely conscious.
That was when Zero noticed the shift.
A disturbance in space.
Not an attack.
A displacement.
Zero turned just as Siara appeared at the edge of the containment zone, boots skidding against the frost-covered floor. The Gamma Nine was already in her hands—sleek, humming, its core glowing white-hot as plasma energy built inside.
Richard lifted his head.
Saw her.
For a split second, the madness in his eyes cleared.
He smiled.
"…bang."
Siara pulled the trigger.
The Gamma Nine screamed.
A column of compressed plasma detonated forward, tearing through the frozen air like a sunbeam. The blast punched straight through Zero's chest, vaporizing ice, armor, and flesh in one catastrophic burst.
Zero staggered.
A hole burned clean through his torso.
He looked down at it, surprised—not pained.
Behind him, Richard collapsed.
Chrome energy surged violently around Zero's body, overflowing, unstable. His wound began sealing itself in reverse—cells rebuilding at impossible speed as his Reverse Cursed Technique activated instinctively.
Siara fired again.
The second shot froze midair.
The plasma hung there, suspended inches from Zero's face, trapped inside a lattice of absolute zero.
Zero raised his eyes to her, chest fully healed, frost swirling calmly around him.
"…cute," he said.
The frozen shot shattered into harmless light.
And the battlefield went silent.
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