Zenith twisted his wrist.

Rhys flew.

He hit the ground and rolled—

once—

twice—

then slammed into a half-destroyed pillar.

He gasped like a dying goat.

Puddle screamed from the stands,

"MASTER!! DON'T TURN INTO A PANCAKE!! I CAN'T REVIVE PANCAKES!!"

Rhys staggered up again, swaying like a broken scarecrow.

Zenith walked toward him, aura rising.

Every step heavier.

Darker.

Sharper.

"Stand," Zenith ordered.

"I AM!" Rhys yelled back. "STOP TELLING ME TO DO THINGS MY BODY IS BARELY DOING!"

Zenith raised his sword for another strike—

But this time—

something shifted.

A small spark.

A faint tremor of power.

A red haze curling around Rhys's fingers.

The blade in his hand throbbed with hungry, ancient force.

Rhys felt the pressure—

His heartbeat syncing with the sword's pulse.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Rhys whispered,

"…Oh no."

Puddle's eyes widened.

"Oh yes."

A ripple tore through the air.

Dark-red light cracked around Rhys's blade—

like a heartbeat of war.

Zenith's eyes narrowed with interest.

"So you finally answer it."

Rhys shook his head violently.

"No I didn't! It's answering itself! This is unsolicited magic, I want a refund!!"

Zenith didn't wait.

He moved.

Rhys felt the world blur again—

but this time, when Zenith's blade came down—

Rhys caught it.

Metal screamed.

Sparks erupted.

Rhys's feet dug into the cracked ground.

He shouldn't have been able to do it—

but he DID.

The blade vibrated with ancient power, clashing against Zenith's dark steel.

The crowd erupted.

Fate screamed,

"WHAT IS THIS?! WHERE WAS THIS HIDING?!!"

Dreamer whispered,

"…Ruin resonance. He's tapping into the Akashic pulse."

Rhys gritted his teeth,

eyes shaking,

body moments from collapsing—

But he pushed back.

For the first time—

Zenith slid half a step.

A single moment.

A single crack in the unstoppable.

Rhys shouted,

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS POWER IS—BUT PLEASE LET ME LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO USE IT PROPERLY!!"

Zenith exhaled slowly.

Then—

He smiled.

A small one.

Barely there.

But real.

"…Good."

And darkness exploded around him as he prepared his next attack.

Darkness swirled around Zenith like a storm being born.

The arena lights flickered.

The temperature dropped.

The whole field rumbled as if something massive was waking up.

Fate started yelling instantly,

"ZENITH JUST TURNED UP THE AURA DIAL TO 'WORLD-ENDING'!! WHAT IS HE DOING?!"

Dreamer added, steady but uneasy,

"He's invoking his second phase. Rhys, if you can hear us… good luck."

Rhys could hear them.

He wished he couldn't.

Zenith's shadow twisted, rising behind him like a set of giant wings made of black smoke.

Rhys's eye twitched.

"What—

WHY—

WHO ALLOWED THIS?!"

Puddle clung to the barrier, shaking.

"Master… this Zenith… not normal Zenith. This is angry Zenith."

"WHY IS ANGRY ZENITH A THING?!" Rhys shouted.

Zenith raised his sword.

His voice echoed through the arena—calm, but heavy enough to crush breath.

"Rhys. Show me if you can keep up."

"I CAN'T!" Rhys screamed. "WHY DO YOU THINK I'M PANICKING?!"

Zenith vanished.

He reappeared in Rhys's face—

A blur.

A shadow.

A death sentence.

Their swords clashed again—

KRAAAAAAANG!!

The shockwave threw dust everywhere, whipping around them in a whirl.

Rhys held the block, barely—

his entire body shaking.

Zenith pushed down harder.

"Your power… is waking up," Zenith said.

Rhys shouted back,

"THAT'S GREAT BUT CAN IT WAKE UP FASTER, PLEASE?!"

Zenith kicked him.

Rhys flew backward, smashed into the cracked floor, rolled twice, and then skidded across a scorched piece of arena.

He groaned.

"…I think my organs just moved seats."

Fate yelled,

"RHYS IS STILL ALIVE!! I REPEAT—RHYS IS STILL ALIVE!! THAT NEW POWER IS CARRYING HIS ENTIRE LIFE RIGHT NOW!!"

Dreamer nodded,

"And Zenith is testing him harder now. This is no longer a casual match."

Zenith approached again.

Slow.

Unstoppable.

Rhys forced himself up, legs wobbling.

His sword pulsed harder—dark red veins of energy crawling along the blade.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Rhys gulped.

"…Alright, sword. Please… PLEASE behave for once."

The sword did not behave.

The red aura flared wildly, snapping in the air like angry lightning.

Puddle gasped.

"Master's blade… it evolving…"

"NO IT ISN'T!" Rhys yelled. "IT'S HAVING A TEMPER TANTRUM!"

Zenith stood a few steps away.

His aura rose even higher.

The ground cracked beneath him in spreading patterns.

He pointed his blade at Rhys.

"This is the next strike."

Rhys pointed his sword back.

"Okay—fine—hit me! Actually—NO DON'T HIT ME—WAIT—THAT CAME OUT WRONG—!"

Zenith stepped forward.

The air trembled.

The arena fell silent.

Fate whispered into the mic, trembling with excitement,

"…This… this might be the strongest clash of the entire tournament…"

Dreamer added,

"It will decide if Rhys can continue… or if Zenith ends it here."

Rhys tightened his grip.

Zenith lifted his sword.

Black aura surged.

Rhys's red aura erupted back.

Both stood ready—

One calm as death.

One terrified and screaming internally.

And then—

They charged.

They collided in the center of the arena—

KAAAAAANG!!

The explosion of force blasted outward like a bomb.

Dust shot up.

Cracks spider-webbed across the stone.

The shockwave hammered the barrier so hard several mages screamed.

Rhys slid back meters, boots carving trenches in the floor. His arms shook violently—like a washing machine on the verge of exploding.

Zenith didn't move.

Not an inch.

He simply held his sword, steady, overwhelming, crushing down like a mountain.

Rhys gritted his teeth.

"CAN YOU—JUST—LET ME—HAVE—ONE—MOMENT—OF ADVANTAGE?!"

Zenith answered calmly,

"No."

Then he twisted his blade.

Rhys's block shattered—

he was thrown into the air like a kicked ragdoll.

He spun—

flipped—

and crashed onto the floor.

"BWAGH—!!"

He lay there twitching.

From the stands, Puddle screamed,

"MASTER, YOU LOOK FLAT!! NOT GOOD KIND OF FLAT!!"

Rhys crawled up on shaky elbows.

"I'm… fine… I'm… alive… I think…"

Zenith was already walking toward him again.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Rhys panicked.

"NO NO NO DON'T WALK LIKE THAT—THAT WALK MEANS SUFFERING—"

The moment Zenith got close—

He swung.

A clean, fast horizontal arc.

Rhys ducked—

barely—

the blade slicing a clean line through the air.

Zenith followed up immediately.

A downward smash.

Rhys rolled, yelling,

"STOP USING COMBO ATTACKS LIKE YOU'RE IN A VIDEO GAME!!"

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