Their unshakable courage! Part 1

Elsewhere in the guild.

A gust of wind tore through a side corridor, scattering broken glass, and upending a wall-mounted banner. At the center of the whirlwind, moving like a dancer mid-spin, was Rika, grinning like a fox, blade flashing in her hand.

"Come on, Con," she called out. "You're moving like you're on factory reset. Getting bored over here."

Across the hall stood Con grit he teeth. His sword shimmered with thin blue currents, magnetic energy pulsing through the air around him. Scattered debris—swords, daggers, even parts of a collapsed light fixture, hovered in orbit around his outstretched hand.

"Still running your mouth," he muttered. "Typical."

"Oh, come on. You don't enjoy this? Just being Renji's little metal-fetching lapdog? 'Yes sir, I'll go kill the trickster even though I'd rather be literally anywhere else.'"

Con's jaw tightened. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure I do," Rika said, voice light, teasing. "You're stuck, just like the rest of them. Pretending you have a choice while licking Renji's boots. You wanna stop, but, oops! no spine."

She ducked as a flurry of blades shot past her, drawn from the floor by Con's magic. One nicked her shoulder, but she was already gone, vanished in a swirl of wind and shimmer.

Illusion.

Con's eyes scanned the space warily. "Renji wasn't always like this," he growled. "He used to fight for something. For balance. Justice."

"Oh no," Rika's voice echoed, disembodied, bouncing off the stonework. "Tragic backstory incoming. Lemme guess: You two were best buds until he found a big bad cause, and now he's a little unhinged?"

Con thrust his arm outward, metal spikes shot from the walls, drawn into a magnetic pulse around him, forming a defensive shell. "You talk too much."

"Maybe," Rika said, and this time, her real voice came from behind him.

Con spun, but it was too late.

She whipped a cutting gust straight into his chest, blasting him back across the hall. He grunted as he crashed into a support column, the wind tearing at his cloak and shoving his shield of metal aside.

He staggered to his feet, breathing hard, magic buzzing louder now, charging.

"Okay, I'll admit it," Rika said, circling. "You're kind of tough."

Her smile dimmed for just a moment, though.

Because despite everything, something in what he said stuck. Renji wasn't always like this. Something about that stung more than she expected. Like there was a piece of her that had seen a fall like that before. Someone chasing a good cause and ending up somewhere twisted.

But she shook it off. Fast.

"Anyway," she added, flipping a knife into her palm, "I've been holding back. Got a few tricks I saved just for you, Con-man."

Con's sword lit up again, the metal in the room vibrating louder, drawn to him like a storm building around a magnetized core. Blades and bolts floated around him, their tips sparking with static. His eyes narrowed.

"Come on then," he said. "Let's see what you've got."

Rika winked. "Gladly."

She dropped into a low stance, wind swirling around her feet, illusions flickering at the edge of sight.

It was time.

Time for her finisher.

Later Isamu had already caught up with Dante, already on his tail again. 

The floor was scorched black in wide arcs. Heat rolled in waves around the wide dueling hall, licking the walls, rising from the glowing cuts Isamu's blade had carved into the stone.

Fire and ice clashed with every swing.

Dante breathed hard, his blade coated in frost, the air around him cold enough to mist. But his arms were shaking. His vision tunneled. He was sweating, even through the chill of his own magic.

And Isamu wasn't slowing down.

"You call that a parry?" Isamu laughed, flame coiling off his sword. "You've got no edge, Dante. No guts. Should've stayed home, where you belong."

Dante slid back another step, sword up just in time to deflect a wide slash. Sparks flew as the two blades collided, ice hissing violently against flame.

He didn't answer.

He couldn't, not yet. The words were in his chest, burning like Isamu's magic, but buried beneath the weight of doubt.

His every movement felt reactive, clumsy. He was too slow. Too soft. Too afraid.

Isamu swung again, another broad, aggressive arc, flames trailing like a whip. Dante dropped low, barely dodging, but the heat still kissed his shoulder. His shirt smoked.

"You really think you can stand with the rest of them?" Isamu snarled, circling. "Kaito, Nanami, Rika, the guy with the guitar, they're out there actually fighting at least. And you're in here freezing up like a scared little—"

Dante grit his teeth and blocked another strike, but this time, he held the line. Just barely.

His legs trembled, his breath came in shallow gasps.

But something shifted.

This isn't Kaito.

That thought echoed again, louder this time, clearer.

Isamu's movements were strong, yes, but wide. Predictable. Flashy, even. He was powerful, but not focused. Not refined.

He's fought better.

He's fought Kaito.

Dante stepped aside from a flame-sheathed thrust, the blade grazing his shoulder guard. It singed, but didn't bite. His pulse quickened. Fear still deep in his bones, but it was overshadowed by something more. 

From clarity.

He blocked the next attack cleanly, he read it. Isamu's left foot always planted first before a flame burst, his follow-up slash always came from high right. He was starting to see it.

Dante wasn't winning.

But he wasn't losing anymore.

Isamu growled, frustrated. "You seriously still standing? What is this, some pathetic guilt thing? You don't want to let your little team down?"

Dante flinched.

Because yeah. That was exactly it.

He remembered Kaito's voice, "You can fight, you just doubt yourself."

Then deep down. He knows, they HAVE to win this fight, losing is not an option, his friends were all busy, no one would come to save him, he had to stand his own ground.

The fire burned closer. Isamu raised his blade again, this time channeling a surge of flame into the ground. It erupted between them, a towering pillar of heat roaring upward.

Dante stumbled back instinctively, shielding his face from the blast.

But then he stopped.

He didn't retreat.

He stepped forward through the smoke. Eyes wide. Teeth clenched. Blade low.

"Shut up!" he screamed.

And as Isamu's blade came down in a fiery arc!

Dante didn't dodge.

He stepped into it.

His sword rose, ice spiraling outward, freezing the flames mid-motion as he twisted beneath the blow. His blade swept out, not for a killing strike, but a precise, explosive burst of cold, right at Isamu's open side.

The impact landed like a crack of thunder.

Isamu stumbled, hard, off balance for the first time in the entire fight.

He caught himself quickly, snarling, but the surprise was written on his face. Clear as flame.

Dante stood, chest heaving. His blade shimmered in the dim light, frost steaming off the metal. His arms still shook.

But his eyes no longer did.

Toni grinned like he was on stage at a sold-out stadium.

The shattered Sony Guild hall pulsed with the feedback of his guitar, the strings glowing faintly with enchantment. Every chord he played surged through the air like raw electricity, his magic turning melody into motion, rhythm into strength.

He ducked behind a half-collapsed speaker tower, fingers flying over the strings, lost in the moment. Not just in the fight, but in the performance.

"Alright," he muttered with a grin, "guess this is our main stage now."

Another riff exploded outward, light blue threads of energy crackling from his frets and lacing around Nanami's limbs like a shot of adrenaline. Her feet hit the ground with more force. Her punches moved quicker. Her heart beat in time with his chords.

Nanami was still in it, but barely.

She weaved under another kick, gritting her teeth as her opponent, second-in-command and twice her size, lunged like a wrecking ball. His fists were like gauntlets, glowing orange with power, and each hit could've flattened steel.

Nanami wasn't meant to go hand-to-hand with monsters like this.

She ducked again, slid low, barely dodging the full force of a downward strike that split the marble beside her.

Jay chuckled. "You gotta keep up, little lamb, can't you do better?!" 

Nanami winced, flipping backward, her body aching. "Trust me," she panted, "this is not my preferred combat setting."

Jay advanced with casual swagger. "What is it, then? Flying gadgets? Holo-drones? Little wrist bombs you can't even lift?"

Nanami spun, tried to counter, but her punch barely turned his head.

He laughed, grabbed her by the collar, and slammed her into the floor.

The impact rattled her bones.

"NANAMI!" Toni's voice cracked from somewhere behind the fight.

She lay there for a half-second too long. Her lungs burned. Her vision shook.

But her mind, her mind clicked. 

She saw it. Finally. The tell.

Every time Jay was about to use his full force, his right knee stiffened a second too soon—locking into place for power. His weight would shift. His shoulder would dip.

It wasn't much.

But it was enough.

Nanami's fingers twitched. She forced herself upright, spitting blood onto the floor and grinning with a mix of exhaustion and triumph.

"Ohhhh no," she said, eyes gleaming. "I got it now. I'm on the verge of a breakthrough!" 

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Got what?"

"Toni," she called, snapping her head toward him. "Crank the volume."

He blinked. "Wait, what?"

"No more tone-down mode!" she yelled, stumbling to her feet. Her voice grew stronger with every word. "Don't stop playing, not until this guy's on the ground!"

With the vast departure from her usual calm self, seeing Nanami hype like this. Toni let out a breathless laugh, then struck a chord so hard it sparked.

"You got it, N!"

And the hall erupted in sound.

Nanami launched forward, faster than before, her eyes locked on Jay's every move. She wasn't reacting anymore.

She was reading him. 

"Gura!" She shouted as the ball surged forwards again.