The Bout

The announcer's voice blared over the speakers with theatrical flair. "Alright you animals, the moment you've been waiting for! We've got fresh ArchTek hardware for your bloodthirsty enjoyment!"

The arena erupted in anticipation as a familiar figure stepped into the ring—Jury. The crowd chanted his name, a low rhythmic roar. He moved with deliberate calm, no flair, no theatrics—just a quiet intensity that carried weight. Like many Hound-class units, he had a preferred weapon. His was a hammer, and he carried it like an extension of his will.

From the opposite side, Spark made her entrance with a radically different approach. She bounced into view, arms waving wildly as she soaked in the attention. The crowd responded in kind—cheering just as loud, though not out of admiration. They weren't rooting for her. They were waiting to see her torn apart.

Oblivious or uncaring, Spark finally turned toward Jury, beaming. "Hi Jury! Have you seen Firelight?"

Jury paused, his voice steady when he finally spoke. "You're not supposed to be here, Spark."

"You're not supposed to be here!" she shot back, jabbing a finger at him. "Arthur said you wouldn't be cleared for a few more days, you barreling dumpster truck!"

The crowd sent a wave of low chuckles at the insult. Spark puffed up with pride, feeding off their reaction.

"I don't have the luxury of holding back," Jury said, brushing off the jab.

Spark just shrugged. "Works for me. But I'm not gonna kill you, even if I win."

"I won't be making that promise," he replied.

A heavy silence fell as the two squared off. Jury lowered into a defensive stance, gripping his hammer tightly with both hands. Across from him, Spark bounced lightly on her feet—restless, twitchy, ready to move at a moment's notice.

As Spark moved, crackling arcs of energy began to dance across her frame, some of it bleeding into the ground with each step. Then, in a sudden burst, she launched herself at Jury—her motion fluid, almost spectral, the signature grace of a Phantom Class.

Jury braced, raising his hammer high before slamming it into the ground with a thunderous impact. But Spark was already beneath him, sliding effortlessly past his legs. In one smooth motion, she sprang up onto his back and latched on tight.

Two coils sprang from her back at shoulder height—an uncommon upgrade for a Phantom Class, designed to amplify specific types of spell cartridges. High-energy arcs surged between them before discharging directly into Jury's body.

She thought she'd ended it fast. But as she stood perched on his back, reality caught up. A spell cartridge ejected from Jury's chassis, instantly countering the stun effect she'd aimed for. Still, the attack had left a mark—his armor steamed from the heat, and the thinner plating showed signs of warping under the strain.

Still, Jury seized her by the head and hurled her with brutal force into the protective forcefield surrounding the audience. The impact sent a blue shimmer rippling across the barrier. Spark slid down headfirst, but at the last moment, kicked off the field with her legs and flipped into a graceful landing.

She raised both hands in a gesture of surrender—met instantly with a wave of groans and booing from the crowd.

Then, without warning, five cartridges fired from each of her forearms. The arena lights flickered wildly.

The boos shifted in an instant—replaced by explosive cheers.

A tenfold cast.

Orion watched in horror as the spent spell cartridges clattered to the ground around Spark. The most D-Mo had ever managed was four—this was uncharted territory.

Energy arcs crackled violently across the arena floor, but Jury didn't flinch. A shimmer, eerily similar to the arena's ward, rippled across his body—he'd come prepared. No room for the same mistake twice.

They launched at each other, both aiming to end it. Spark unleashed a flurry of strikes, her blows heating Jury's chassis until it glowed red-hot. He pushed for a faster, cleaner hit, but the heat was building. Just as she intended.

His joints began to seize, internal damage slowing his movements. The glow spread across his limbs—he was breaking down from within.

With a growl, Jury released one hand from the hammer and struck Spark with a brutal backhand, creating just enough space. Then, with a mighty swing from below, he launched her skyward—straight toward the arena's open top.

Fragments of Spark's frame tore away mid-air, one arm twisting at an unnatural angle. She soared so high that the audience no longer looked down at her, but forward—and then up.

As her ascent slowed, she shouted with sudden intensity, "Jury! I take it back!"

The air buzzed, the crowd's hair lifting from the static charge building above.

"I don't care if I kill you—if it means seeing her again!" she screamed, her body twisting mid-fall, bracing for a final, devastating strike.

Jury raised his hammer to intercept, but his melted joints betrayed him—the motion came too slow, too crooked.

As Spark plummeted, a blinding bolt of lightning descended with her, engulfing her in white-hot brilliance. It struck Jury with a deafening crack, completely obscuring her figure in the flash. He activated every shield he had, layers of defense snapping into place—but it was useless. One by one, each barrier shredded under the onslaught.

If not for the arena's ward, the audience might've been blinded by the blast. Instead, they sat in stunned silence, holding their breath for the outcome. As the dust began to clear, a heavy clang rang out—Jury's hammer hitting the floor—followed by a louder, more final crash as his body collapsed beside it.

Despite her twisted arm, Spark rose to her feet, lifting her good hand in a victorious fist. The crowd erupted into wild celebration, their cheers shaking the structure.

"Unbelievable!!" the announcer bellowed through the speakers. "The winner of today's first fight is—"

SPELL CONTAINMENT UNIT

S-RK

CALLSIGN: SPARK