41

Fūregen watched the chaos unfold through the veil of his own mist, a thin smile playing beneath his mask. Takumi's blood painted a dark line across the obsidian floor, the wound he'd inflicted moments earlier limiting the guard's mobility. Still, the man proved stubborn, refusing to yield despite the clear disadvantage.

"Your determination is admirable," Fūregen mused, his voice carrying just enough warmth to make the mockery sting. "But surely you see how this ends?"

Across the arena, Haruto systematically dismantled another of his pawns. The silver-haired guard moved with a fluid grace that spoke of years of refinement. Fūregen's jaw tightened—not from concern, but from the delicious anticipation of how this setback would serve his greater narrative.

"It's interesting," he drawled, loud enough for Kamo and Nagitsu to hear. "They send the full royal guard for what? To evacuate?" He paused, letting amusement color his tone. "Celaris always did have a sense for drama."

Takumi's response came in the form of another earthen spike, which Fūregen casually sidestepped. The attack lacked precision—pain clearly affecting the guard's focus. Perfect. Let them see weakness, let them believe their trap was working.

"Yet, if Celaris sent guards in their stead," Fūregen projected now with a feigned irritation, "perhaps they're more cowardly than I thought."

Internally, his thoughts ran deeper. Every great tale needs a setback. This is good. Yes this will help the pups grow. He glanced as Kamo struggled against Haruto with particular interest. The boys were currently pasted to the floor. Fure imagined that he would need to take both guards. And their deaths is more than enough chaos.

Show me, Kamo. Show me how far you'll go when your faith is tested.

Fūregen observed the exchange through his mist, barely dodging another of Takumi's earth stakes, the way he manipulated the earth was eerily similar to Nagitsu's takton. The guard's attacks were precise, almost predictive—each strike aimed exactly where Fūre would naturally evade. Fascinating. He's reading me like a braille.

"Your footwork betrays you," Takumi called out, fingers pressed to the obsidian floor. "Every step, every shift of weight—I feel it all."

Fūre's lips curled beneath his mask. How arrogant. He maintained his mist at barely 1% water content, keeping it light and deceptively simple.

"Quite the talent," Fūre mused, genuinely impressed. "But tell me—" He sidestepped another stake hardly, letting his movements appear slightly labored. "Is it wise to tell me that?"

Takumi's next attack came instantly—not where Fūre had stepped, but where his weight suggested he would land. The spike erupted through empty air as Fūre's form dissolved into the air in a fizz.

"Illusions?" Takumi scoffed, adjusting his stance. "Parlor tricks don' suit y—"

The air behind him crystallized into a razor-thin blade, cutting through his shoulder before he could react.

Another earth pillar forced Fūre's attention back to Takumi. The guard had adapted quickly, creating a perimeter of stone barriers. He's surely playing it safe. Closing off his flanks, but it's so obvious.

Fūre studied Takumi through the swirling mist, appreciating the guard's desperate adaptations. Each earth spike that erupted from the ground showed less finesse, more raw instinct—the mark of someone pushed beyond their comfort. How fascinating, to watch pride crack like pottery.

The obsidian floor trembled as Takumi pressed both palms flat, sending a ripple of stone spears in a fence like pattern. Fūre danced between them, barely visible threads that sliced through each protrusion with surgical precision. Fūregen exhaled softly in exertion, Takumi wasn't a close-combat specialist—but his earth manipulation worked at creating and maintaining space, creating barriers, erupting projectiles, manipulating terrain. And Fūre knew this intimately. Every movement was a calculated chess piece, designed to keep Takumi uncomfortable and reactive.

He knows if he keeps away, I hold the advantage. Yet, with that injury—How unfortunate. Closing in won't do him any favors either. Hah. He's trapped—no ground left to run to.

"Your sense is remarkable," Fūre called out, genuinely impressed by how Takumi tracked his movements through ground vibrations.

Without waiting for an answer, Fūre compressed his mist into near-invisible razors, enough to cut, not enough to see.

"1%, Edge" Fure muttered.

They whistled past Takumi's defenses, opening thin red lines across his arms and chest. The guard's eyes widened, his earthen shield rising a fraction too late.

Pride makes such wonderful leverage, Fūre mused, watching Takumi's frustration build. The guard was skilled, certainly, but his reliance on distance betrayed his tactical advantage in close combat.

Still, if he could take a few punches, one opening could be lethal.

This pride was weakness Fūre could exploit at any moment—though where was the art in that?

Takumi swept another wall between them, chest heaving with exertion. Fūre's lips curled beneath his mask as he altered his mist, in one area only condensing it into something denser. "Fifteen percent. Fang." The words carried a teacher's calm as a spike of grey matter sheared through the stone barrier at head height.

Dust choked the air. Fūre stepped through the gap with unhurried grace, noting how Takumi's eyes darted for escape routes.

I'll play into your hand for a bit. The smile behind Fure's mask was that of an eagle beginning to stretch his wings.

The guard launched forward with a wild right hook—untrained, but not sloppy. Fūre's deflected the punch with his forearm, pivoted inside Takumi's guard, and drove his elbow into exposed ribs. The faint crack was satisfying, if predictable.

Takumi snarled, grabbed for Fūre's cloak. A whisper of mist answered, opening a shallow cut along his jaw.

The guard dropped low, both hands planted firmly. The floor erupted upward, blocking Fure's retreat. Takumi then ripped at both Fure's arms, yanking him like a loaded slingshot—an unrefined street move that caught Fūre mid-step. Fure raised his guard immediately as Takumi released his hand to drive his heel into Fure's chest. The late guard could hardly brunt the impact.

They traded blows in the half dome conjured by Takumi, all the while Fure was forced to avoid pillars of stone and retaliate with his own 'edge' attacks. They weren't even, not even close. But Fure hadn't been challenged this much even, in a decade or two.

Takumi drove a shoulder into Fure, forcing a tight congestive sensation in his chest. He rode the impact, letting his forearm guide the force aside rather than meet it directly. His free hand whipped up in an icepick strike, muscle memory from countless blade forms translating smoothly to empty-hand combat.

Takumi jumped back, but Fūre pressed forward, hips coiled with stored power. His strikes flowed like water, testing defenses, probing for weaknesses. Each movement carried the precision of a blade's edge, though he wielded only air and intention.

Very good. Especially for your state.

Blood spotted the obsidian floor as Takumi retreated, raising desperate volleys of stone. Fūre allowed himself to drift back into his mist, knowing he could close again at any moment. The guard's reaction time was simply better in space—it was obvious in his stance, his technique, the way he created space. Let him have his distance. He's earned it