The next match lingers on everyone's mind. A highly anticipated fight alongside the impending Kaijou vs Sora.
Bakura Shouji vs Satou Masuru
Ascendants began to converse against themselves.
Ooh! The fourth versus the third! Both are very strong individuals.
I know right? It's much more fair than Kaijou or Sora's fight.
Let's see how strong these two really are...
A slow, amused clap echoes through the room as Satou steps forward, his smirk sharp enough to cut through steel. His confidence is suffocating, his presence an infection in the air.
"You look tense, Bakura," Satou taunts, rolling his shoulders. His brown eyes glint with something predatory. "Don't tell me... you're nervous?"
Bakura doesn't flinch. His eyes remain locked on Satou, cold and unwavering. "You talk big, are you willing to back it up with your words... or you're just like the rest who surrender easily."
Satou chuckles. "I just enjoy the foreplay. You should too— after all, this is the most attention you'll ever get from me."
Bakura doesn't respond, but his fingers flex at his sides. His breath is steady, controlled.
To Bakura, Satou isn't just an obstacle. He isn't just another opponent.
He is a grudge, wrapped in flesh and arrogance.
Don't let him control the pace
Bakura remembers Kaijou's advice against Satou. He scoffs, cracking his knuckles. "Tch. Like I'd let that bastard get the upper hand."
Bakura steps into the arena, the Ascendants began to cheer. Some had known Bakura as a tough fighter— but against Satou? Who knows. The fight is anyone's game.
Hayami's eyes locks onto Bakura. "I hope he wins... Satou is known for his inhuman endurance..."
Kaijou sits down beside her, showing interest in this showdown. "I agree. Both of their reputations are at stake, but I do wonder... how would an equal fight would look like— Bakura can't just beat him, he has to destroy him."
Bakura's neck tilts to the side, as it snaps, his gaze fixed onto Satou. "Well then, Satou. I hope you make me impressed."
The referee raises a hand. The tension coils, sharp and suffocating.
"Bakura Shouji versus Satou Masuru, round 1..."
"Begin."
Satou dashes forward like a blur, with a speed that other Ascendants couldn't see clearly.
Bakura barely has time to shift his stance before a sharp gust of wind signals an attack from his left. He twists instinctively—too late. Satou's fist slams into his ribs, sending a dull shockwave of pain through his body. He grits his teeth, staggering slightly.
Bakura grabs Satou's neck and strike his face with his knee. Satou stumbles back, pinching the bridge of his broken nose. "Impressive... you sure are a machine just like everyone had said."
Bakura straightens, ignoring the ache spreading through his torso. He exhales slowly, his breath controlled, measured. "I can't let you have a free hit without trades, right?"
From the stands, Kaijou watches intently, arms folded. His dark yellow eyes track every movement, every shift. "Satou is dictating the flow," he murmurs. "Bakura needs to force him out of his comfort zone."
Hayami nods, her expression sharp. "Satou fights like a viper—he doesn't kill outright. He waits, poisons, watches you crumble."
Bakura shifts his strategy.
He takes a step forward—not an attack, but a deliberate feint. His muscles stay loose, his expression unreadable. Satou notices. His smirk falters for half a second.
Got you.
Bakura moves.
He throws a lightning—fast left jab—not to hit, but to disrupt. Satou dodges smoothly, as expected, but Bakura is already following up with a brutal knee strike. Calculated. Precise. Satou barely pivots in time, and the strike grazes his ribs instead of caving them in.
For the first time, Satou's smirk fades. "Heh... you sure like using your knees, don't you, Bakura?"
He steps back, rolling his shoulder. His purple eyes gleam with something sharp—not fear, but exhilaration.
The crowd watches, breathless, as the two Ascendants clash in a flurry of devastating blows. Every strike is met with a counter. Every opening is filled instantly. There is no wasted movement, no reckless aggression—only pure, tactical precision.
Pillars shudder as bodies crash against them. Blood stains the floor. Yet neither yields.
Hayami clenches her jaw. "This isn't a fight anymore."
Kaijou's hands tighten into fists. "So this is how, an equal fight is supposed to look like..."
Minutes stretch into an eternity. The gladiatorial arena is littered with the echoes of ragged breathing, of fists meeting flesh, of willpower clashing against exhaustion.
Satou's movements are a fraction slower.
Bakura's stance is a fraction weaker.
They both know it.
"... Pause!" The referee whistles. "You'll both will have 5 minutes to refresh. Use your time wisely."
Bakura clenches his teeth, as he steps back. Kaijou and Hayami quickly arriving to Bakura, Hayami offers him a bottle of water as Kaijou examines his hands.
"Good, that was close, you can win this I know it." Kaijou pats his shoulder, his words a motivation that ignites a hidden determination in Bakura.
To be powerful, is to be seen. And now, all I want is for you to see, I'm capable too.
Bakura's own words echoes in his head, as his fists tighten. "I will win this for you both, I know I can."
After the five minutes of break, the two step back into the arena.
"Bakura Shouji versus Satou Masuru, round 2..."
"Begin."
Satou suddenly steps forward—but the confidence in his stride is gone. He throws a punch, but there's hesitation. Bakura moves to intercept, but his vision wavers—a split—second delay. A crack in his endurance.
Satou sees it. Exploits it.
His fist slams into Bakura's ribs. A direct hit. Bone creaks.
Bakura staggers, coughing sharply. His body screams at him to surrender.
But he doesn't.
He won't.
Please god, just let me beat this man infront of me. Give me the strength I need to end it all.
With a guttural growl, he forces his body forward, swinging a brutal counterstrike. Satou jerks his head back—not fast enough. Bakura's fist grazes his temple, just enough to snap his head to the side.
Satou stumbles as the strike overwhelmed him, Bakura follows suit as Satou's previous strike had broke his bones.
Both still refuse to fall.
Both slowly try to get up and regain consciousness. Satou stood up and dashes to Bakura in attempt to finish him off.
Then, out of the sudden, the referee steps forward, causing Satou to pause with wide eyes.
He raises a hand. "Enough, this is a draw."
A stunned silence. Then, an eruption of noise. Some cheer. Some murmur in disbelief. Others simply stare at the wreckage of two warriors who refused to break.
Kaijou exhales, tension leaving his shoulders. "A stalemate."
Hayami lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Oh my god... Bakura is saved, thanks to the referee."
Kaijou shakes his head, his eyes locks on both men. "No, there's no guarantee Satou could have even muster up enough strength to finish Bakura, and there's no guarantee Bakura would have counter attacked once more. It was always a draw from the start."
From his seat, Sora watches, unimpressed. "They fought like animals. And in the end, they gained nothing."
Yamada, however, remains still. Then, slowly, he smiles.
"No. They gained something far more valuable than victory."
Yamada's smirk deepens. "They learned what it means... to reach their limit."
The moment the match is called a draw, medics rush into the gladiatorial arena, their footsteps echoing. Bakura and Satou stand motionless for a moment longer, their bodies battered, blood dripping onto the floor. Their fight is over, but neither of them truly won.
The medics usher them onto the stretchers, securing them in place. The crowd is still buzzing—some in awe, others disappointed by the lack of a decisive victor. As the two are carried away, Kaijou watches them go, his eyes thoughtful.
Then, he senses it.
A shadow at his back.
He doesn't need to turn around to know who it is.
Sora.
"Kaijou." Sora's voice is smooth, but there's something in it—something sharp, hidden beneath the surface.
Kaijou turns his head slightly, his dark yellow eyes meeting Sora's abyssal gaze. The tension is immediate. The air grows heavy. Around them, whispers rise like static—Ascendants knows what this means. The confrontation they've been waiting for.
But Kaijou remains still.
Sora steps closer, his smirk sharp and knowing. "You looked... affected by that match." His voice is almost mocking. "Did it remind you of something?"
Sora's smirk widens. "The feeling of desperation." His dark red eyes gleam like a predator's. "Like when you watched your mother die."
The words strike like a blade, but Kaijou doesn't flinch.
The air between them is suffocating.
Hayami's breath catches in her throat as she watches from the stands, her hands clenching into fists. The crowd is silent now, holding their breath. Expecting an explosion. Expecting a fight.
Kaijou tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable. Then, he speaks. His voice is quiet. Controlled. "Sora."
Sora raises an eyebrow, waiting.
Kaijou's next words send a chill down the spines of those who hear them.
"Count your days."
A promise. A death sentence.
For a split second, Sora's smirk twitches.
Then, he chuckles, stepping back. "You always know how to keep things interesting, Kaijou." With one last glance, he turns on his heel and walks away, hands in his pockets.
The arena is still heavy with silence.
The announcer's voice cuts through the tension. "That was an unexpected outcome of Bakura vs Satou! Now... we'll dive into one of the twos who are also apart of them..."
"Hayami Kishou versus Suki Kiseichu."
A long awaited battle of the two widely recognised female fighters. One a parasite who clings onto Sora, another is a graceful, independent woman who does not rely heavily on Kaijou.
And with that, one particular heated rivalry is still awaiting. Kaijou versus Sora.