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"Where the hell did she go!?"
Wade's head whipped around frantically, his eyes scanning every inch of the battlefield. Unohana was down, submerged in cursed water. Fubuki stood in the back looking calm. Neliel cowered uselessly. But Artoria—the most dangerous piece on Russell's board—was just gone. Vanished.
He tried to push his mental power outward, to sweep the battlefield and find her, but it was like slamming face-first into a brick wall. Russell's mental power blocked him completely, an impenetrable barrier that shoved his awareness back into his own skull.
Shit shit shit.
Wade's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. He couldn't see her. Couldn't sense her. But she was out there somewhere, and that knight with her invisible sword was the last card you wanted to lose track of.
"Fall back!" Wade barked, his voice cracking slightly. "Defensive formation! NOW!"
Meng Po and his other cards immediately reacted to the urgency in his tone. The blood-yellow river surged forward in a massive wave, mixed with the fan-wielder's foul wind, all of it rushing toward where Fubuki and Neliel stood in the back line. If Artoria was hiding somewhere, the safest bet was to eliminate Russell's remaining visible cards. Force her to show herself.
On the sidelines, Russell's lips curved into a slight smile. "Did you figure it out?" His voice was quiet, conversational, like he was discussing the weather. "But Lily is almost ready."
In the stands, confusion reigned.
"What is Russell doing?"
"He just sacrificed his best melee card for nothing!"
"The other cards are just standing around—this is painful to watch!"
Most of the crowd couldn't see past the surface. To them, Russell had made a series of catastrophic tactical errors. Sent his healer into melee range. Failed to defend properly. Let one of his cards get eliminated. Amateur hour.
But a few sharp-eyed viewers were starting to notice something.
"Wait, didn't Russell have four cards?" A woman squinted at the battlefield, counting. "I only see three now."
"Holy shit, you're right. Where's the knight?"
"The blonde one with the invisible sword?"
"Maybe she got caught in the crossfire?" someone suggested. "High-level battles like this, sometimes cards get taken out by area damage."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. That made sense, right? Artoria was a close-range fighter. Probably got hit by one of Meng Po's attacks and went down off-camera. It happened.
"Shame, really. Kid's talented but inexperienced. Give him a few years, though—he might be championship material. Maybe even make a run at nationals in a few months."
In the VIP section, the atmosphere was completely different.
The president of Southeastern University sat forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at the battlefield with intense focus. "I actually got fooled," he muttered, shaking his head. A laugh bubbled out despite himself. "It's such a simple trick when you see it—use one card as a distraction while another prepares a finishing move. Any competent cardmaker should have caught it."
Before Blake could respond, the Northgate University president jumped in, his tone slightly defensive. "Hey now, you can't entirely blame Wade. Young Russell handled it brilliantly. That Soul Reaper's presence was so overwhelming, so threatening, that Wade couldn't split his attention." He gestured toward the battlefield. "And can't you feel Russell's mental power? It's significantly stronger than Wade's. Even if Wade wanted to scout with his mental power, Russell's blocking him completely."
The Southeastern president curled his lip but didn't argue. It's just a good seedling, he thought with a twinge of depression. Why doesn't Southeastern have someone like this? His eyes drifted to Blake Whitmore sitting in front of him, and understanding dawned. Oh. Right. We don't have a Master Cardmaker on staff.
The realization just made him more frustrated.
Blake and William, meanwhile, were both focused on Neliel. She stood in the back, looking confused and useless, contributing absolutely nothing to the fight. Neither of them believed for a second that Russell had created a card solely for bonding purposes—not with his track record.
Blake's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The [Two-Faced Idol]. Young Russell used it here. He remembered the materials he'd given his disciple months ago, remembered Russell's expression when he'd received them. Blake's lips twitched into a small smile. Although so far, she's been nothing but a mascot.
On the battlefield, Meng Po's river and the fan-wielder's wind bore down on Fubuki's position like a natural disaster given malicious intent.
Fubuki's beautiful eyes flashed with determination. Russell's voice echoed in her mind, calm and confident: It's okay. You probably can't hide it anymore. Just do your best to defend.
Invisible telekinetic force swirled around her, forming barriers upon barriers, each one reinforced with psychic energy. The defensive layers glowed faintly as they activated, creating a fortress around Russell's remaining cards.
As Fubuki gradually withdrew some of her power—redirecting it fully to defense—the audience finally started noticing something was wrong.
"Wait, look at the barrier," someone said, confusion thick in their voice.
"Which barrier? The emerald one?"
"No, inside. Look—is something moving?"
The main barrier surrounding the battlefield remained perfectly still, but inside, there were ripples. Subtle distortions in the air, like heat waves rising from hot pavement. And they seemed to be spreading from a specific point, growing stronger by the second.
"What is that?"
Then Fubuki's concealment dropped completely.
A beam of golden light appeared in everyone's sight—no, not appeared. It had been there, growing, charging, building power this entire time. Hidden behind layers of telekinetic camouflage that bent light and energy around it like an invisibility cloak.
The [Invisible Air: Blizzard's Full Power Magic Revamped Version].
Not the fake Wind King's Barrier that just concealed a sword blade. The real one, capable of hiding the massive energy fluctuations of a holy sword charging its ultimate attack.
And there, hovering in mid-air above the battlefield with her blade raised high, was Artoria. Her green eyes blazed with power. Wind and light swirled around her in a vortex. The holy sword—visible now, no longer hidden—burned with golden radiance so bright it hurt to look at directly.
She'd been there the whole time. Charging. Waiting.
"CALIBURN!"
The word rang out like a pronouncement of judgment.
Meng Po's eyes went wide. The fan-wielder's jaw dropped. They tried to change course, tried to dodge, but they were mid-attack, momentum carrying them forward, no time to—
The golden torrent descended from the sky like the wrath of an angry god.
It wasn't a beam. It was a flood of pure, concentrated power—radiance and heat and overwhelming force all compressed into a column of destruction that vaporized the air it passed through. The roar was deafening, a sound that vibrated in your chest and made your ears ring.
The blood-yellow river surged upward desperately, Meng Po's cursed water forming a sphere around Wade's four cards. A last-ditch defense. Everything she had, poured into one desperate shield.
The golden light hit it like a meteor strike.
BOOOOOOM!
The explosion shook the entire arena. The ground—already cracked and broken from Unohana's earlier rampage—simply ceased to exist. Stone vaporized. The craters and debris and blood all vanished in an instant, the battlefield surface flash-melted and then blown away, leaving behind smooth, glassy flatness.
The golden torrent kept going, kept pushing, an endless wave of power that seemed determined to drill straight through the planet. It slammed into the emerald-level barrier at the edge of the venue, and even that master-crafted defense groaned under the assault.
Light reflected off the barrier panels in blinding patterns. Cracks appeared—not breaking through, but visible stress fractures that made the audience members in the direct path of the attack scramble backward, trampling over each other.
"The barrier will hold, right!?" someone shrieked, their voice barely audible over the roar.
"It's an emerald-level barrier!"
"BLAKE WHITMORE made it himself, it HAS to hold!"
"I can't see! I can't see anything!"
The light was too bright. People threw their arms up to shield their eyes. Camera lenses automatically darkened to avoid damage. The green glow of the barrier panels mixed with the golden radiance of the light cannon, creating an otherworldly aurora that painted everything in sick, beautiful colors.
Finally—finally—after what felt like an eternity but was probably only ten seconds, the light began to fade. The roar diminished to a hum, then to nothing. Artoria lowered her sword slowly, her chest heaving with exertion. Sweat dripped down her face.
The audience held its collective breath.
Now everyone understood.
"Holy shit."
"He used the healer as bait."
"Sent her in to die just to distract them while the knight charged that monster attack."
"That's... that's actually brilliant."
"Ruthless, but brilliant."
The Southeastern University president leaned back in his seat, his expression caught between impressed and disturbed. "The distraction. The mental power blocking. The telekinetic concealment. Every piece had a purpose." He shook his head slowly. "That's master-level tactical thinking from a teenager."
In New Metro, Jonathan Whitmore stared at the screen, his mouth slightly open. His mind had gone blank, unable to process what he'd just witnessed.
"Dad!" Nancy grabbed his arm, shaking it excitedly. "Russell's going to win! He's actually going to win!"
Jonathan's voice came out distant, distracted. "Young Russell... it seems that I was right."
He remembered the first time he'd met the boy—Russell standing in his office, that sharp intelligence in his eyes. Jonathan had thought, just for a moment, that Russell reminded him of stories about Yves St. Clair, the Palace-level Cardmaker. He'd dismissed the comparison as ridiculous.
Maybe it hadn't been ridiculous at all.
"That level of talent," Jonathan murmured. "That kind of tactical depth. Nancy, I think your friend might actually be the real deal."
On the battlefield, the golden light faded completely. Smoke and steam rose from the glassy surface where the ground had been.
The audience expected to see nothing. Four cards eliminated. Wade's team gone. Russell's victory.
But as the smoke cleared, a single figure stood alone.
Melinoë.
Her black-and-white body was covered in writhing, howling ghosts—spirits with resentful faces and grasping hands that clung to her like armor. Her eyes, normally split between colors, were both dyed blood-red now. She swayed slightly, clearly damaged, but standing. Alive.
The crowd gasped.
"No way."
"She survived that!?"
"How!?"
And then Wade's voice rang out across the silent battlefield, filled with relief and madness and vicious triumph:
"HAHAHAHA!"
His laughter echoed off the barrier walls, loud and slightly unhinged. "Russell, I've won!"
Plz THROW POWER STONES.