The battle wasn't over—not even close.
Tetsuya's grin sharpened, wild and gleeful, as Mad Gasher spun into position, its clamp blades twitching like restless crab pincers. The sand trembled under its rotation, the chaos of the earlier spins now condensing into something more deliberate. More dangerous.
"You've danced around enough, Hagane!" Tetsuya's voice cut through the air. "Let's see how your precious storm holds when the sea comes crashing down! Six Crab Sea King!"
Mad Gasher lunged forward, the clamp snapping down with a vicious strike towards Pegasus. Gingka's eyes narrowed as he adjusted his stance.
The first strike hit.
Mad Gasher's clamp came down like a hammer, targeting Pegasus's spin axis from above. Sand sprayed upward from the impact, but Pegasus held its spin, though the rhythm wavered slightly.
Tetsuya wasn't finished.
Mad Gasher rebounded, spun outwards, and came crashing down again.
Then again.
And again.
Each strike was precise and brutal, mimicking the relentless attack of crab claws. The sand beneath Pegasus began to erode, the stadium's edge creeping dangerously close. Gingka's storm rhythm was being cornered, disrupted not by randomness, but by calculated chaos.
From the sidelines, Madoka's analysis flashed across her screen. "He's targeting Pegasus's vertical axis. Each clamp strike isn't about stopping spin—it's designed to destabilize the ground, forcing Pegasus out of bounds."
Another strike. The sand exploded, pushing Pegasus inches from the stadium's edge.
Tetsuya's laughter echoed. "Crabby! You can't spin when you've got nowhere to stand!"
But Pegasus was still spinning.
Gingka's eyes sharpened. He understood now.
It wasn't about overpowering the attacks. It was about reclaiming the battlefield.
The sand was Tetsuya's weapon. Every dip, every bump was a crack that allowed Mad Gasher to control the rhythm. But if those cracks were erased—
A smirk crossed Gingka's face.
"Pegasus! Spiral Spin!"
Pegasus responded instantly. Its rotation tightened, dropping into a lower spiral that skimmed across the stadium's surface. The effect was subtle at first, but then, the crowd noticed.
Pegasus wasn't just spinning.
It was shaving the stadium.
As Pegasus spiraled, its spin began to level the uneven terrain, compressing the loose sand into a flatter surface. The bumps that allowed Mad Gasher's unpredictable bounces began to vanish, replaced by a smoother, controlled spin field.
Madoka's eyes widened. "He's using Pegasus's spin velocity to neutralize the bounce zones! The battlefield is shifting back into storm control!"
Tetsuya's grin faltered.
"No… no, crabby! You can't erase the sea!"
But Pegasus was already reclaiming the center.
Mad Gasher's next bounce didn't find a crack to launch from. Instead, it hit flat, compressed sand. The erratic momentum faded. Its trajectory became predictable.
Gingka's opportunity had arrived.
"Pegasus!''
The blue Beyblade surged forward, riding the freshly leveled storm spiral, its spin wave cutting through the air like a blade. The storm wasn't chaotic—it was controlled fury, a rhythm that couldn't be baited anymore.
Mad Gasher tried to pivot, but the loss of bounce advantage sealed its fate.
Pegasus struck.
The impact was clean, decisive. Mad Gasher's clamp was shattered in rhythm, sent spinning uncontrollably towards the stadium's edge.
Tetsuya's feet shifted back involuntarily.
Mad Gasher hit the boundary.
It didn't stop.
It sailed out of the stadium, skidding across the wet sand beyond.
The battle was over.
The storm had reclaimed its rhythm.
Gingka exhaled, his stance relaxing as Pegasus spun calmly in victory. The crabs, sensing the shift in rhythm, began dispersing back into the dunes, their chaotic interference evaporating as the storm's pulse dominated once more.
Tetsuya's grin, though strained, didn't vanish. He shrugged theatrically, lifting his arms.
"Crabby… storms might win today, but cracks always come back. They always do."
But his words were empty now. The battle had spoken louder.
Aarav, from his distant position, didn't move. His gaze lingered on the leveled stadium, the silent rhythm of victory resonating deeper than any cheer could.
Madoka's device beeped softly as she closed her analysis.
Gingka turned, offering a small grin towards Aarav's direction—not seeking approval, but acknowledging a rhythm only they both seemed to understand.