He was still blind; Michael's darkness sat over his eyes like two heavy coins, absolute and suffocating. But he didn't need light. The Sense of Being had expanded. He could "see" the boundaries further than he previously could. With this breakthrough, his abilities were further strenthened and he also gained new abilities.
Solace stepped forward. His body was weak, his muscles screaming in protest, but he moved with a newfound fluidity.
The crowd erupted.
"HE'S STANDING!" the announcer's voice cracked through the speakers, barely audible over the roar. "SOLACE WRIGHT IS STANDING! THE BREAKTHROUGH... HE'S REACHED RANK E!"
Michael's shock lasted only a second before it was replaced by a savage, desperate pride. "A breakthrough doesn't make you a god, Wright! It just means I have more meat to crush!"
Michael lunged. He used his own body, shifting the gravity around his limbs to move with a speed that defied human biology. He swung a heavy, gravity-weighted fist toward Solace's temple.
But this time, Solace didn't flinch.
He dipped his head a fraction of an inch, letting the strike whistle past his ear.
Then, Solace struck back.
It was pure, technical hand-to-hand combat. Solace stepped into Michael's guard, his elbow leading the way. Without the sword to weigh him down, Solace was a whip. He drove his elbow into Michael's ribs.
Thud.
Michael exhaled a sharp burst of air, stumbling back. He was faster, but Solace was precise.
"How are you seeing me?" Michael snarled, his eyes darting to Solace's blind, white irises.
Michael shifted his gravity again, becoming weightless. He launched into a flurry of strikes and kicks that moved like lightning, palms that hit like hammers. Solace met him blow for blow. It was a chaotic, beautiful symphony of violence.
He parried a kick, the impact vibrating through his broken arm, and countered with a palm strike to Michael's jaw.
While Michael stumbled, Solace placed his hand on his back, and a shimmering white mark appeared on Michael's back.
The crowd was losing its minds. They weren't seeing a match anymore; they were seeing a man fighting a force of nature.
"He's parrying everything!" a voice shouted from the stands. "He's blind, and he's parrying a Hern!"
Michael realized that speed wasn't enough. He backed off, his chest heaving.
Michael slammed his hands together. Solace felt the gravity in a five-meter radius spike to a lethal degree. It was intended to pin him instantly.
He felt the shiver in the air.
As the gravity hammered down, threatening to liquefy his organs, Solace snapped his teeth together. "Gotcha!"
In a blink, a frame-skip of reality, Solace was gone.
The gravity hammer crushed the empty ground, sending a shockwave that cracked the arena floor. Michael's eyes widened, his head whipping around.
"What? Where did you—?"
Solace appeared directly behind Michael. For a single second, his body flickered like a ghost, caught between two sets of coordinates. He was intangible, his presence a glitch in the world.
Michael spun, swinging a wide, darkness-infused punch that should have knocked out Solace. But the fist passed through Solace's flickering chest as if he were smoke.
A second later, Solace solidified.
He didn't waste the opening. He fired his Thread of Chains from his sleeve. The obsidian links moved with a fast and predatory grace. They wrapped around Michael's neck and arms in a heartbeat.
"HOW?" Michael shrieked, his voice cracking. "How are you teleporting? You don't even have space affinity!"
Michael roared, his essence exploding in a desperate Repulsion Field. The gravity around him reversed, trying to blow the chains and Solace away.
Solace didn't let go. He dug his boots into the ground and used Stillness.
He didn't use it on Michael. He used it on the chains.
For two seconds, the links became immovable. No matter how much gravity Michael exerted, the chains wouldn't budge. They were anchored to a moment in time. Michael, caught in his own repulsion, was jerked forward by the immovable collar around his neck.
Solace retracted the chains, reeling Michael in.
Michael, blinded by rage and the sheer impossibility of what was happening, tried to manifest a dark blade. But Solace was already within his reach.
Solace used Flash. A blinding light erupted from Solace's links, reflecting the setting sun.
Because Michael had blinded Solace, the light didn't bother him. But for Michael, whose eyes were dilated and focused on the darkness he had cast, the sudden eruption of reflected light from Solace's glass threads was like a supernova.
"ARGH!" Michael clutched his eyes, his gravity field wavering.
Solace let the chains go. He didn't need them anymore.
He lunged forward, his fists clenched. This was the end of the essence. The breakthrough reserves were nearly gone, spent on his new ability and the Stillness. His body was beginning to fail again. The pain of his broken fingers was returning with a vengeance.
But he had enough for one last conversation.
Solace landed a left hook to Michael's liver. Then a right cross to the nose.
Crack.
The sound of Michael's expensive, noble nose breaking was the most beautiful thing Solace had heard all day.
"You... you... Fuck!" Michael sputtered, blood spraying from his mouth. He tried to shift his gravity one last time, to fly away.
Solace reached out and grabbed Michael's collar. He pulled the noble down, meeting him with a knee to the chest.
"Let... GO! UNHAND ME, YOU FILTHY—"
The crowd was standing in total silence now. The only sound was the wet thud of Solace's fists and Michael's ragged, sobbing breaths.
"How the fuck..are.. you... doing this?" Michael whispered, his voice broken.
Solace didn't answer. He didn't have the breath left for a lecture. He raised his fist, the one with the broken fingers, the one that had been crushed into the ground, and delivered a final, desperate blow.
It caught Michael square in the jaw. The noble's head snapped back, his eyes rolling into his head. The darkness that had been blinding Solace suddenly vanished as Michael's concentration disintegrated.
The light of the arena hit Solace's eyes, blinding him for a moment. But he didn't care.
He watched as Michael Hern, the second son of the Imperial Court, fell backward into the ground. He landed with a heavy, unceremonious thud.
Solace stood over him, his chest heaving, his white hair dripping red onto Michael's ruined uniform. He looked like a demon crawled out of a mass grave. His white irises were still sharp, still glowing with the fading embers.
He reached down. His hand was shaking so badly that he could barely control his fingers. He gripped the tournament bracelet on Michael's arm.
With a final, agonizing tug, Solace ripped it off.
The siren of the arena wailed.
[MATCH OVER] [WINNER: SOLACE WRIGHT]
Solace didn't cheer. He didn't look at the crowd. He looked at Michael's unconscious face, then at his own blood-stained hands.
"I told you," Solace whispered, though Michael couldn't hear him. "Third-rate."
The world began to tilt. The sounds of the stadium, the screaming fans, the announcer's frantic play-by-play, the heartbeat of eighty thousand people, all of it began to fade into a dull, grey hum.
Solace felt his knees hit the sand. He looked up at the VIP box one last time. He saw Nicole Richards. He saw her staring at him with something that wasn't curiosity anymore. It was recognition.
Then the world blurred into a chaotic mess of colors and sounds that didn't match.
Solace Wright fell forward, his head landing on Michael's chest, as the darkness he had fought so hard to escape finally, mercifully, took him.