The blade came free with a sound that wasn't just sound.
Sharp, long. Powerful. A note stretched across breath and bone, humming while the world listened.
Leo pulled it free all the way, and the scabbard shattered into motes of golden light, rising like fireflies caught in the wind.
He barely gave it a glance before swinging the blade down to his side in a clean, easy arc.
The air split.
The crowd roared.
First in shock, then in something else. A thrum, fever. Raw, growing noise that filled every corner of the arena and shook the banners high above.
Even the announcer, who had seen it all. Only blinked once before snapping right back into character, arms raised, coat flaring out behind him like wings.
"LET THE BATTLE BEGIN!"
No more preamble.
No rules.
The arena vibrated under the weight of it, the glowing sigils at the edges flaring brighter like they were hungry for blood and story both.
Leo rolled his shoulders once.
Glanced across the ring.
"Uh," he lifted the blade slightly, the way someone lifts a too-expensive gift, "—this isn't gonna be a problem, right?"
The Dragon Lord threw his head back and laughed. A sound like boulders cracking down a mountainside.
"You'll need that," he replied, swirling his crimson spear once with a sharp crack of displaced air.
"You'll need more just to scratch me."
I thought he was a swordsman? Leo thought, but immediately tucked the idea away.
He pointed the spear straight at Leo. The tip flared hot, crimson veins pulsing across its shaft. Pulsed.
Leo didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
Because the Dragon Lord was already moving.
A straight charge.
Head down, no tricks or feints. Like a battering ram carved in blood and bone.
Leo met him.
Steel shrieked against steel as their weapons collided, sparks bursting out in a brief halo around them.
Leo planted his boots. Held. The impact rattled up his arms, dug into his spine, but he stayed rooted.
The Dragon Lord leaned in, close enough that Leo caught the sharp scent of old leather and something metallic underneath.
"You're nothing," he hissed, low enough for only Leo to hear. "You'll never beat me. I'll tear you apart, and Amanda's gonna watch. Then I'll take her for my own."
Something inside Leo went silent.
Then cracked.
He gritted his teeth. His grip tightened. Muscles shifted and coiled.
And then he shoved.
A wave of force ripped outward.
The Dragon Lord stumbled, forced back, boots skidding across stone, eyes flashing wide.
Surprised.
Leo didn't stop.
Before the Dragon Lord could plant his footing again, Leo vanished.
One blink.
Gone.
A snap of cold air filled the space he left behind.
And in the next instant, he was there, right in front of him. Sword raised high, blade slicing down in a merciless arc.
The Dragon Lord barely brought his spear up in time, blocking the strike with a sharp clang that rattled teeth.
In the balcony, a low voice stirred like thunder on the edge of a storm.
The Dragon God.
"Wondrous."
A quiet and thoughtful murmur.
Leo pressed in harder.
Their weapons locked in again. Pressure building, grinding between them.
The Dragon Lord gritted his teeth. His legs bent slightly to absorb the force, arms straining. Leo leaned close, voice twisted into a tight growl.
"Our fight is just getting started."
The Dragon Lord snarled.
"Don't get cocky!" he barked and then he threw his head back and shouted.
A blast of force—hard and sharp—erupted from his lungs like a volcano.
It hit Leo full on.
His boots shrieked across the stone as the blow threw him backward, but he held his ground. Sword low. Eyes locked.
The Dragon Lord didn't give him a second.
He charged.
Spear-first.
No wasted motion.
He swung the weapon like it was an extension of himself. Wild, brutal arcs, stabbing and slashing in a flurry that blurred the air itself.
Leo moved.
A slip of motion. Barely there.
The first thrust shot past him, close enough to rattle his hair.
Another swing. This time horizontal, fast enough to whistle.
Leo dipped under it, the tip of the weapon passing inches above his head, and felt the heat peel past his scalp.
The Dragon Lord twisted, driving the spear back around like a serpent striking from both sides at once.
Leo caught it.
Sword meeting shaft.
A sharp metallic crack lit the air.
Before the Dragon Lord could capitalize, Leo stepped in. Tight. Close. Letting the next sweep miss wide.
The spear came down in a brutal overhead smash meant to split him in two.
Leo pivoted.
One smooth step.
The spear slammed into the ground where he'd been. A crack spidering out from the point of impact.
Leo parried the next jab with the flat of his blade, rolling it off like water sliding off glass. His feet shifted, light and certain. Always one step ahead of the fury trying to rip him apart.
The Dragon Lord growled. A low, grinding sound, his strikes coming faster now, hammering the air, the ground, the gaps between breath.
But Leo was faster.
A tilt of the wrist.
A bend of the knee.
Every attack met with a dodge so clean it almost looked lazy, or a parry so tight it barely made a sound.
Spectators leaned forward in their seats, breath held. Following the clash like it was a dance they didn't understand but couldn't stop watching.
The Dragon Lord's spear blurred again. A final thrust, a dead-center kill shot.
Leo leaned aside just enough.
The tip tore through the sleeve of his shirt but missed flesh.
He caught the shaft with his free hand.
Stopped it cold.
The Dragon Lord's eyes widened for a breath.
Leo smiled. A small, sharp thing.
The Dragon Lord tore his weapon from the lock, stumbling back a step.
He didn't rush back in.
Instead, he lowered his stance, his weapon held defensively now.
The arrogant smirk was gone, replaced by a grim line.
From the balcony, Burdado, who had been slouched in his seat like a man half-asleep, slowly straightened.
The golden eagle tattoo across his back stirred.
Shifted.
Crawled.
It slithered up his spine, feathers rippling like water over stone, until it reached his head. When it did, the eagle's head stretched over his face, masking it, and his eyes snapped into sharp focus.
Gold now. Predatory.
They caught everything.
Every twitch. Every breath. Every muscle tensed before it moved.
The battle slowed for him, but only barely.
Because Leo didn't wait.
He moved.
His turn.
The air shimmered as Leo stepped. He reappeared an inch from the Dragon Lord's guard.
The first strike came in a blur.
Low, slicing at the knee.
The Dragon Lord grunted, pivoting enough to block with the spear's body.
A crack echoed.
But Leo was already gone.
Another blink.
He appeared behind, the sword flashing up in a high arc.
The Dragon Lord spun, catching it with a raised spear.
But the weight was wrong.
The balance was off.
Leo vanished again. A shift, a ripple, and reappeared to the Dragon Lord's right.
Three strikes in one breath.
Wrist. Shoulder. Hip.
Phantom Feints.
Each one felt real. Each one demanded a defense.
The Dragon Lord snarled, blocking the first, parrying the second, but barely twisting away from the third. His footing slipped by a hair.
Leo smiled again. Small, invisible.
Pressure. That was the plan.
More.
He blinked out, a faint wisp of lighleft behind, and materialized overhead this time, bringing the blade down in a slicing arc.
The Dragon Lord raised his spear across his body in defense.
A clash. Heavy. Thunder in steel.
But Leo didn't stay.
He twisted mid-air, boots landing light behind the Dragon Lord, already swinging for the exposed ribs.
The Dragon Lord whirled to meet it, the impact making his arms tremble.
His bellow ripped across the arena, angry and raw.
Leo's blade darted again, low this time. A flash toward the ankle.
The Dragon Lord jerked his leg back, teeth grinding.
It didn't matter.
Hit-and-Fade.
Leo phased again. This time slipping under the Dragon Lord's guard entirely, and struck for the side of his chest.
The Dragon Lord caught the blade with the butt of his spear, but stumbled two steps to the side from the impact.
Gasps broke through the crowd like tiny bursts of flame.
Up on the balcony, Burdado's golden eyes narrowed.
Even the Astral Sovereign stopped stroking Ai's hair for a moment, her fingers going still.
The Dragon Lord lunged, desperate, throwing a reckless spear thrust forward.
Leo met it.
Dimensional Parry.
A twist of his wrist, and the spear's tip didn't just deflect.
It slipped. Vanished, into a brief glimmer of the Astral Plane, flickering out and reappearing half a breath slower than the Dragon Lord intended.
That was all Leo needed.
He stepped in. Clean, fast, and drove the pommel of his sword hard into the Dragon Lord's gut.
A sharp grunt exploded from the bigger man's chest.
The Dragon Lord staggered back, boots digging in hard enough to shatter stone.
Leo hadn't chased yet.
He stood there.
Sword low.
Breathing steadily.
Watching.
Waiting.
The Dragon Lord's chest rose and fell, each breath rougher than the last. His eyes burned with rage, and with something hotter. Older.
Pride wounded into fury.
The shallow cuts lining his arms and sides sizzled against the open air. The flesh knitting itself back together in slow, visible pulls. The smell of scorched blood curled faintly into the arena's magic-thick atmosphere.
He growled. A sound low, guttural, vibrating through the stone underfoot.
Then—
He hurled his spear.
Straight into the ground behind him, the weapon stabbing deep with a heavy crack that split the floor into a living fractures.
Both his arms rose high above his head.
Fire bloomed at his fingertips.
Thick. Heavy. The fire had weight, density, like molten metal fresh from the forge.
It bled down his arms, coiling, shaping.
Forming.
The crowd gasped as one.
The flames twisted and solidified, hardening into new weapons. Twin blades, each jagged and cruel, like the fangs of an ancient dragon. They gleamed a deep crimson-black, the edges steaming where the heat met the arena's cool air.
The Dragon Lord lowered his hands, flexing his fingers around the hilts. His grin returned. Wide, reckless.
"This is your last dance, boy," he spat.
The ground under him smoldered with every step he took forward.
And then—
The world around him shifted.
The very air blackened, bending inward like it was being swallowed by an unseen force. A pressure built. Cracks of energy split the ground at his feet, webbing outward in jagged veins.
Finally, a culmination of the oppressive force appeared above him. A ghostly, skeletal crown flickered into view, its ethereal form a silent promise of absolute dominance through fear.