"Spirit binding?"
Rowan Mercer's interest sharpened instantly.
He'd expected Ben Ward to fall back on his family's signature construct techniques. That was what the Ward name was known for. What Rowan did not expect was this.
Dark energy erupted from Ben's body, thick and unstable, spilling outward as he clawed at his own chest. With a violent wrench, he tore something free.
A translucent human shape emerged in his grip, struggling soundlessly.
The stands exploded with noise.
"How does he know that art?"
"That's not supposed to be his family's technique!"
Rowan caught Evan Clarke's shocked shout from the audience and couldn't help smiling.
Perfect.
He had deliberately avoided digging into Evan's memories out of courtesy. Ben Ward, however, did not deserve the same restraint. If this fight ended with Rowan taking something valuable from him, that was simply the price of being arrogant.
Ben laughed loudly, soaking in the attention.
"Surprised?" he sneered. "That technique everyone associates with Iron Front? Incomplete trash. What my family has is the real thing. The full version."
He raised the struggling spirit and continued, voice swelling with pride.
"Let me show you how it's actually used."
Instead of merging with the spirit or directing it outward, Ben did something far worse.
He consumed it.
The spirit was devoured piece by piece, its light extinguished as it vanished into his body. The dark energy around Ben surged violently, his physical presence swelling with sudden power.
He grinned at Rowan, eyes bloodshot.
"Now you'll understand what real strength feels like."
Ben lunged forward, faster and heavier than before. The difference was immediate and obvious. This was not the same opponent Rowan had toyed with moments earlier.
Rowan raised his wand and released another concussive blast.
This time, it barely moved Ben.
The impact forced him back a few steps, nothing more.
Ben snarled, twisting his body and sweeping around behind Rowan in a single fluid motion. His foot slammed toward Rowan's knee, precise and cruel, aiming to cripple.
Rowan sighed.
"If I push the spell any further," he thought calmly, "it stops being believable."
The level of magic he'd shown already exceeded what most observers would expect from someone his age. Escalating further would raise too many questions.
So he changed approaches.
Rowan lowered his wand.
Lightning exploded outward.
Raw, blinding electricity erupted from his body, tearing through the dark energy clinging to Ben and flooding directly into him through the point of contact.
"Twenty billion volts."
The scream that followed was instantaneous.
Ben convulsed violently, every muscle locking as the current tore through him. He collapsed to the ground, body spasming, the stolen power unraveling in seconds.
Rowan looked down at him, unimpressed.
"Oh. Right," Rowan said casually. "I probably should've mentioned this earlier."
He stepped closer, electricity still crackling faintly around him.
"I didn't just learn magic. I was born with this."
The audience erupted.
"He can control lightning naturally?"
"That's not learned. That's innate."
Lightning-based techniques were notorious for their difficulty and destructive potential. Most fighters required tools, preparation, or long rituals to wield them safely. Direct control was almost unheard of.
And Rowan was doing it instinctively.
Ben tried to move. Failed.
Rowan placed a foot on his chest, pinning him to the ground.
"Power doesn't fix stupidity," Rowan said calmly. "You can collect techniques all you want, but if you're still trash underneath, it doesn't matter."
To the crowd, it looked like humiliation.
In reality, Rowan's focus had shifted inward.
Ben's resistance was nonexistent. The lightning had disrupted his nervous system completely. Rowan slipped past his mental defenses and copied everything of value. Techniques. Knowledge. Context. The complete framework behind spirit binding, along with fragments connected to the broader system it belonged to.
Ben screamed again, furious and helpless.
"I won't let this go! I swear—"
A roar cut through the arena.
"Enough!"
An older man leapt from the stands, fury blazing across his face as he rushed toward the arena floor.
Before he could reach them, the referee stepped in, arms raised.
"The match is not over," the official warned. "Interference violates—"
The man didn't even slow down.
A blast of dark energy sent the referee flying aside like a rag doll.
The crowd recoiled.
The elder's eyes were locked on Rowan, burning with rage.
Rowan didn't look back.
He was still processing what he'd taken.
So much context. So many buried connections. The techniques everyone whispered about weren't isolated secrets. They were fragments of a much larger system, fractured and hoarded.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
...
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