Aston moved in tandem, his hand outstretched, aura flaring. His command was wordless but absolute. Gray responded instantly.

He lunged.

Zoom countered, both beasts colliding midair with the impact of a thunderclap. Fire and metal clashed, sparks and steam exploding outward in waves that sent heat and frost curling into the sky. Their claws met in a flurry too fast for the eye to follow—slashes, parries, rifts of pressure.

Aston and Tristan both channeled essence through their bonds, the synchronization almost seamless—each step of their beasts reflecting their own heartbeat.

Tristan snarled, flames dancing along his arms. "You think you can overpower me?!"

"I don't need to," Aston replied, his eyes sharp as glass. "I just need to outlast you."

The ground ruptured as Gray dug his claws deep, opening another spatial seam beneath them. Tristan reacted instantly, yelling: "Zoom—boost over!"

Too late.

The seam folded upward, slicing through the space where the cheetah leapt. It avoided the brunt of the rift—but one leg caught the edge, shearing fur and burning flesh in the same motion. The beast stumbled, its momentum faltering.

Tristan grimaced, essence trembling through their bond. "Damn it—Zoom, recover!"

But Gray didn't give him time. The tiger cub's claws flashed again, this time horizontal—Spatial Rend, the air itself bending and bleeding light. It struck like a silent wave, clipping Zoom's shoulder and sending him crashing to the ground.

Aston advanced, every step deliberate, controlled. "You're pushing your beast beyond stable synchronization," he said quietly. "Keep this up, and—"

Tristan interrupted with a roar. "Don't lecture me! I am my beasts!"

He slammed his palm to the ground. "Scylla—lend him everything! Essence Channeling!"

The serpent responded weakly but obeyed, essence surging in a thin blue stream that flowed into the wounded cheetah. Zoom's eyes flared bright once more, the red shifting to molten gold. Steam rose around it as its flames reignited—wild, unstable, desperate. It then collapsed and the last thing it heard was the referee shouting its elimination.

For a moment, the two combatants stood amidst the fractured terrain—the air between them a visible shimmer of heat distortion and frost breath.

Then they charged.

Fire collided with metal. Roar clashed with roar.

The explosion of impact sent shockwaves hammering into the barrier. The crowd screamed as containment runes flickered. Gray's claws ripped through the infernal aura, cleaving apart the flames—but Zoom's counterstrike landed square across Gray's flank, searing fur and flesh. Both beasts staggered back, bleeding, panting, yet unyielding.

"Gray!" Aston reached out, his aura reinforcing the bond—his own energy transferring through the link. "Stay with me."

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Gray's eyes glowed brighter, the metal of his claws humming with restrained power. Space warped faintly around him once more, but Aston shook his head sharply. "No. Don't use it yet. Not unless you have to."

Across the way, Tristan steadied his stance, blood running from his nose. "You're bleeding too, Rhyner."

Aston smirked faintly. "Then we're even."

The final exchange began in a blur. Zoom vanished, only to reappear behind Gray in a streak of fire. Gray twisted, claws crossing midair, parrying with sparks that cut the darkness. Mirage's lingering frost sigils glimmered on the ground, faint echoes of her power slowing Tristan's beast by fractions—enough for Gray to keep up, but not enough to dominate.

They moved faster than the eye could follow—strike, feint, riposte. For every blow Gray landed, Zoom returned one in kind, both beasts fighting as extensions of their handlers' will. Each collision warped the air, a storm of heat and steel and fading ice.

Then—a break.

Zoom overextended, its hind leg buckling for a fraction too long.

Aston seized the moment. "Gray—cut."

The cub leapt.

Claws arced, trailing silver light.

The Spatial Rend connected cleanly across Zoom's side—and this time, the wound was too deep to ignore. The cheetah screamed, its flames scattering like dying embers before it crumpled, collapsing in the dust.

The entire arena froze.

Steam hissed quietly from the ground where they stood.

Tristan's aura flared violently for an instant, then sputtered, collapsing with the bond strain. He fell to one knee, clutching his head, his connection flickering like a shattered circuit.

Silence filled the void between them.

Aston lowered his hand, chest heaving. Mirage's feathers were gone. Gray's flanks bled freely. But he was standing—and Zoom was not.

Tristan looked up slowly, disbelief etched into every line of his face. "You… actually…"

Aston met his gaze evenly. "You fought well. Better than anyone I've faced."

He turned slightly, brushing Gray's head. "But this is my win."

The referee's voice broke the stunned quiet. "Match end! Victor—Aston Rhyner!"

The crowd erupted.

Cheers thundered, echoing off the barrier walls in waves of unrestrained energy. Some screamed Tristan's name, others chanted Aston's, but none could deny the magnitude of what they'd witnessed.

In the stands, the instructors stood, some clapping, others whispering feverishly.

"That spirit beast—what level is it really?"

"Rhyner's composure under that pressure… he's on par with elite cadets."

"A red potential? Impossible. There's something more to that boy."

In the upper dais, the Vice Principal rose, eyes gleaming. "Well done, Kynee," he murmured softly, acknowledging the boy not as a student—but as an equal piece on the board.

Elder Erin's smile curved faintly behind her veil. "Seems the kitten's claws reached farther than anyone expected."

As the noise reached a crescendo, Aston turned toward Tristan—who still knelt among the molten dust, his beasts fading into their essence forms. For the first time, Tristan didn't glare. He didn't sneer. He simply nodded once, expression tight, eyes burning with something not unlike respect.

Aston gave a faint nod in return, then looked up toward the sky dome—where the lights of the festival shimmered through the fading haze.

Gray limped beside him, Mirage's faint echo circling above in motes of frost. Together, they stood in the arena's center, bathed in the afterglow of victory.

For the first time that day, the storm had stilled.

And for the first time that night, Aston Rhyner stood alone beneath the roar of a thousand voices—victorious.

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