Zevric inhaled, let the air out in a long hiss, and forced a grin that tasted of blood. "I knew Fenva is strong, but not this strong," he thought. He shook his head, tasting iron. "I thought this would be easy. I thought." His breath caught. Fenva had never even shown his full power before. Monstrous was the only word that fit.

He spat, crimson flecks arcing from his mouth, then planted his feet and charged. The arena blurred into streaks of color, sand, banners, faces, then narrowed down to one point: Fenva. The giant's eyes were still closed, his stance calm like a statue. Zevric's sword rose and came down in a brutal arc.

Fenva met the blow with a bare hand.

The sound of steel on flesh was a drumbeat; the impact rolled through Zevric's arms like a hammer. For a heartbeat the crowd forgot to breathe. Zevric's sword shuddered in his grip, legendary steel, unbroken, but the blow knocked him clean off his feet. He flew, cracked against the arena wall, and slid down in a spray of sand.

He pushed himself up, chest heaving. I didn't expect that level of strength, he admitted, fingers white on the hilt. If not for this blade, if it hadn't chosen me, I'd be dead. He flexed the sword, testing its edge, testing himself. A sliver of doubt crept in. If he used his full slash, could he even kill a man like this? Or would Fenva have something worse waiting?

A grin split Zevric's face, madness, pride, resolve. He launched himself again, a black comet of motion. The crowd roared. Fenva still didn't open his eyes. Zevric's blade sang through the air; he aimed for a seam, for any weakness. Fenva's hand rose, massive, immovable, and caught the sword like a farmer catching a stick.

Everyone gasped. The crowd's cheers collapsed into stunned silence. Zevric felt metal bite into his palms; the force was that of an iron pillar. He followed with a punch, a searing, shoulder-torquing blow to the giant's midsection. Fenva coughed, staggered back, just a hair, blood flecked his mouth. He bled, Zevric realized, eyes burning. A single crimson bead fell to the sand. I made him bleed.

Fenva's eyes opened then, slow, like a sunrise. He spoke quietly, but the sound carried: "Don't hesitate. Do what you must. A barrier keeps the audience safe." The words were oddly gentle for a man whose fists could crush men. The crowd exhaled; a ripple of tension returned, heavier than before.

Zevric's answer was a laugh, half triumph, half disbelief. He vaulted onto the airborne platform of his own momentum, the blade that hovered, a technique he'd perfected. He rode it like a ghost, spinning, gaining centrifugal speed until he was a blur, sword and rider a single missile. He rocketed forward with a fist drawn back, and his punch slammed into Fenva's jaw with the force of a falling boulder. Fenva's head snapped left, then right; for a second the colossus staggered.

Zevric dared to press the attack. From his vantage on the sword he swung the blade, aiming for Fenva's shoulder, an exposed seam. Fenva's left arm rose like an iron shield, huge and impossibly fast; it wrapped around Zevric's motion and gripped his head. The crowd gasped as the giant's arm swallowed him, an arm as wide as a cartwheel.

Zevric yanked, twisted, and slammed the hilt into Fenva's shoulder. Metal met muscle with a sound like thunder. Fenva didn't bleed heavily, his flesh didn't split, but a hiss of pain escaped him, a raw, animal sound. He felt it, Zevric thought, adrenaline sharp in his veins. He felt that hit. We're already breaking through something.

Fenva answered by driving Zevric back, caught him like a ragdoll, and then, while Zevric still clung to the hilt, punched his belly. The blow lifted Zevric off the sword and spat him across the sand. He landed hard, tasted blood, and rolled to his knees.

He didn't get up cleanly. Fenva's fists rained down with the blunt fury of a battering ram, each strike a meteor strike to sand and bone. Zevric curled defensively, taking more hits than he'd ever imagined he could survive. Every punch felt like a lesson in humility; every impact taught him how far his strength still had to climb.

And through it all, a voice, calm, almost bored, said, "You're strong. You landed a mark." Fenva's tone was not angry. It was companionable, like two sparring partners resuming an old routine. "But I've been holding back. Enough."

Blood streaked Zevric's face. He tasted metal and fire. I underestimated him. I thought I had the upper hand. A thought flared, then died as Fenva reared back to land a blow that would have shattered the skull of a lesser man.

Zevric braced, and something inside him shifted. He couldn't rely on speed or trickery anymore. This was close quarters, raw strength versus honed steel. He had to adapt. The crowd shouted his name, a ragged chorus of faith. He drew on every scrap of technique he had, angle, leverage, microsteps, and prepared for the next exchange, where blades would test bone and will.

For now, sand flew and banners trembled, and the arena seemed to hold its breath for the moment when two titans would either break each other or be remade by the clash.

"Not going to use your special on me?" Fenva asked.

"No. It can wipe out hundreds of monsters. I won't use it on a friend," Zevric said calmly.

"I know, but I'm strong enough to handle it. Do you think I'd say I could do something I can't? I want to feel that power, the intense horror you wield. I watched your fight with Asta. I've shattered ice walls using it. Give me that same thrill," Fenva said.

Zevric smiled. "You talk more than I expected. You've always wanted this, to test your limits. Fine. I'll do it for you." He raised his sword, and golden light began to radiate from the blade.

"Obliterate every foe in my path. One slash," Zevric commanded, and the slash tore through the air at impossible speed.

Fenva raised a fist. "Pray." He paused, then smiled. Straightening both hands, he clapped with full force. Boom. Boom. The impact shattered the royal mage's barrier. Zevric's divine slash vanished, leaving the audience stunned and in pain.

"Where I stand, I am strong enough. And Nolan, he's even stronger. He could stop this," Fenva muttered. "Don't underestimate your power, but don't overestimate it either. Some demons might survive, but not many. Not on my watch."

He raised his sword again, golden light flaring brighter than before. "I'm going to do it again."

"Well, I'm not going to let you do it," Fenva said, his voice calm but carrying weight. "It'll be a problem for me. And the audience, they're already in pain from before. As I clapped with full force, it shook everything. If you try it again, the air drum won't function."

Zevric's teeth clenched. "I refuse to fail," he said, his voice tight with determination. He knew, deep down, that even now, the odds were stacked against him. But he wouldn't back down. Not now.

The air around him seemed to warp as his sword leaped into the air, as if obeying his will. Zevric vaulted atop it, riding the blade like a phantom. He soared high, twisting in midair, moving faster than the eye could follow. Fenva's gaze tracked him calmly from below, unshaken by the display of sheer audacity.

"You're more mature than this. Just give up," Fenva said, his tone almost gentle, a voice that belied the raw destructive power coiling in his muscles.

Zevric's fists clenched. "You're the one who's matured. You barely speak, you barely even make a sound, yet here you are talking. I can't, I can't lose to you," he spat, eyes burning with unyielding fire.

Fenva's lips curved in a slight, almost imperceptible smile. "It's been nice, battling with you," he said, the words calm but carrying the weight of absolute power.

Then the ground trembled. Fenva slammed his massive fist into the arena floor with full strength. The stone cracked and splintered violently, shards shooting upward with terrifying speed, tearing through the air as if the very earth was rebelling. Fenva rose with the shards, moving with the unstoppable force of a living mountain. Zevric tried to rise even higher, pushing his airborne sword to its limits.

But Fenva leapt.

His fist shot through the air like a comet. Zevric's body collided with it, and he was sent flying, the sword slipping from his grasp. Blood poured from his mouth as his body spun uncontrollably through the air. He crashed into the protective barrier, the force jarring him, throwing him backward like a ragdoll.

The arena seemed to shudder under the sheer magnitude of the impact. Zevric's body hit the ground hard, sand and dust exploding around him. He coughed, blood flecking his lips, chest heaving from the trauma, yet even in the pain, he laughed, a bitter, ragged sound, a laugh of someone who refused to surrender mentally, even if physically broken.

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