The second semifinal ended in thirty-seven seconds.
Scarlet moved like liquid death, her Attack Projection quirk turning the air itself into razors. Swine's massive bulk worked against him—too slow, too confident, too used to overwhelming weaker opponents through brute force alone.
The pig-faced brute charged with a roar that shook dust from the arena's upper tiers. Scarlet sidestepped, her hand cutting through empty air. Swine's left leg separated cleanly at the knee.
He toppled forward, confusion replacing rage as arterial spray painted the sand crimson. Another gesture from Scarlet, precise as a surgeon's scalpel, and Swine's thick neck opened like a second mouth.
Blood bubbled from his throat as he tried to speak. Then the light faded from his small, cruel eyes.
"Winner—the Scarlet Angel!" Charlie's voice had regained some of its theatrical energy. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have our final two!"
