Kieran held his blade steady, the familiar weight of it grounding him as his eyes searched the stranger's face for something. Anything.
He found nothing.
"Alright," Kieran said at last, rolling his shoulders and letting a thin grin creep across his face. "Guess we're strangers, then."
Liam didn't respond.
He shifted his footing instead subtly. The kind of movement that didn't look like preparation until it was already too late.
They moved at the same time.
Kieran struck first, his blade snapping forward in a precise diagonal meant to test his reaction speed rather than inflict damage. Liam didn't dodge.
He caught the blade.
Not the hilt. The edge.
Barehanded. Skin met the metal edge.
The metal screamed as it stopped, sparks scattering across the arena floor. Kieran's eyes widened for half a heartbeat before he twisted his wrist and disengaged, jumping backward to create space.
The crowd lost its mind.
The group watched from the stands. Each of them was intrigued by the match.
Liam looked down at his palm. No blood. Not even a mark. He flexed his fingers once, slow and deliberate, as if confirming they still worked. Then he looked back up and stepped forward.
Kieran grinned, sharp and feral. "Okay, what the hell!"
Kieran surged forward, prana flaring again but not fully unleashed, but enough to warp the air around his blade. His strikes came faster now, overlapping angles, cuts that existed in more than one place at once.
Liam met them head-on.
Every time Kieran should have slipped past his guard, Liam was already in the way. Every time Kieran should have had the advantage in speed, Liam moved just fast enough.
Just… enough.
A fist drove into Kieran's ribs with bone-deep force and sent him skidding sideways, boots digging furrows through stone. He coughed once, breath knocked from his lungs, and then laughed through it.
"Oh… I see," he said, pushing himself upright.
"So you're that kind of monster."
Liam tilted his head slightly. "Monster?"
Kieran wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "Yeah. You heard me."
They went at it again.
Harder this time. This time, there was no restraint.
The arena floor cracked beneath them, fractures spiderwebbing outward with each impact. Kieran's blade sang, reality bending around its edge—but every cut that should have ended the fight glanced off, slid aside, or met resistance that didn't make sense.
Roy's stomach tightened. Too much. His stomach clenched again.
Yeah. Definitely the sweets.
Roy shifted in his seat, fingers curling against the stone railing. His stomach twisted again, sharper this time, like something cold settling just beneath his ribs.
Ah.
He stood abruptly.
Brock glanced at him. "Are you good?"
Roy swallowed. "Bathroom."
Tanaka raised an eyebrow. "NOW?"
Roy didn't answer. He was already moving. He was urgent.
No one stopped him. No one questioned it. The guards barely spared him a glance as he slipped into the corridor, the roar of the crowd dulling behind him.
Right before he slipped past the guards, a faint smile appeared while he ran to the toilet.
The fight carried on, Kieran trying everything in his arsenal to get this man to forfeit, as he knew deep inside this person was no ordinary man. Even him, a man who was a born fighter. A quick learner with immense strength.
He was no match for him.
But then…
The crowd's roar shifted. They were not cheering anymore, and murmurs crept in. Unease. Confusion.
Someone pointed.
"What's that?"
Everyone followed their gaze.
High above the arena, far too high, something sat in the air. Looking down at the Colosseum. At first, people thought it was a trick of the eye; maybe it was something related to light.
Then they realised it wasn't moving.
It was a figure.
Seated.
One leg was stretched out lazily into empty space, the other bent. An elbow rested against the raised knee, his head supported by his hand, chin tilted slightly as if in thought.
As if it were watching a performance that was mundane.
Boring. More eyes turned away from the fight and looked up at the figure in the air. Both Kieran and Liam had stopped fighting and now were looking at the air.
The clouds around him warped, bending inward as if pulled by his presence. Light fractured strangely around his silhouette, refusing to settle. He didn't move.
Brock looked at him. "Yo, what is that?"
Tanaka frowned. "I don't know; I am looking at the same thing as you."
Tens of thousands of voices vanished into stunned silence.
Every head tilted upward. Every eye locked onto the sky.
"What…" someone whispered.
The figure shifted. Just slightly.
Then he raised one hand.
The air screamed.
Not from the sound but from the pressure. The sky itself seemed to recoil as a symbol burnt into existence behind him, vast and brilliant, carved into the heavens like a brand.
Nova.
Above the arena, above the fight, above the tournament itself, the mark of Nova shone like a newborn star.
And suddenly, Kieran versus Liam didn't matter anymore.
Nothing did.
Except for the thing watching them from the sky.