Elliott charged at Celosia with a furious roar, his blade sparking with silver lightning that trailed behind him like a comet. He swung his sword in a wide horizontal arc, aiming to catch her mid-step, but Celosia stepped back with practiced ease, letting the blade miss her by mere inches.
Elliott didn't falter. He immediately twisted his body, pivoting on his heel, and slashed diagonally upward. Celosia tilted her head slightly, the blade missing her face by a hair's breadth. Her calm expression didn't waver, only fueling Elliott's frustration.
"Stand still, damn it!" he shouted, launching a flurry of rapid strikes. Each slash came faster than the last, but Celosia moved with grace, her blade meeting his only when necessary, deflecting his attacks with minimal effort. Sparks flew from their clashing weapons, the sound of steel ringing across the molten terrain.
Elliott lunged again, this time transforming into a streak of lightning mid-strike, reappearing at her side to deliver a slash aimed at her ribs. Celosia spun, her cloak swirling like a shadow, and her blade intercepted his with a loud clang. The force of her parry sent Elliott staggering back a step, though he immediately pushed forward again, refusing to yield.
He feinted a high slash and dropped low, sweeping his blade toward her legs. Celosia jumped effortlessly, twisting in midair to avoid a follow-up lightning strike he unleashed from his sword. She landed softly, her feet barely making a sound against the rocky ground.
"Your aggression is impressive," she said, her voice calm and unbothered, "but it's wild, uncontrolled. Power without precision is meaningless."
Her words only spurred Elliott on. He unleashed a surge of lightning from his body, creating a storm of crackling energy around him. The ground sizzled and cracked under the intensity as he charged once more, aiming for an overhead strike. Celosia raised her sword, catching his blade mid-swing. The force of the clash created a shockwave that rippled through the air, yet she remained unshaken.
Elliott growled and swung again, slashing from every angle, but Celosia met each strike with calculated movements. When he thrust his sword toward her chest, she twisted her body to the side and struck his wrist with the flat of her blade, causing his grip to falter momentarily.
Not giving him time to recover, Celosia stepped forward and struck his shoulder with the hilt of her sword, sending him stumbling backward. Elliott gritted his teeth and steadied himself, his body battered but his resolve unbroken.
With a roar, he zapped into the air, sending a bolt of lightning hurtling toward her. Celosia sidestepped it easily and slashed upward, sending a ripple of purple energy into the sky that intercepted Elliott mid-flight. The force threw him to the ground, where he landed hard, coughing as he struggled to rise again.
"You lack control, Elliott," Celosia said, stepping toward him. "You fight like a storm, wild and unpredictable. But storms burn out."
Elliott forced himself to his feet, his body trembling from exhaustion. Blood trickled from a cut on his temple, and his breathing was labored, yet his eyes burned with defiance. He gripped his sword tighter, the lightning around him flickering weakly but still alive.
"Maybe storms burn out," he panted, a small grin breaking through his exhaustion. "But they always leave their mark."
He dashed forward one last time, swinging his sword with all the strength he could muster, determined to land even a single blow. Celosia deflected the attack with ease, her movements fluid and precise. She parried another strike and countered with a quick slash that knocked Elliott's blade from his hands, sending it clattering to the ground.
Before he could react, she brought her sword to his throat, the sharp edge hovering just above his skin. "Enough," she said firmly, her voice devoid of malice.
Elliott froze, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Celosia lowered her blade and took a step back, turning away from him.
"You have potential," she said over her shoulder. "But potential without discipline is a waste."
Elliott dropped to his knees, clutching his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. Despite his defeat, a flicker of determination remained in his eyes. He had lost, but the fight wasn't over—not for him.
"I don't get it..." Elliott muttered, slamming his fist into the ground. The impact sent a sharp jolt through his bruised knuckles, the skin splitting further as blood trickled between his fingers and onto the rough terrain. He stared at the crimson stains pooling beneath him, feeling the weight of his frustration grow heavier. "I trained for two years... and yet, it feels like all of that was for nothing."
His voice quivered with disbelief, though his instincts suppressed the tears threatening to escape. He wouldn't let himself break—not yet.
"What am I missing? What am I not seeing? If I can't figure it out... she'll kill them. Every single one of them." He gazed at the ground, his mind spinning with desperation. In the distance, Celosia's calm, unshaken steps moved toward the others. Kyora was frozen in fear, and Joker, despite bracing himself, wore the tension of someone who knew this was a fight they weren't ready for.
Elliott's grip tightened as his nails dug into his palm. "I've thrown everything I have at her... nothing worked. Am I really still this weak, even after all this time? After everything I've been through?"
His thoughts raced, searching for answers in the depths of his memory. But no matter how hard he tried to piece it together, the solution remained just out of reach, like a shadow slipping further away the closer he got.
Elliott clenched his fists tighter, ignoring the searing pain of his torn knuckles. The blood on the ground was his, and it felt like a mocking reminder of his failure. His chest heaved as he tried to suppress the tremble in his shoulders, his pride battling the creeping despair threatening to consume him.
"I trained... day after day, night after night," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible but brimming with frustration. "Every scar, every strike I took, I endured it all to become stronger. And yet..." He punched the ground again, harder this time, as if trying to crush his own inadequacy. "It's like I never left where I started."
His vision blurred—not from tears, but from the pounding ache in his head, a mixture of exhaustion and emotional strain. He gazed at the crimson streaks on his hands, his own blood smeared across the dirt, feeling its warmth fade as quickly as his confidence. The weight of failure pressed heavily on his chest.
"What am I doing wrong?" he whispered to himself. "I have the power... I've felt it before. So why can't I bring it out now?" His mind raced, replaying every strike, every parry, every counter Celosia had effortlessly executed. He could hear the others behind him—Kyora's panicked breaths, Joker's attempts to ready himself, and the faint hum of tension in the air. They were all relying on him, and he had nothing left to give.
His eyes flicked up to Celosia, who now stood a few paces away, her blade lowered but her presence as imposing as ever. She moved with terrifying ease, a predator sizing up her next move, and Elliott knew she was more than capable of cutting down his crewmates if he didn't find a way to stop her.
But how? How could he face someone so far beyond him?
He slammed his fist into the ground one more time, leaving a smear of blood across the jagged terrain. "I'm missing something..." His voice shook as he forced himself to stand, his legs trembling beneath him. "There has to be something I haven't unlocked yet... something I haven't realized... but what?"
His gaze darted between the crew and Celosia, his mind spinning in desperation. His friends couldn't fall here, not because of his weakness. But no matter how hard he searched for answers, the solution eluded him like smoke slipping through his fingers.
Celosia's calm voice broke his spiraling thoughts. "Still clinging to the idea that brute force alone will save them?" she asked, her tone devoid of mockery, yet sharp enough to cut through his despair. "You think training for years entitles you to victory? Strength isn't measured by time spent wielding a blade. It's how you adapt, how you think, how you rise when all else fails."
Her words stung more than any wound. Elliott gritted his teeth, anger and shame boiling inside him. He wanted to scream at her, to tell her she didn't understand his struggle—but deep down, he knew she was right.
He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening around his sword. "Adapt..." he muttered, the word lingering in his mind like a spark waiting to ignite. He looked at his bloodied hand, then at Celosia's steady stance. Maybe... just maybe, brute force wasn't the answer. Maybe he'd been approaching this all wrong.
Slowly, he steadied himself, drawing a deep breath. The fire in his eyes reignited—not with blind determination, but with a newfound resolve. If I can't overpower her... then I'll outthink her.
For now, he would stand. For now, he would fight. And maybe, just maybe, he'd find the answer he sought before it was too late.
"I must... do this... for them.."
To be continued...