The officials' box hummed with a low murmur of voices as the fight concluded, the energy in the arena still electric from the clash of light and shadow. Seargent Fredin leaned back in his chair, his sharp, calculating eyes fixed on the battlefield where medics rushed to assist Daniel.
"An intriguing fight," Fredin began, his tone carrying the weight of a seasoned strategist. "Daniel's resilience was impressive, but the boy lacks killer instinct. He hesitated when he could've pressed his advantage. Against someone like Mathew, that's a death sentence."
One of the officials, a wiry man with spectacles perched on his nose, nodded. "True. Still, the Energy Guard—remarkable. Few fighters can manifest a shield of that caliber and hold it under such pressure. There's potential there, Seargent. Don't forget that."
Fredin grunted, unimpressed. "Potential doesn't win battles. Mathew? He's raw power, chaotic but effective. Though I don't like what I saw near the end." He gestured toward the now-emptied arena floor, where dark mist still lingered like a stain. "That wasn't just his ability. The spirit... it's taking more control."
The woman to Fredin's right, her face partially obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, shifted forward, her voice low and measured. "And if it takes complete control, what then? Can we trust a fighter who might not even be themselves?"
Fredin's jaw tightened, his gaze distant. "We monitor him. If Mathew becomes more liability than asset, we'll handle it."
The officials fell silent for a moment, their collective unease palpable.
At the other end of the box, separated by an invisible wall of disdain, Kalliah and Kallias watched the officials with matching smirks. They sat perched on the edge of their seats, their postures casual but their eyes alight with something sharp, feral.
Kalliah twirled a lock of her midnight-black hair, her lips curling into a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, how boring they are. 'Monitor him,' 'handle him.' So formal, so spineless." Her voice was as smooth as silk but carried a razor's edge.
Kallias chuckled beside her, leaning his chin on his hand. His wild, unkempt hair fell over one eye, giving him a lopsided, predatory look. "They're all fools. Mathew won. That's all that matters. Who cares if the spirit's pulling his strings? It makes him stronger."
Kalliah arched a brow at her twin. "Stronger, yes. But did you see how sloppy he got at the end? Jerky movements, wild swings. He's powerful, but that kind of chaos gets you killed."
Kallias waved a hand dismissively. "You're too critical, sister. The chaos is the fun part. Imagine being on the other end of it, watching those pathetic 'fighters' scramble to survive. That's what a fight should be—fear, destruction, blood."
Kalliah laughed softly, but her gaze was sharp as she turned to him. "You always think short-term. If Mathew keeps letting that spirit take over, he won't be a fighter much longer. He'll be a puppet." She paused, her smile deepening. "But... perhaps that's exactly what makes him interesting."
Kallias grinned, leaning closer to her. "And what about Daniel? Hmm? Do you think he'll get another shot?"
Kalliah rolled her eyes. "Daniel is predictable. That little speech at the end—'I'll get stronger.'" She mimicked his tone, her voice dripping with mockery. "How noble. How utterly boring. He'll train, get a bit better, and then fail again. His light will sputter out, just like always."
"But," Kallias said, his grin widening, "what if it doesn't? What if he actually manages to grow enough to stand a chance?"
Kalliah tilted her head, considering this, her smile turning wicked. "Then maybe—maybe—he'll be worth breaking. There's no thrill in crushing someone weak, after all."
They both laughed, a sound that carried no warmth, only the shared delight of predators watching their prey.
In the middle of the box, the divide between the officials and the twins felt like the chasm between order and chaos. The officials spoke in measured tones, their focus on control and strategy. Kalliah and Kallias, meanwhile, reveled in the unpredictability, watching the aftermath of the fight like vultures circling fresh carrion.
The arena below, quiet now, seemed to echo the unspoken tension. Daniel and Mathew's battle had ended, but the ripples of their clash would stretch far beyond this one fight.
Now the question remained...which squad won?