The fusion suppressors kicked in as Carter entered the arena, his Hunter's Mark still faintly visible despite the dampening field. Even faded, the silvery pattern marked him as something Rhys was never allowed to become – a true Hunter rather than a failed candidate.
The Ceremony still burned fresh in memory. His father's face as the orb showed three. The way the crowd had whispered. "You've embarrassed this family enough," his father had said afterward. "A capacity of three is worse than no potential at all."
In the observation booth, Dr. Wells made another note. "Subject shows unusual reaction to Hunter presence. Increased agitation. Possible trauma response." She adjusted her crystal-enhanced lenses, studying Rhys's body language. "Recommendation: Full psyche eval after—"
Rhys started laughing.
Not his usual disconnected giggle, but deep, wracking sobs that made the other observers shift uncomfortably. His fingers traced patterns in the air that matched the dampening field's pulse frequency perfectly.
The last visit. His father standing rigid before the cell, disappointment radiating from every line of his posture. "You've embarrassed the family name enough. Your mother... she couldn't bear to come." A pause. "Don't expect us again."
"Brothers and sisters," he called out, voice cracking. "Did they take your songs too? Did they make you forget how to dance with the shadows?"
Carter's stance shifted – the natural reaction of a trained Hunter sensing threat. His movements showed the confidence of someone who'd earned their place. "They said you were fusion burned. That the breakage drove you mad." His eyes narrowed. "But that's not quite right, is it?"
"Mad? No, no, no." Rhys swayed like a drunk, but his feet traced precise geometric patterns across the arena floor. "Just empty. Hollow. A mirror with nothing left to reflect."
In the premium seats, a hooded figure leaned forward slightly.
The bout began with Carter displaying perfect Hunter form. Each strike flowed with trained precision, each combination refined through years of practice. Professional. Controlled. Everything Rhys had never been allowed to become.
Rhys's response shattered all pretense of sanity.
He lurched and stumbled, movements appearing random but somehow always placing him just beyond Carter's reach. His form shifted between wild flailing and moments of impossible grace. Blood from a split lip painted patterns that shouldn't have aligned with the crystal array's resonance frequencies.
"Remember the old forms?" Rhys's voice carried an edge of desperation. "The way fusion used to feel before they caged it in numbers and rules?"
Carter hesitated for a split second – enough for Rhys's counter to slip through his guard. The Hunter's nose crunched under a blow that looked clumsy but landed with surgical precision.
"Impossible," Carter spat blood. "Your capacity—"
"Capacity!" Rhys howled the word like it physically hurt. "Little boxes for little powers. Numbers to cage the infinite. Did they make you forget too, brother? Did they hollow you out and fill you with their certainties?"
The crystal arrays pulsed stronger as their battle intensified. Carter's training showed in every move, but Rhys's apparent madness made him impossible to predict. He'd flow through moments of impossible precision, then suddenly collapse into spasms that somehow turned defensive techniques into devastating attacks.
In the highest observation booth, the hooded figure's hand tightened on their armrest.
The end came during an exchange that started textbook and ended unprecedented. Carter launched a standard Hunter takedown. Rhys moved in response.
Instead of the expected fall, his body moved through angles that hurt to watch directly. The arena's dampening field fluctuated for a microsecond. Carter's eyes widened in sudden recognition before the finishing strike sent him into unconsciousness.
"Winner: 3479. Time: fourteen minutes, twenty-three seconds."
As medics carried Carter away, Rhys fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Real tears, though not for the reasons the observers assumed. "Do you see?" he whispered. "Do you see how the spaces between remember what we used to be?"
The hooded figure stood abruptly and left the observation booth. If anyone had been watching closely, they might have noticed how the crystal arrays pulsed in sync with their movements.
Might have recognized Maya's walk, even beneath the concealing cloak.
Later that night, Dr. Wells filed her report: "Subject displays increasing psychological deterioration. Combat effectiveness remains abnormally high despite apparent mental state. Recommend increased monitoring and potential isolation protocols."
She didn't notice how her crystal-enhanced lenses had started showing interference patterns that matched the frequencies of Rhys's footwork perfectly.
In his cell, Rhys pressed his hand against the wall, feeling the crystal resonance beneath. His father's final words at the Ceremony echoed: "A capacity of three means you'll never be one of them." A bitter smile crossed his face. They'd all assumed his capacity was a limitation. None of them understood that true power lay in the spaces between numbers.
The Wolf's song grew stronger.