The field grew silent as Luscian and Fantcus entered the field. Both teams were in a buzz of anticipation; their murmurs louder, awaiting fighters against fighters. Kantara raised his hand-again so composed.
"Fight," his voice rang out sharp and clear.
Luscian now had his sharp eyes locked with Fantcus; his silver-gray hair gleamed in the sun. His mind was racing with all the variables, all possible moves that would result in a victory. Fantcus wasn't a novice; with his unbreachable defense he had harnessed through the power of slipperiness. Most physical blows, would slide harmlessly off him when his ability was activated.
But Luscian wasn't ordinary either: a power user, a breed of combatant who channeled all his output into raw physical strength. Most ring bearers managed an output in the range of 12 to 14%, but Luscian's 20% made him a juggernaut. The gap might seem small, but in the world of ring bearers, every percentage was the thin line separating an average warrior from a legend. However, brute strength would not win this fight, nor would it against someone like Fantcus.
As Fantcus turned his power on, a thin sheen covered his body, reflecting the sun as if polished glass. The emerald-green color of his hair shone to further the surreal image. On the other side of the field, Luscian breathed deeply and the aura around him began to ripple outwards; it seemed the very earth vibrated beneath him, thickening the air with his immense power.
Charging into a two-force collision midarena, Luscian jabbed first, fists flying in blur upon blur as each blow tried to break through the impenetrable shield that Fantcus projected. As expected, every one of these blows slipped away, the momentum dissipating as if on oiled glass.
Fantcus laughed, the sound echoing across the arena. "Is that all you've got?" he taunted, dodging another punch with ease. His movements were fluid, almost lazy, as if mocking Luscian's efforts.
Luscian gritted his teeth. His plan was simple: just overpower Fantcus with brute strength. He had hypothesized that a strong enough force could break through the slipperiness by mere resistance. But with each passed attack, it dawned on him how wrong his estimates had been. Fantcus's ability wasn't just for defense alone; it made Luscian's biggest asset a weakness.
But retreat wasn't an option. Luscian knew the risks: the rules of the match did not allow lethal force, and holding back meant his punches didn't have the critical edge to overcome the ability. Confident by what seemed to be frustration, Fantcus deactivated his power mid-motion, dodged a final punch, and countered with a blow that would brutally connect with Luscian's back.
The impact sent Luscian sprawling to the ground. Gasps exploded from the onlookers as he lay there, face-first in the dirt. On the sidelines, teammates shifted uncomfortably, a flicker of concern in their eyes.
Kantara did not move. He stood there, staring at whatever had happened, not moving his gaze, the thought of stopping the fight not even crossing his mind.
Time hung for a moment. Then, with the greatest deliberation, Luscian stirred. He levered himself onto his knees, his breathing ragged but even. A low chuckle escaped his lips, building in volume until it rang out across the field.
"I figured it out," he shouted then, his voice slicing the air like a knife.
Off to the side, Ipsum hunched a knowing grin. Crossing his arms, he leaned back as if the match has ended.
Fantcus's frown came for the first time; his confidence shook. "What are you..."
Luscian didn't let him finish. In an instant, he was running at him again, fists flying in a blur of furious punches against Fantcus. The crowd watched in stunned silence as blow after blow landed without effect. Fantcus smirked, the faint shimmer of his power mocking Luscian's efforts.
But Luscian's laughter only grew louder. Every punch seemed purposeful, calculated, as if he was testing something. Then in one quick, subtle shift, Fantcus moved just enough to dodge.
That was all Luscian needed.
He caught the change in an instant. The shimmer was gone. Fantcus's palm, for that fleeting moment, no longer reflected the sun. Luscian's eyes lit up with realization. His opponent had turned his power off to get in another hit.
"Big mistake," Luscian muttered under his breath.
He channeled all 20% of his output into his legs and was off with a speed that sent the onlooking crowd into gasps. Before Fantcus could act, Luscian's fist connected with his jaw, and it was the sound of breaking two heavy chunks of wood cracking together, echoing across the field.
Fantcus dropped to the ground, out before he hit the dirt.
When Kantara strode onto the field, the crowd erupted in cheers and gasps. His expression was unreadable, but the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed his pride. He raised his hand to signal the end of the match.
"Luscian wins," he announced, his voice powerful cutting through the noise.
The cheers grew louder, a racket of excitement and disbelief. On the sidelines, Ipsum clapped slowly, his grin wide. Still catching his breath, Luscian looked down at his fallen opponent.
"It wasn't about strength," he said to himself. "It was about timing."
As he walked off the field, his teammates swarmed him with voices high in praise and in relief. But in that chaos, Luscian's mind was already somewhere else. This victory wasn't a win; it was a lesson: Fantcus' ability was flawed for all its power-it required focus, and once broken, focus made the strongest defenses vulnerable.
Kantara watched him from the edge of the field, his smirk now a thoughtful expression. He had known Luscian had potential, but today he had proved himself in ways few could.
The match was over, but the real battles were yet to come.