Gideon stands in the center of the arena, the roar of the crowd washing over him...
His fingers twitch at his sides— dirt-caked, trembling just slightly.
Did he say begin already? The thought drifts through his mind like smoke, his focus slipping for one dangerous second.
Then—
"[Mas Magic Missile]."
Erion's voice cuts through the noise, crisp and clean. No fanfare. No warning.
"Shit!" Gideon's body moves before his brain catches up. His palm slams into the dirt, the gritty sand pressing into his skin. "[Mud Wall]!"
The ground heaves. A thick barrier of wet earth erupts between them just as three glowing darts of energy streak through the air—THUD-THUD-THUD—embedding themselves deep into the muck.
The wall holds. Barely.
Gideon exhales, a shaky grin tugging at his lips. "Heh. That's right, ya fancy bastard, I—"
Shadow falls over him.
His head snaps up.
Erion soars above the wall, his black uniform almost blocking out the sun'
The fucker even smells expensive—sandalwood and frostbloom soap.
"Only the worthy deserve to stand here," Erion murmurs. His fingers crackle with blue-white energy. "[Lightning Spear]."
"Aw, hell—" Gideon's already moving. His shield spell flickers to life—a thin, shimmering half-dome—but he knows it won't hold. Not against that.
His other hand claws at the dirt. "[Mud Jet]!"
The ground beneath him erupts.
A geyser of filthy water and sludge punches him square in the gut—pain flares white-hot—but it launches him backward just as Erion hurls the spear.
The lightning hits where he stood half a heartbeat ago.
BOOM!
Dirt sprays. The shockwave slams into Gideon mid-air, flipping him like a ragdoll. He hits the ground rolling.
Somewhere, the crowd is howling.
"Guh—damn..." Gideon spits red.
Across the arena, Erion lands light as a cat, not a hair out of place.
"Y'know," Gideon wheezes, "fer a third-circle mage... y'sure take yer sweet time killin' me."
Erion's eyebrow quirks. "[Gale Blade]."
Wind shrieks, carving trenches in the sand as it races toward Gideon.
"[Earthen Shell]!" Gideon slaps both hands down. The dirt rises, hardening around him just in time—the windblades screech against the rock.
Inside his makeshift bunker, Gideon's breath comes in ragged gasps. His hands shake.
This thing ain't gonna last.
He can feel the shell cracking.
"Come now," Erion purrs. "Surely you didn't think dirt would save you?"
Gideon barks a laugh. "Worked so far, ain't it?"
Gotta move. Now.
He slams his palms together. "[Stone Skin]!" His flesh darkens slightly, hardening into craggy rock just as Erion's fingers twirl in an elegant arc.
"[Mas Ignis]."
Fire erupts from Erion's fingertips—not one blast, but dozens, streaking through the air.
Gideon barely gets his arms up in time.
**BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM*!
Each impact sends him skidding back, his boots carving trenches in the sand. The heat sears his eyebrows, the stench of burning hair thick in his nose. His stone armor cracks, flakes peeling away like dead skin.
"Y'see?" Erion voice reaches him through the smoke. "This is why there are tiers to nobility."
*A pause.
"[Glacial Lance]."
A spear of ice screams toward Gideon's chest.
"[Terra Fist]!" Gideon's right arm bulges, the stone skin thickening into a massive boulder-fist. He swings—
CRACK
The lance shatters, but the force still sends him spinning. He hits the ground rolling.
"Just yield," Erion sighs. "Your stubbornness is tiresome."
Gideon grins. "Nah."
He slams his fist into the ground. "[Quake Stomp]!"
The arena shudders. Sand leaps into the air as shockwaves race toward Erion—but the noble simply tuts and flicks two fingers.
"[Flash Step]."
He blurs, reappearing behind Gideon.
"[Frostbind]."
Ice explodes up Gideon's legs, crawling toward his waist. He roars, smashing the frozen shackles with his stone fists—
Just in time to see Erion's palm glowing crimson.
"[Dying Ember]."
The open-handed strike hits Gideon's sternum.
For half a heartbeat—nothing.
Then—
FWOOM
Heat detonates inside Gideon's chest. His stone skin shatters as he's launched backward, trailing smoke. He crashes into the arena wall hard enough to splinter the reinforced wood.
"As it should be," Erion murmurs.
Gideon slides down the wall.
Ain't done... can't be done...
He grabs a handful of sand.
"[Dust Devil]!"
The granules erupt into a whirling storm, blinding Erion for one precious second—
Long enough for Gideon to lunge, his fist cocked back.
"THIS AIN'T EVEN A MOVE DAMNIT!"
His stone-knuckled punch screams through the air—
Erion's eyes widen. He barely gets his arms up in time.
CRUNCH
The impact sends Erion flying, his perfect form crumpling as he tumbles across the arena.
Silence.
Then—
Erion pushes himself up, his lip split, his hair mussed.
Can he use ki? Impossible...truly...
"You filthy little—"
Gideon grins through bloody teeth. "Now we're talkin-."
A blur...
Wh—?
Then he's airborne, flipped end over end like a ragdoll. The arena spins—crowd, sky, sand—in a sickening whirl. A whisper cuts through the roar:
"[1st Technique - Whispering Slash]."
Sssskt—
Lines of cuts erupt across Gideon's chest, arms, thighs—too fast to see, too fast to feel at first. Then the pain hits, white-hot and razor-sharp.
Damn...he's just like Elik...
Erion materializes mid-air, palm glowing violet. "[Gravitas Impact]."
BOOM!
The strike lands.
His vision strobes—black, white, agony—as he rockets downward. Stone cracks. Dust plumes. Debris rains.
A high-pitched ringing fills Gideon's ears as he lies sprawled in a crater.
He blinks away blood and dust...
"Shit... why me..." he mutters.
Through the haze, he sees Erion. The noble's voice carries: "Really now. Must we continue this farce?"
Hmm...
Gideon's bleary gaze tracks the way Erion's chest moves— heavy breathing, sweat starting to stain his uniform.
_All offense.
No damn stamina.
No defense.
A slow, bloody grin splits Gideon's face. "Heh... uppity fuck."
He spits red onto the sand.
"Yer fast... but y'ain't tough."
With a groan, Gideon heaves himself onto his elbows.
Erion sighs, examining his nails. "Must you persist? As a fellow noble you are aware that this looks... lowly."
"Lowly ma ass," Gideon wheezes, rolling onto his knees.
The crowd's roar swells as he staggers upright, swaying like a drunkard.
Erion's nose wrinkles.
Gideon's laugh comes out as a choked cough. "Hell yeah," he rasps, cracking his knuckles with a sound like snapping twigs.
His fingers plunge into the dirt, curling under the earth.
Gideon exhales...
Gotta think... how should I—
An idea sparks.
His fingers twitch in the dirt. "[Quicksand]," he mutters, voice hoarse.
The ground shudders. A patch of arena floor five meters ahead of Erion bubbles like boiling tar, solid stone turning to treacherous sludge.
Gideon yanks his hands free, gritting his teeth as the spell fights him—the magic sluggish, unstable.
"Stay active, damn it," he growls under his breath, watching the quicksand churn. Just gotta buy time.
Erion's polished boot taps impatiently. "Are we done with these childish—"
Gideon moves.
He lunges left, his battered body protesting every step. Erion's lip curls. "[ Mas Magic Missile]." A dozen glowing darts streak through the air.
"[Rock Shard]!" Gideon hurls jagged stones mid-sprint. Spells collide—
POP!
POP!
BOOM!
Light and debris fill the air. One shard slips through, slicing Erion's cheek.
A thin line of crimson appears.
Erion freezes. His fingers rise, touching the blood.
When his hand lowers, his eyes are wild.
"You dare mar my—"
Gideon doesn't let him finish.
"[Flash Step]!"
One heartbeat he's ten meters away—the next, his palm slams against Erion's stomach.
"[Inferno Burst]!"
FWOOOOM
Fire detonates between them. Erion's uniform tears as he's launched backward, skidding across the sand.
Gideon pants, sweat stinging his eyes. Hell yeah.
Then—
Erion rises.
His uniform is charred, his perfect posture gone. His breath comes in ragged gasps.
"You... filthy..." His voice shakes with fury. "This transgression will be—"
Gideon throws up his hands. "Wait! I can explain—"
Erion snarls. "[Lightning Rush]!"
He vanishes in a crackle of blue energy—
—and reappears fist-first where Gideon was.
But Gideon's already gone, his afterimage dissolving into mist.
"Damn it!"* Erion whirls—just in time to feel Gideon's boot plant between his shoulder blades.
WHUMP
Erion stumbles forward, arms pinwheeling—
—and his boots sink ankle-deep into quicksand.
Silence...
Erion stares at the muck swallowing his feet. His voice is very quiet. "...No."
Gideon grins, wiping blood from his nose. "Heh. Worked like a charm."
The noble thrashes, his movements growing more frantic as the mud climbs to his knees. His nails claw at the ground. "Unhand me, you—ugh—uncouth—"
The crowd roars with laughter.
Gideon dusts off his hands. "Ain't so pretty now, huh?"
He crouches at the quicksand's edge, close enough to see the panic in Erion's blue eyes.
"I could let ya sink," Gideon whispers. He flicks a clump of dirt at Erion's face. "But where's the fun in that?"
Erion's nostrils flare. "You dare—"
Gideon stands abruptly, turning his back on the fuming noble.
He flexes his fingers, cracks his neck.
Time to end this.
"[Stone Armor]!"
The earth heaves. Dirt and pebbles surge up his legs like a second skin, hardening into jagged plates. The transformation hurts—rock grinding against raw flesh—but Gideon grits his teeth through it. By the time it's done, he's a living battering ram, every inch covered in brutal, unrefined stone.
The crowd loses it.
Erion pales. "W-Wait—"
Gideon doesn't wait.
He charges.
Each footfall shakes the arena. Erion's screams are lost under the thunder of Gideon's advance. At the last second, Gideon snaps his fingers—
"[Cancel]."
The mud solidifies. Erion's legs lock in place just as 2 Tons of living stone plows into him.
CRUNCH
The impact lifts Erion clean off his feet. Blood sprays from his mouth. Gideon doesn't stop—he can't stop—barreling forward with the noble crumpled against his armored chest.
"EAT SHIT, NOBLE FUCK!"
They hit the arena wall at full tilt. Stone shatters. Dust explodes outward in a choking cloud.
When it clears, Erion hangs limp in a crater, his fine features swollen and bloody. Gideon staggers back, his stone shell spiderwebbed with cracks.
Silence.
Then—
"LET'S HEAR IT FOR GIDEON!" Lyth's voice booms. "THE VICTOR!"
The arena explodes.
Gideon's ears ring as thousands of voices chant his name.
His armor crumbles away in great chunks, revealing the bruised, grinning idiot beneath.
Holy shit. I won.
His knees nearly buckle. That bastard was a third-circle mage... If he'd pulled out them fancy incantations—
The world blurs for a second—cheers fading, lights swirling—and suddenly Gideon's back in his seat between Bram and Obinai, his body aching like he'd been run over by a wagon.
Bram's hand smacks his back hard enough to make him cough. "Holy shit, man! You fuckin' mushed him!"
Obinai's staring like Gideon just grew a second head. "That stone armor—since when could you do that?"
Gideon rubs his sore shoulder, grinning. "Been practicin' it. Ain't exactly mastered, but..." He shrugs. "Worked, didn't it?"
Bram's practically vibrating. "Worked? You turned that pretty boy into a damn wall ornament!"
Obinai leans forward. "But how'd you move so fast? Looked like you were wearin' a boulder."
"Trick's in the spell," Gideon says, flexing his still-tingling fingers. "Ain't just wearin' rocks—they move with me. Like... extra muscles, sorta."
Bram whistles. "Well, extra muscles just won you the damn match."
Gideon sinks into his seat, the adrenaline finally draining. "Hell, I just didn't wanna get turned into a stain. That bastard was good."
Obinai snorts. "Not good enough, apparently."
The trio's laughter cuts off as the arena display flickers to life above them. New names glow in the air:
Fiora vs. Lyra
Bram lets out a low whistle.
"Oh, this'll be good..."