As soon as Quincy's hand sliced through the air and the word "BEGIN!" rang out, Even moved.
His rifle came off his shoulder in one smooth motion. He aimed. Fired.
A crack split the air—loud and sharp.
Across the field, Annabel's lips curled into a smirk. She sidestepped smoothly, a crackle of lightning arcing along the ground in her wake as the bullet cut past her.
*Lightning?* Even's eyes narrowed, lowering his rifle.
"Lightning affinity…" he muttered. "Of course."
The odds of hitting her from that distance were already slim. With her body boosted by lightning—speed, reaction, movement—it was borderline impossible.
"Alright then," he exhaled, raising his hand. "Let's set the stage."
The western side of the arena began to shift. It was rough work, nowhere near Quincy's level of control, but it didn't need to be elegant. Tremors ran through the ground as the terrain twisted and warped under Even's control. Mud churned up from the earth. Jagged stone spikes rose like teeth. Deep pits formed, irregular and hidden, waiting to catch the careless.
The environment transformed into a nightmare to navigate—chaotic and unforgiving. At its center, a stone tower surged upward, lifting Even high above the mess below. It gave him line of sight, vantage, cover. His battlefield, his terms.
Across from him, Annabel clapped her hands together.
Her magic surged outward like a pulse. But unlike Even, she didn't draw from the earth. She drew from ice.
A swirling chill filled her half of the arena. Frost climbed the walls. Mist crept over the ground. And rising from that icy mist, her construct took shape—massive, elegant, and terrifying.
A ship.
An enormous ice warship. Its hull gleamed in azure tones, thick and polished like glass. Spires of frozen ornamentation arched across its back. Rows of cannons lined the sides, every barrel trained on Even's tower.
Annabel stood atop the ship like its queen, arms folded and head held high, wind tugging at her robes.
"Wow!" Quincy shouted overhead, wings fluttering as she hovered for a better view. "This truly is a magical match! Look at what they've made, everyone!"
The crowd erupted with cheers, awed gasps rising like waves through the coliseum.
In the fighters' waiting room, Xain blinked, jaw slightly open. "I might not know much about magic," he said slowly, "but I feel like Annabel's is way more impressive."
Vilak, clutching his staff tighter, gave a nervous nod. "It is. She created something much more complex... and powerful."
Up in the stands, Dirk stared at the vessel looming above the arena. "I take it back," he muttered. "Now I'm worried for Even."
"He's got this! Don't worry!" Lia said, trying to sound confident—but even she couldn't take her eyes off the ice ship. The way it shimmered in the sunlight—it felt like something pulled from legend.
In the Mathers' VIP stand, Samwell's gaze sharpened. "Annabel Lamia…" he murmured. "That name sounded familiar."
Matthew looked up. "Who is she, Father?"
Samwell didn't take his eyes off the field. "Someone with too much power."
Back in the arena, Even's eyes were locked on the cannons now looming over him.
"…Don't tell me those actually fire," he muttered under his breath.
Atop the ship, Annabel grinned. *He's hoping they don't fire.*
"Well—too bad!" she called out gleefully.
She tapped her foot against the icy deck.
A row of cannons lit up—rings of pale blue magic igniting along their lengths. The glow intensified. Then, without warning:
"Fire!" she commanded, thrusting her arm toward his tower.
The cannons exploded forward with thundering sonic booms, shattering as they discharged.
Even barely had time to react.
"Thunder magic!?" he shouted just as the shockwaves slammed into his tower.
Even stumbled as the tower beneath him groaned, fracturing under the force of the shockwaves. Chunks of stone broke loose and crashed below, but before it could completely collapse, he slammed his palm against the floor, magic pulsing through his fingers.
"Fucking hell!" he shouted through gritted teeth, forcing the base to hold for just a second longer.
He pushed himself to his feet—only to see Annabel already charging another row of cannons.
"Not this time!" he yelled. He thrust his arm out toward the ice ship, and with a sharp motion, jagged spikes of stone erupted from the ground, arcing like spears across the arena. They slammed into the ship's hull with enough force to crack through parts of it, ice splintering and hissing under the impact.
Annabel raised a brow as she glanced over the damage. "Not bad," she murmured, before casually snapping her fingers.
The next volley fired.
This time, Even's tower couldn't hold.
The weakened structure gave out, and the shockwaves tore through it completely. It collapsed in a rain of broken stone.
Even fell with it—but didn't hit the ground.
As he dropped, he twisted midair and thrust his hand toward the earth below. The ground opened beneath him, his body slipping into the arena floor like sinking into water, disappearing entirely.
From high atop the deck, Annabel watched the debris settle and gave a quiet chuckle. "Clever boy."
Above, Quincy's voice rang out, full of intrigue. "Looks like The Sorceress has won the zone battle! But Even just disappeared into the ground! What is he planning?"
Somewhere in the front row, Amara narrowed her eyes.
"He's playing smart," she said. "He can't go toe-to-toe with her power, not directly. So he's turning to trickery."
Her gaze drifted up to the ice ship. "I can't make constructs like that… but I wonder—could she shape something like my phoenixes?"
Elsewhere in the same row, Clara leaned forward with sparkling eyes.
"A ship? That's not something I ever thought about making," she said aloud. "I wonder if I can?"
Then she shook her head quickly. "Eh, too much to think. Let's just enjoy this match—it's so much fun!"
Back in the arena, Annabel stepped back toward the center of the deck, her heels clicking on the ice. Her eyes scanned the ship, waiting.
"Come out~" she called, her voice rippling with thunder magic, echoing through the entire coliseum. "Or are you going to spend the whole match just hiding?"
The response came as a shudder.
The ship rumbled beneath her feet—then cracked open with a violent snap. A section of the lower deck burst apart as a massive spike of stone erupted from the hull, tearing upward with explosive force. Annabel leapt back just in time, lightning gathering around her feet.
Even rose with the spike, crouched against it, clinging to the jagged surface like a rider. As it neared the top, he leapt from it and landed on the deck with a solid thud, rifle gripped in both hands—not as a firearm, but as a club.
"Let's see how you do at close range," he said, shifting his stance.
Annabel smiled, almost pitying. "You don't understand who you're fighting."
She raised a hand and formed an ice blade, long and jagged, humming with cold. Without another word, both fighters charged.