The sound of crackling thunder reverberated throughout the entire Colosseum, followed by a surge of blue lightning. It radiated from Francis's body like an ominous storm cloud, tendrils of electricity lashing out and striking the ground, splitting the sky with their fury.
"I knew you were strong, but this level of power… it surprises me," Garfield said, his ever-present smile still etched across his face.
Without a single word, Francis hurled a lightning bolt through the air, its incandescent path slicing toward Garfield with deadly precision.
Garfield stared at the incoming attack, a bewildered expression washing over his face. Then, with a sigh, he muttered, "Yeah… I can't touch that."
With those words, he slammed his axe into the earth, using it as a conduit to shape the terrain beneath him. From the ground, a massive stone hand began to rise. Through his command over the earth, Garfield maneuvered the hand into position—just in time to intercept the lightning bolt.
Upon impact, the stone hand shattered instantly, its fragments crumbling to the floor, casting up clouds of dust. But something was off.
The lightning hadn't destroyed the stone through sheer force—it had... disappeared. No, it had melded.
"Hmm… that's strange," Garfield said, confusion twisting his expression.
He had no time to dwell on the phenomenon. A streak of blue light blitzed to his side.
'He's faster,' Garfield thought.
With his right fist clenched and glowing, Francis reared back and unleashed a lightning-infused punch directly into Garfield's chest. Though it lacked the brute strength to knock Garfield back, the voltage was enough to paralyze him. Electricity surged through his body—from veins to nerves—rendering him motionless. Francis focused, following the course of the lightning through Garfield's system, and just before it reached the heart, he deactivated the charge.
Garfield collapsed to his knees, frozen. From a distance, Tristan and Yaron observed.
"Hmph. You should have known," Yaron said, his voice laced with venom. "People of your background aren't even worthy of breathing the same air as us. It would have been better if you simply gave up."
Tristan glanced at Garfield, then slowly shut his eyes before turning to face Yaron.
"Closing your eyes, huh? So you've accepted that gorilla can't win?"
Tristan smirked, let out a short laugh, then reopened his eyes.
"You talk an awful lot of nonsense for someone who doesn't know a damn thing. Try getting your facts straight before running that mouth," he said, voice low, deliberate—cutting.
Yaron's confusion was evident, believing the words to be the empty bravado of a desperate rat.
Tristan tilted his head subtly toward the battle.
Garfield—moments after suffering electrocution—began to stir. He raised one knee, using it as leverage to lift himself upright. Then he cracked his neck and stretched his limbs.
Francis stepped back, stunned.
"How are you still standing?" he asked, voice trembling.
"How? Simple really. Lightning can't harm what it can't touch," Garfield replied. "Before your punch landed, I inhaled the dust left by the collapse of my stone hand. Then I manipulated that dust into stone, internally, and used it to cover the nerves and follow the path of your lightning as it surged through me."
Francis stood speechless. His confidence fractured, his resolve crumbling—he fell to his knees, eyes lowered to the earth beneath him. The fight, it seemed, was over.
Yaron looked on, his expression soured with disappointment.
"You've nothing to say to your brother?" Tristan asked, gaze fixed.
Yaron scoffed. "I've no time for failures."
Garfield, seeing his opponent could no longer continue, reached for his axe—but a spear extended suddenly, stopping him mid-motion. He turned toward the direction of the spear.
There stood Hendrick, a fair distance away.
"Francis, get up! Have you forgotten why you're doing this?" he shouted.
A flicker of light sparked in Francis's lifeless eyes. He was broken—but he didn't want to quit. Slowly, painfully, he rose to his feet and gripped his short sword once more. Garfield watched, puzzled. Why would he keep fighting? His spirit was shattered. His brother's faith had vanished, and what little confidence he had left had seemingly burned away.
Lightning returned—but it no longer raged like a storm cloud. It now whispered—small sparks flickering around his body like dying embers.
He held his blade tightly, pouring every last ounce of energy into it.
"I will continue fighting… I am not a mistake," he said, voice barely more than a whisper.
Garfield's eyes widened. He lifted his axe, holding it at his side. Then he smiled—and laughed.
"Very well. I won't insult you by holding back," he said.
"Thank you," Francis responded, nearly inaudible.
Garfield summoned multiple cube-shaped rocks and launched them at Francis—each one larger than the last. Francis sliced through the first few with ease, dodging the larger ones with the last of his sparks. But Garfield increased the pace, conjuring cubes at a frantic rate, overwhelming his opponent.
Eventually, Francis was struck. The cube shattered on impact—and behind the debris stood a bloodied Francis. Crimson streamed from his forehead—into his eyes, down his cheeks, to his mouth, his chin, and finally fell to the arena floor.
His body trembled. But he did not fall. He stood tall, sword in hand.
Garfield studied him, then slung his axe behind his back.
"This fight… is already over," he said quietly, his gaze drifting downward.
Though Francis's body remained upright, he was gone. His eyes glazed over—he had fallen unconscious.
"Francis River is unable to continue. He is eliminated!" the announcer declared.
Garfield did not raise his fists in triumph. He didn't cheer. Instead, his signature smile faded—replaced by a quiet, sorrowful expression.
"Raise your head," Hendrick said, walking toward his unconscious friend. "You fought well… and I must thank you. You gave him the respect to fight on—even when we never showed you the same."
Garfield raised his head, paused, then replied.
"You don't need to thank me. In a way… I know exactly how he feels."
Hendrick smiled, then lifted his friend's arm over his shoulder, helping him toward the Colosseum exit. But just before stepping out, he turned.
"I forfeit," he said.