The boy’s expression darkened, his features settling into sothing grim, almost hollow.
The pale light glinted off his staff as he raised it slightly, pointing it toward Gon like an accusing finger.
"I told you," the boy said softly, his voice carrying even over the rumbling arena, "I’d co for revenge."
Gon’s grip tightened on his sword. He didn’t flinch. His eyes remained locked on the boy’s, cold, steady, unwavering. "I didn’t forget," he said, voice low and resolute.
There was a mont’s silence, as if the arena itself held its breath.
Then the boy moved.
He sprinted forward, his boots barely making a sound against the uneven stone.
His staff ca sweeping up, aid straight for Gon’s ribs.
But Gon was ready
The mont his opponent struck, Gon moved, not with panic, but with precision.
His foot slid across the cracked earth in a sharp, practiced pivot, his body twisting just enough to let the blow glance past his shoulder.
At the sa ti, he brought his blade up in a fluid arc, eting the incoming strike with the flat of his sword.
Steel t steel with a harsh, ringing clash that sliced through the distorted air, echoing like a bell toll in a nightmare.
The force of the impact jolted through him, a fierce vibration that shot up his arm and into his shoulder like a surge of raw energy.
His muscles tensed, absorbing the shock, but he didn’t falter.
His boots remained firmly planted, knees bent to cushion the blow, spine steady as if rooted to the battlefield itself.
Not bad, Gon thought, eyes narrowing.
The boy ca again, wasting no ti.
This ti the strike was from overhead, a fierce downward arc ant to crack skulls or split shoulders.
Gon raised his blade again, catching the blow and pushing it aside with a grunt of effort.
The air crackled between them.
Gon’s eyes flashed with decision. Enough defending.
He twisted, shifting his weight, and lunged forward, his sword arcing toward the boy’s neck in a clean, fluid motion. A decisive strike.
But the boy wasn’t caught off guard. With a sharp exhale, he swung his staff upward and caught the blade along the wooden shaft, sparks flying as mana flared from the point of contact.
The boy grimaced with effort, his muscles straining, but he held his ground.
Then, like a burst dam, he countered.
A flurry of movent erupted, his staff moved in a blur, first jabbing toward Gon’s chest, then sweeping low for his legs, then spinning for a sideways strike. A calculated combo.
Gon blocked the first blow. He dodged the second. But the third ca too fast.
The staff caught him squarely in the ribs with a dull thud that drove the breath from his lungs.
He staggered back, teeth clenched, the pain spreading like fire along his side.
"Argh" Gon hissed, stumbling across the slanted stone. Fury surged up in his chest, sharp and burning.
He wouldn’t let this stand.
Without hesitation, Gon gathered mana in his legs, whispering the na of his technique like a curse spat through clenched teeth. "Shadow Step."
The world blurred.
One instant, he was reeling backward, the next, he flickered through space and reappeared behind the boy, silent as a wraith.
His sword plunged forward.
He aid for the spine, clean and brutal. The steel sank into the boy’s back, but sothing was wrong.
There was no resistance. No bone. No muscle.
Just a strange, soft pressure.
Like stabbing into a hay bale.
"What?" Gon muttered, eyes widening.
And then the boy vanished in a puff of dusty light, an illusion. A decoy.
Too late, Gon felt it, the shift of air behind him, the whisper of movent.
He spun, but he was already exposed.
The real boy was there, staff mid-swing, his eyes cold and precise. The blow ca fast, and Gon barely had ti to raise his sword
Crack!
The staff ca down in a brutal arc, faster than he anticipated.
It crashed against his shoulder with a sickening crack, the wooden shaft striking bone beneath muscle.
Pain exploded through him like a bolt of lightning, sharp and searing, radiating from his collarbone and down through his chest in jagged pulses.
A cry tore from his throat before he could stop it, raw, involuntary, carried on a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
His body twisted from the force of the blow, balance breaking as he stumbled backward. His boots scraped against the uneven ground
The crowd roared in the distance, more distant now, like a storm at sea.
The battlefield shrank in Gon’s mind.
It was just the two of them now, surrounded by chaos and magic and stone.
The boy didn’t follow up imdiately. He stood a few feet away, staff resting against the ground, watching Gon with a mixture of caution and quiet satisfaction.
Gon’s breath ca in short bursts.
He rolled his injured shoulder with a wince and repositioned his grip on the hilt of his sword. His heart pounded in his chest, a steady war drum.
"That illusion trick," Gon growled, "not bad."
The boy said nothing. Just offered a half-shrug, his gaze unreadable.
Gon spat into the dust, then smiled, sharp and a little wild. "But I’m not done yet."
He charged again, this ti slower, more calculated.
He circled as he moved, eyeing the angles of the arena beneath their feet, looking for dips, shifts, anything that might give him an edge or send him tumbling again.
The sloped ground was treacherous, designed to punish the overconfident.
His opponent followed suit, adjusting his stance, knees bent, eyes flicking between Gon’s sword and his shoulders.
He was studying him, looking for another weakness to exploit.
Gon feinted left, then pivoted right, sword darting forward in a sudden thrust.
The boy deflected with his staff, then spun into a low sweep that Gon hopped over, landing with a roll that brought him closer than before.
A slash.
Blocked.
Another.
Parried.
The rhythm of the duel escalated, strike, counter, retreat, advance.
Every move was a conversation in steel and sweat, a dialogue of power and reflex.
The staff and sword clashed again and again, echoing like thunder against the cracked stone of the arena.
But behind Gon’s growing fury was focus, cold, patient focus.
He wouldn’t fall for another trick.
Not again.
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