Grey’s knife ca slicing through the air in a deadly arc, aid directly at Aziel’s exposed position. Ti seed to slow to a crawl as the blade descended, its razor-sharp edge promising swift and decisive victory for the cocky Pathfinder.
Aziel’s defenses had completely crumbled under Grey’s relentless assault. His breathing ca in ragged gasps, sweat beading on his forehead as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. The spear in his hands felt impossibly heavy, his muscles screaming in protest from the prolonged combat. Every fiber of his being ached from the punishnt he’d endured, yet sothing deep within refused to surrender.
The panic in Aziel’s eyes was unmistakable as the knife inched closer to his face, each fraction of a second stretching into an eternity. His heart hamred against his ribcage like a caged bird desperate for freedom, the sound of his own pulse drowning out the hushed murmurs of the crowd.
Just in the nick of ti, in a desperate motion born of pure instinct and survival, Aziel managed to thrust his spear forward. The spear intercepted Grey’s descending blade with a sharp crack that echoed across the training platform, holding back the knife for a precious mont. The impact sent vibrations shooting up Aziel’s arms, his shoulders burning from the strain of stopping such a powerful strike.
But Grey wasn’t done—not by a long shot. The Pathfinder’s lips curled into a predatory smile as he demonstrated why he was a pathfinder. Without giving his opponent even a mont’s respite to think or recover, Grey released his left hand from the knife’s handle with fluid precision. His fingers danced through the air as he reached into his pocket, producing a single copper penny that glead dully in the light.
The penny seed almost innocent in Grey’s palm. Aziel’s gaze dropped to the small coin, and he felt his blood run cold as panic began to rise in his chest like a tide of ice water. This was it—this was how it would end.
Aziel’s mind raced through possibilities, each one more grim than the last. He braced himself for the explosive impact he expected, muscles tensing as he prepared for the penny to co flying toward his face with the force of a bullet. His eyes squeezed shut involuntarily, waiting for the inevitable pain that would signal his defeat.
But instead of the expected projectile assault, Grey had sothing far more cunning in mind. The knife and penny served as nothing more than an elaborate diversion, drawing Aziel’s attention and focus away from what was really coming. Grey suddenly pulled back and launched his head forward with trendous force.
The headbutt connected with Aziel’s nose with a sickening crunch that made several spectators wince and look away. The cartilage gave way instantly under the impact, blood exploding in a crimson spray that painted both fighters. The tallic taste filled Aziel’s mouth as he stumbled backward, his vision blurring from the sudden, overwhelming pain that radiated through his skull.
Aziel fell hard onto his backside, his eyes were clenched shut, tears mixing with the blood that stread down his face as waves of agony washed over him. For a mont, the world consisted of nothing but pain and the distant sound of his own labored breathing.
Forcing his eyes open despite the throbbing in his head, Aziel looked up through blurred vision, desperately trying to regain his bearings and mount so kind of defense. But as his sight cleared, his heart sank like a stone. Grey stood towering above him with the penny held between his fingers and aid at Aziel’s vulnerable position.
A crooked, self-satisfied grin spread across Grey’s cocky face as he savored his mont of triumph. His hair caught the light of the room at a perfect angle, giving him an almost ethereal appearance that contrasted sharply with the cruelty in his pale eyes. When he spoke, his voice carried lazy confidence.
"Well..." Grey drawled, letting the word hang in the air like a blade over Aziel’s head. His gaze was cold and calculating as it bore down on his defeated opponent. "Looks like it’s my win."
He paused deliberately, clearly relishing the mont as he glared down at Aziel with undisguised disdain. The silence stretched between them, thick with tension and the acrid scent of blood and sweat.
"Not that I’m surprised or anything," Grey continued, his voice dripping with condescension as he barely managed to contain his laughter. Each word was carefully chosen to inflict maximum humiliation. "But you were a waste of my ti after all."
The words hit Aziel like physical blows, each syllable designed to strip away what remained of his dignity. His face contorted with a mixture of frustration, sha, and barely controlled rage as he looked down in defeat. The taste of failure was bitter on his tongue, mixing with the copper tang of his own blood.
Arthur watched from the sidelines, and with each passing second, a pit of helpless anger grew larger in his chest. His best friend was being publicly humiliated, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Every instinct scread at him to jump onto that platform and finish what Aziel had started, to beat that arrogant Pathfinder to a bloody pulp and wipe that smug expression off his face permanently.
His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging crescents into his palms as he fought against his own instincts. But Arthur was nothing if not realistic—he understood all too well that he stood no chance against Grey’s superior abilities. Damnit! The thought echoed through his mind like a mantra of frustration as he forced himself to remain still.
But then, sothing unexpected happened. The montary silence that had fallen over the crowd after the end of the fight was suddenly and dramatically broken. What started as isolated whispers began to spread like wildfire through the gathered spectators, voices rising in excitent and disbelief.
"Holy crap!"
"That was absolutely amazing!"
"Wait, isn’t that guy only a Chosen too?"
"And he almost beat a Pathfinder!?"
"That’s incredible!"
Grey looked around with growing confusion and irritation, clearly disturbed by the unexpected murmurs that were spreading through the crowd like a contagion. This wasn’t how victory was supposed to feel—where was his adulation? Where was his praise?
"Almost beat!?" Grey’s voice cracked as he shouted, his usual composure beginning to slip. "Are you all blind!?" He gestured wildly at Aziel’s prone form, desperate to redirect the crowd’s attention to his obvious victory.
But Grey’s protest was barely audible over the rising crescendo of voices as the crowd began to cheer. The sound started low and uncertain, but quickly grew in volu and intensity until it filled the air like thunder. And to the shock and amazent of Aziel, Arthur, and Grey alike, it wasn’t the victor’s na that they chanted.
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