The roar of the crowd still thundered in Helga's ears as she limped through the stone archway leading out of the arena. The Colosseum's shadows swallowed her whole, cool air brushing her sweat-streaked skin. Her chest heaved; every rib ached. Blood traced a lazy line down her forearm, dripping from torn knuckles where her spear had splintered and her fists had struck helm and armor until bone throbbed.
The waiting chamber lay ahead, carved into the Colosseum's walls — a place filled with benches, weapon racks, and buckets of water for patching up battered contestants. She pushed the door with her shoulder and stepped inside.
The group rose at once.
"Helga!" Zack was the first to spring forward, his usual cheer bursting through. "That was insane! You wrecked him! You went full-on Amazon queen out there!"
Tempest crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. Her voice carried a mixture of annoyance and grudging respect. "You left yourself open too many times. That spear was your edge, and you got reckless once it broke. If you'd been against anyone less dramatic than him, you'd be dead."
Helga collapsed onto a bench with a heavy sigh, pulling at the strap of her glove with her teeth until it peeled away. "Still standing," she rasped. "Still breathing. That's enough."
Skuld darted forward with a wet cloth, already dabbing at the cut on Helga's cheek. "Barely," she muttered as she prepared a Curaga spell.
Helga waved her off, snatching the cloth herself and pressing it to her shoulder wound with a hiss. "I don't need coddling."
Kurai leaned in her corner, arms folded, her gaze sharp as razors. She said nothing — only watched, as though measuring how much of Helga's spirit had been burned out in the clash.
Sephiroth, aloof as ever, gave only a faint glance. "Brute force against theatrics. A predictable outcome," he murmured before returning his eyes to the floor.
Thalen sat quietly, almost folded into himself, but Helga noticed the way his gaze lingered on her torn knuckles. He looked as though he wanted to speak but lacked the words. She gave him the faintest nod, and his shoulders relaxed.
Zack crouched beside her, grinning ear to ear. "Seriously though, that elbow combo at the end? Brutal. I mean, you dented his helmet! That's the kind of stuff Phil's gonna talk about for weeks!"
Helga smirked, spitting a bit of blood into the bucket beside her. "He'll probably say I 'dented the legend.' Make it sound pretty."
Zack laughed so hard he nearly toppled over. "Yeah, he will. That's exactly how he'd put it."
Tempest, however, wasn't laughing. She knelt opposite Helga, eyes level, voice cutting through the room's noise. "You didn't win because you were better. You won because you were meaner. You turned it into a brawl, and that worked. But don't confuse scraping by with dominance."
Helga's smirk didn't fade. "A win's a win. That's all anyone will remember."
Tempest's lips thinned. "Maybe. But you can't keep fighting like that forever."
Skuld finished the spell and knelt beside Helga as the green glow enveloped her. "At least let me wrap your hand," she said softly. Helga didn't argue this time. She stretched out her lightly bruised knuckles as the spell finished stitching up most of the wound, letting Skuld carefully bind them. The young girl's touch was gentle, but her eyes carried quiet determination.
"You pushed yourself past what I saw before," Skuld murmured as she worked. "But… you didn't give in to the anger and rage as you would have before. That matters."
Helga tilted her head. "Didn't realize I needed a pep talk from the healer."
"You don't," Skuld said simply. "But I wanted to give one anyway."
Helga chuckled — low, throaty, a sound that carried more weariness than amusement.
Cloud, sitting silently near the wall, finally spoke. "You fought well," he said in his clipped, understated tone. His arms were crossed, but there was the faintest spark of acknowledgment in his eyes.
Helga gave him a short nod. "High praise, coming from you."
Sephiroth didn't even look up. "Survival isn't the same as victory. Remember that."
"Coming from you," Helga shot back, "that almost sounds like advice."
For the briefest moment, Sephiroth's lips curved in something close to a smirk. Then it was gone.
The gong outside boomed. Phil's muffled voice carried through the stone walls:
"Next match — the Amazon warrior, Tempest, versus… well, some poor soul who signed up thinking this was amateur hour! Give it up for Aetios!"
The room chuckled, even Helga despite the blood drying on her lips.
Tempest stood, rolling her shoulders, adjusting the gauntlets that braced her wrists. She cracked her neck, her expression sharp, focused, predatory.
"Time to show you how it's supposed to be done," she muttered to Helga before striding toward the exit.
Zack called after her, "Don't break him too fast! I wanna get my money's worth!"
Tempest didn't reply. She didn't need to.
The arena roared as Tempest entered, sunlight gleaming off her dark armor. Across from her stood a burly man with a broadsword, face painted in crude war marks. He swung his blade twice, showing off, grinning toothily at the crowd.
Tempest didn't even glance at him. She rolled her shoulders once more, then slid into her stance — knees bent, weight forward, fists loose but coiled with potential energy.
The gong rang.
The man charged, sword raised high, screaming.
Tempest moved like a viper. She sidestepped, caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted, and slammed her knee into his ribs. The crack was audible. The man staggered, gasping.
The crowd erupted.
Before he could recover, Tempest drove her elbow into his jaw, snapping his head back, then spun and kicked his legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard.
Phil shouted over the din, "Whoa-ho! Tempest wasting no time — she's dismantling him like a child pulling apart toys!"
The man struggled up, swinging wildly. Tempest ducked under one blow, grabbed his arm again, and hurled him over her shoulder with effortless strength. He crashed down, dazed, coughing blood.
Tempest crouched beside him, one hand pressing his sword arm to the ground, the other cocked for a finishing strike.
"Yield," she hissed.
The man's eyes widened. He slapped the ground desperately. The gong sounded.
The crowd thundered, stamping feet shaking the arena. Tempest rose smoothly, brushing dust from her gauntlets. She didn't raise her arms or play to the crowd — she didn't need to. Her dominance spoke for itself.
She returned to the waiting room without a word, only sweat marking her brow. Zack whistled low, grinning. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you finish a fight in under a minutes."
Helga smirked through her bruises. "Show-off."
Tempest's eyes flicked to her. "Efficient," she corrected.
"Reckless," Helga countered.
"Victorious," Tempest said, and for the first time, a faint smile cracked her stoic face.
The group settled again, tension easing as the matches continued outside. The beginner cup rolled on, but in the waiting room, Helga leaned back against the wall, her body still throbbing but her spirit stubborn as ever. Tempest sat beside her, silent, the faintest trace of camaraderie between them.
Zack, of course, filled the silence with chatter. Skuld tended to Helga's wounds again, reading the second Curaga spell to fully heal her this time. Sephiroth and Cloud remained in their aloof silence.
And Helios watched it all, calm and calculating, already considering what fun the advanced matches would bring.