"All right, Trafalgar," Xavier said, voice lower now. "Now I'm done warming up."
The mana behind him thickened and folded into shape.
A second figure stepped out of that red-gold distortion, translucent at first, until the outline hardened into a familiar form. Same height, spear and face as last time, though emptier somehow, as if memory had been carved into a body and told to fight.
Trafalgar's grip tightened on Maledicta.
"At last," he said.
Xavier's mouth curved. "You were waiting for him?"
"I was waiting for you to stop playing."
That earned him a short laugh, but Xavier did not answer with words. He moved with the brother at the same instant, both spears cutting through the field from opposite angles, one real, one echo, both carrying enough precision to punish hesitation.
Trafalgar gave them none.
