(In this world, aura moves like water.
Bucket — how much you can carry. A larger bucket lasts longer.
Tap — how much you can release at once. Wide taps hit hard; narrow taps hold steady.
Refill — how fast it returns with breath and focus.
Efficiency — how little you waste turning aura into results.
Control — how cleanly you aim pressure without spills.
Every clash is quiet math: one widens the tap, the other seals leaks; one spends the bucket, the other refills between breaths. The winner isn't just stronger—he measures better.)
(Trial By Mercy Match 1)
Carlos's shoulders steam. Mantle sheds heat. His breath rasps.
Urahara, from the Dragon bench, eyes narrowed behind the lens of his mind: "Stamina dip. He's cycling a limited set."
Si Lung doesn't look away from the center. "A tired fighter with a heart is not a tired fighter."
Down on the deck, Carlos laughs breathless. "Why are you breathing so heavy?"
Kai pants. "Who's—out of breath?" He grins because it hurts.
They square—rags and skin. Both cut. Both young. Both stubborn.
Kai reaches back.
He rips the hood free. Cloth tears. Shirt goes with it—streaked in blood and dust.
The bowl SHRIEKS.
Aria, involuntarily: "Woah."
Lila, cackling: "Damn."
Half the Sigil Tier loses composure.
Kai plants his feet and draws Sun off his back.
The staff hums. Old wood. New heat.
Carlos's pupils needle. He prowls, steaming harder now, Mantle flickering at the edges.
"Sun Staff — Lotus Guard."
Kai sets the ring. Calm center.
Carlos darts.
"Jaguar — Garra!"
Sun nods once—Temple Door—closed.
Wood kisses wrist, redirects the fang.
"Sun Staff — Vajra Thrust."
A line of lightning through the sternum—short. Dense.
Carlos grunts. Still there.
"Paso Sombra."
Shadow angle.
"Sun Staff — Chandra Reversal."
Butt-end parry. Wrist turn. Flow back.
"Jaguar — Zarpazo Cruzado!"
High-low—
"Sun Staff — Helix Canopy."
A spiraled roof of wood. Sparks jump. The second claw skates off.
"Sun Staff — Naga Sweep."
Low, coiling arc. Cat-feet jump—
"Hanuman Vault."
Kai pole-plants, vaults, comes down behind.
"Sun Staff — Bodhi Bind."
Wrap. Elbow fork. Quarter-turn. Lock almost sticks—Carlos rips free on Mantle strength, snarling.
Steam thickens. The Mantle shivers.
"Sunhook Draw."
Kai flicks the crook over Carlos's forearm, yanks him into center.
"Sutra Beat."
Measured rib-tattoo. One-two-three on nerve lines.
Carlos's guard flutters—he answers fury.
"Embestida!"
He slams through the ring—
"Sun Staff — River Turn."
Kai rolls force around the staff and spills him past.
"Dune Breaker."
Downward smash to the shoulder—stops a hair shy of break—respect and authority in the same breath.
Carlos staggers. Roars. Mantle flares—then gutters. Steam pours. His aura burns grey at the edges—spent.
Kai's lotus gutters too. He knows his window is short.
He can't hold Bloom long. He feels it. Bucket thinning. Tap still hot. He threads control.
"Sun Staff — Surya Spiral (Variant)."
He coils force, turns it, prints heat through wood into muscle and bone—clean, compressed.
Carlos answers on heart alone.
"Jaguar — Cazador!"
Three-claw chain.
"Monk's Measure."
Staff beats land on the hinges of each claw: temple feint tapped aside, rib checked, knee redirected. No waste. All craft.
They hit center, both heaving, both wrecked.
Carlos's Mantle flickers again—on—off—on—off—steam hissing from his shoulders.
He lunges anyway.
"Último Zarpazo!"
Kai meets the kill line with a calm that costs him.
"Temple Door." Shut.
"Vajra Thrust." Open.
"Bodhi Palm." Stamp.
Carlos staggers three jagged steps. Catches himself. Tries to rise taller.
His body won't.
He sways. Muscles tremble. Mantle ripples—and breaks. Aura collapses to dull grey. Steam lifts like a soul leaving a kettle.
He still tries to stand straighter for the crowd.
His knee buckles. He grabs the staff to keep from falling, then lets go with a laugh that's half pain.
He looks up at Kai—both of them bloody, both torn open by the roar.
"You fought incredible, my friend. I wish Americana had a warrior like you. Good luck... I'll be rooting for you."
His hand slips. He drops to both knees. Chest heaving. Aura gutters out.
Kai stands over him, Sun lowered, lotus dim around his shoulders, breath ragged and real.
Hillary Black's hand cut down.
"Stop."
Beat of blade-clean quiet.
"Match One concluded. Winner—Kai Xander of Halo."
The bowl erupted—then stilled as a single tone rose from the Engine Spine.
The Oathmaster.
His voice filled stone and skin without shouting. "By the law of Two Anchors, One Oath, One Witness—by breath given and yield proven—Magnara records: Kai Xander advances."
The Colos-Lens wrote his name in light over the Mercy Deck. A wave rolled the tiers.
Kai straightened, blood on mouth, gold dimming at his shoulders.
He bowed—first to the Oath Dais, then to the crowd, then to Carlos as medics set the cradle and lifted.
Carlos, half-smile, sent two fingers in answer before the stretcher hummed away.
Medics slid to Kai. Seal-strip at the brow. Cool foam at the ribs. "Walk with us."
He slung Sun to his back and turned toward the tunnel.
Aria met him at the mouth, eyes bright. A slap to his chest, then softer. "Menace."
Lila slid under his arm, water-cool palm on his side. "Ribs broken but the Crowd loves you."
Rin paused, measured, nodded once. "Nice."
Above, the Oathmaster lowered his hand. "Reset the field."
The bowl inhaled for the next name.