The roar swelled. Aria walked.
Ryuuen-27 rode easy on her waist, coat buckles ringing softly. Heat on her cheeks. Lightning sat quiet in her bones, waiting.
I've trained my whole life for this.
There's no going back.
I'll be stronger than you, Father.
I'll be the strongest in the world.
Hai Chen stepped out from the opposite tunnel—sheathed blade, wind-sheen at his hems, eyes calm. He stopped at the center. Bowed.
Aria stopped. Bowed back. Chin high.
Hillary Black lifted his hand. "Match Two—Aria of Halo vs Hai of Blade. Begin."
Silence snapped to the edge.
Hai's palm settled on the scabbard. Breath drawn, thin as thread.
Aria's fingers slid to the guard of Ryuuen-27. Spark Rush humming low behind her teeth.
Wind gathers on his edge. The air thins.
神风缠刃 (Shénfēng Chánrèn) — Wind-Laced Edge.
The bowl explodes.
They meet.
Steel kisses steel—skreeee—and the floor dust ripples outward in rings. Aria drives the bind. He yields a hair, slides off, draws a neat arc that misses her jaw by a whisper.
A banner five meters behind her splits a breath later—shfft—cloth falls in two slow pieces.
Gasps. Laughter. "No way—!"
Aria steps through. Short stab. He parries on the flat; a gust rides the contact and shoves her boot half a shoe. She digs in, teeth bared, cuts back hard.
He doesn't chase. He lets the cut pass.
The arena curb behind him opens in a clean diagonal—stone sighs—powder lifts like breath.
He sets the tip between them. Calm. Eyes sharp.
"You're already cut."
Nothing—then the wind speaks—sssshh—a thin red line blooms across Aria's sleeve and beads through to skin. She doesn't glance at it. "Fair."
She punishes the stance—hips behind it—edge angles for his wrist. He rolls the guard, reverse blade humming, and the two push like locked gears. Arms shake. Sparks spit. The tiles under their heels spiderweb again.
He turns his mouth, barely a smile. "Another house."
Aria shows him one.
Feint high, stab low; the low stabs the deck when he ghosts a step—chips spit like rain. He flashes back in with a breath-thin diagonal:
息风断 (Xīfēng Duàn) — Hush-Wind Cut.
She blocks late. The block holds—but air peels off the edge and slaps her coat hard enough to spin her heel. Crowd howls. Someone screams, "That PUSH—!"
Tunnel—Rin to Kai, quietly: "That blade. Sky Piercer. Reverse edge. He's delaying damage with wind Muti."
Kai's eyes don't blink. "I see it."
On deck, Aria crowds close—elbow, guard, shoulder. Makes it ugly. He lets the wind carry him a handspan and re-enters with a tiny step that steals angle.
"You're already cut."
—shhh—
A hairline opens along her cheek where nothing touched. She grins into it. "That's nothing."
She hammers the guard. Metal screams. A missed swipe chews a trench through the boundary curb; pebbles rattle across the floor. He answers with a whip backhand—wind rides it—her Raijin coat crackles, scattering the force. No give.
Upper tiers roar like a goal. "RAI-JIN! RAI-JIN!"
He breathes once, deeper. The air around his ankles tightens into rings.
望舒步 (Wàngshū Bù) — Moon-Carrier Step.
He's there first. Point meets point—CLANG—and their edges grind down to guards. Elbows lock. Shoulders burn. Pressure cones the dust up in a pale dome around their boots.
Aria rocks him with a shoulder knock and rips a mean horizontal. He pivots under—wind skates his blade a finger farther than physics—and the miss bites a chunk out of a lens housing on the rail. Colo Lens Cameraman yelps, keeps filming. The crowd loses its mind.
He slides, low. A neat diagonal scrawls the air.
Aria's blade meets it, drags, screee— then slips. The gust behind the edge shoves her a full step. She re-seats and drives a straight line back that forces him to take ground. The curb at his spine hairline fractures.
He tips his chin.
"You're already cut."
ssshh— a new red thread opens along her collarbone, just shy of the meat where Raijin took the bite. She doesn't blink. She presses.
He smiles once, almost respectfully.
Aria answers with a savage bind, hips behind steel, and the two skate edges until sparks shower and the sound turns to teeth. The bind bursts; both reset on dry lungs.
The bowl stands as one.
Skybox—Johnny Joah's voice warm over the net, pleased: "Not bad."
Wind sings on Sky Piercer.
A thin line opens on Aria's cheek. Warm. Slow.
Her Raijin coat hums where cloth caught steel; threads bite down, saving skin. Her ribs ache. Fingers tighten on Ryuuen-27.
Father would say: Lightning never strikes twice.
He's watching.
Good.
Let him see.
Breathe in. Shaky.
"I'm Aria Flamehart."
Grey flickers at her skin.
Once.
Twice.
Holds—then quakes.
The deck answers first. Hairline cracks spider from her boots. Pebbles hop. A dust ring lifts and hangs.
Rails chatter. Banner cables snap and lash. The Velarium groans like a ship in a squall.
Her aura surges and falls back.
Another breath. Deeper.
The Engine Spine hums higher. Colos-Lens stutters, catches, throws ghost images of her face ten stories tall—eyes set, jaw hard.
She doesn't blink.
The grey comes again—hotter—pulsing from sternum to wrists, to blade, back to bone.
She feeds it.
Tiles craze wider. Bolts in the Mercy Deck weep grit. The sound in the bowl thins to one long inhale.
Her throat finds the scream.
It starts low.
Rises through pain and fear and the old shame.
Rises past doubt.
Rises until lights along the Sigil Tier flicker and relight.
Spirit Muti: Spirit Bloom — Spark Rush.
Yellow floods her veins like molten wire. Skin glows. Hair lifts, static whistling. A corona skates the fuller of Ryuuen-27 and jumps to her knuckles in bright stitches.
The ring-shock hits the lower tiers. Coats slap back. Cups tumble. Kids squeal and clutch rails. Med techs brace on the wall.
She doesn't stop.
The glow tightens. Brightens. Burns white-hot at the edges.
Stone pops under her heels. Another dust ring barrels outward, slamming banners flat against the bowl.
Lightning crawls her forearms, wraps the grip, and stays.
Her hair flashes—blonde to straw to bright gold. Strands lengthen a shade, splay with charge. Pupils kindle clean yellow lightning.
She screams higher. The whole Amphistad answers.
True Flow State — Tempest Veil Form.
The sound becomes a pressure. Seat frames shudder. Lens glass sings. A pillar light blows, showers sparks, refires. Air bends; heat mirage ripples around her, lines of current snapping like live wire.
General Rage, behind glass, voice a knife: "Pure power."
Johnny Joah, steady and pleased: "Now this is getting good."
Tunnel—William's eyes soften; one quiet word to the storm: "Wow, you're doing it Aria."
Rin, counting under the roar: "This is what a Tier 2 transformation looks like."
Lila, palms to lips, laughing and crying at once: "Go, girl—go."
Hai retreats slowly.
Wind braids at his ankles, up the calves, across the shoulders—silk over steel. Eyes half-lid. Calm. He tips Sky Piercer a hair, wind threading the edge until it sings back to the lightning.
"This power," he says, worrying.
Aria rolls her shoulder once. Lightning snaps from elbow to guard and back. The floor clicks under the weight of what she's holding.
She sets Ryuuen-27 in guard. Yellow rides the steel like a promise.
"Come on," she says, voice raw and sure.
The bowl finds her name and hammers it into the air.
"ARIA! ARIA! ARIA!"