The roar of Magnara echoed over the shattered city.
Finn moved first.
Wind tightened around Arthur's Bane until the blade hummed. Cloak snapping behind him, he closed the distance on a low line, steps light for someone carrying so much steel.
He didn't swing wildly.
He carved.
A sharp diagonal aimed at Rin's shoulder—Rin caught it near the base of Yoru Oni's blade.
SPAAANG.
Shock shot up his arms. Their guards locked; sparks flew sideways, sizzling against Chun's tile. Wind peeled off the claymore and pressed Rin's coat flat to his ribs.
Finn leaned in. "Don't blink, beautiful."
He twisted his wrists.
The claymore's edge rode up Rin's blade, teeth-grinding metal on metal. For a moment, it looked like he'd cut straight through.
Rin broke first—because he chose to.
He let the pressure pass, heel sliding on broken stone. Yoru Oni dropped free of the bind, aimed low at Finn's thigh.
Finn hopped, just enough. Steel shaved his cloak instead of flesh, cutting a bright line of fabric free. The scrap whistled away on the wind.
The bowl howled.
"OHHHH—"
"He tagged him—!"
Finn landed in a one-handed guard, his cloak now ragged at the hem. He flicked away the loose strands with a quick laugh.
"Rude."
Rin didn't answer. He was already moving.
Three steps, no wasted motion. First cut: horizontal test at the ribs. Second: rising snap at the wrist. Third: a thrust aimed just under Finn's collarbone.
Finn met the first with his flat—SPANG—sparks spat over Rin's shoulder, stinging his cheek.
He rolled his grip, letting the claymore slide around to block the second.
The third almost got him.
He had to bring his aura to his boots to save it.
Martial Muti: Knight's Step.
Wind slammed into his soles, pushing him just out of reach. Rin's thrust grazed his leather and nicked his chin.
A bead of red traced down his throat.
Finn touched it with two fingers, looked, and smiled wider.
"Alright," he said, breath high. "You're trying to kill me. Good."
He surged back in.
Arthur's Bane swung from low right to high left, trailing a pale crescent of compressed air behind it. Rin ducked under, feeling the gust whip his hair enough to sting his scalp.
The missed stroke hit a Chun wall.
Stone didn't chip. It opened.
A clean, waist-deep gouge scored the plaster and brick. The far side sagged a centimeter, dust raining down.
Up in the stands, someone screamed, half exhilarated, half horrified. The sound rolled into cheers.
On the Halo bench, Aria whistled. "Okay, that's nasty."
Kai's eyes tracked the cut, then Rin's footing. "If he mistimes once, that takes a limb."
Lila muttered, "Lucky we have medics on hand, this's gonna get messy."
William watched quietly. "Rin knows," he said. "Look at his focus, he likes pressure."
On the street, Rin moved along the fractured road, never in the same line twice.
Finn hunted.
Short, quick strikes now; no big telegraphed swings. Claymore dropping like a hammer at his shoulder, then snapping up for a throat feint, then turning into a backhand at the hip.
Every miss tore something.
A lantern post bent with a shriek of metal. A Britannian-style balcony lost its iron railing, spinning into the air like thrown spears before clattering away.
Rin's world narrowed.
Edge. Breath. Feet.
He didn't try to overpower his opponent. He stole the moments.
Let the claymore crash down—met near the tip, where leverage favored him. Let the bind form, then slip out and tap a cut at Finn's ribs that his cloak and timing just barely denied. He relied on small advantages: angle, timing, the half-step that turned a monster swing into a wasted gesture.
Sparks flew constantly now, bright showers with every clash. The air smelled of hot iron and stone dust.
Finn felt it too.
He pushed Rin back toward the Britannian side, boots cracking cobblestone. A hunted grin crept across his face.
"You're quick," he said, blades locked, faces close. "Annoyingly quick."
Rin's arms trembled with the effort; Yoru Oni's spine bowed slightly under the claymore's weight.
He pushed back anyway.
"Stop talking," he said flatly.
Finn laughed, pushed off, and broke the bind with a shove that sent Rin skidding a full meter.
Then he spun Arthur's Bane overhead, once.
Wind screamed along the blade's edge, dust swirling at his feet. When he brought the blade down into guard, the wind's cry didn't stop.
Elemental Muti: Wind Lacing.
Louder now. Clear.
The claymore thrummed like an angry tuning fork. The engraved god along its fuller seemed to shimmer in the light.
Windows on both sides of the split field rattled; a Chun paper lantern ripped free and spun into the air.
Magnara roared for it.
"LAN-CAS-TER! LAN-CAS-TER!"
Rin's grip tightened on Yoru Oni. His pulse quickened.
He shifted his stance slightly—front foot turning, weight settling a little deeper. The small cues William had drilled into him.
He didn't retreat.
"Come on then," he challenged.
Finn responded.
He cut downward, not at Rin, but for the street.
The blade struck stone just ahead of him and didn't stop. The entire swing's front turned into a sideways blast.
Wind howled off the impact point in a low, flat wave.
Rin crossed Yoru Oni in front of him instinctively.
The gust slammed into his guard.
Boots skidded. He stepped back three full paces, teeth clenched, shoulders burning. The street cracked beneath him, strips of stone peeling up in front of his sliding soles.
He stopped just shy of the Chun tiles, breathing hard.
His forearms buzzed. Fingers tingled. He flexed once to steady his grip.
Okay.
That's new.
Finn was already on him, riding the recoil.
Claymore whistling, he stepped into the gap he made and hacked at Rin's shoulder.
Rin slipped inside the swing instead of away.
He drove his left hand into Finn's wrist, right hand lifting Yoru Oni to jam the guard.
Steel met leather and bone. For a heartbeat, the big blade couldn't move.
Up close like that, Rin wasn't thinking about knights, gods, or Britannian pride.
He thought about joints.
He slammed his forehead into Finn's nose.
CRACK.
The claymore jerked loose an inch as Finn flinched, eyes watering. Rin's knee shot inside Finn's thigh. Finn twisted just enough to absorb it instead of an artery.
They separated, both gasping. Blood trickled from Finn's nose, bright against his skin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and smiled, one eye squinted.
"Not bad, black clan," he said.
Rin's scarf covered most of his face, but his eyes were sharp. "You talk like you're not in danger."
Finn laughed, genuinely pleased. "Gods, I'm starting to like you."
He stamped his back foot.
Wind wrapped Arthur's Bane tighter; the hum climbed higher. Bits of gravel lifted and spun, weightless in the pressure ring.
Rin felt his arms' hair stir.
If that edge lands clean...
He exhaled once. Viatra stirred behind his eyes, threads pulling at the future.
Not yet.
He stepped one foot back, grounding himself on a cracked tile as if it were a line on a board. Yoru Oni lowered, tip hovering toward Finn's knees.
Finn recognized the change.
"Oh?" he said softly. "You're done giving me courtesy?"
The crowd leaned in. The roar fell silent.
In the skybox, Johnny Joah rested his knuckles against his lip, eyes bright. "Black Clan versus Britannia," he murmured. "On a split field. Sparks all around."
General Rage snorted, amused. "Kid moves that claymore like it's a twig. But the shadow boy? He's the knife in the dark. This bout's going to bite."
Oathmaster kept his eyes on Rin's shoulders. "He hasn't opened that eye," he said. "He's still playing fair."
On the street, Finn rolled his neck.
"Alright then," he said softly. "Let's make Magnara happy."
He lunged, wind screeching, claymore carving a bright, deadly arc that tore dust and stone into the air.
Rin stepped into the attack.
And the world began to shift in time with his rhythm.