Leo held his lightsaber horizontal, blade humming silver against the dark evening sky. His divine sense floated above the battlefield, watching his own body stand rigid, watching Mateo across the divide.

  One hundred fifty thousand voices roared around the two.

  The stadium rose in steep tiers, a coliseum of steel and formation engravings packed to capacity.

  The western stands blazed crimson and grey. Phillips Exeter Academy. Their students and alumni stood shoulder to shoulder, banners snapping in the evening wind, chanting Leo's name in rhythmic waves that rolled down toward the field.

  The eastern stands answered in gold and blue. Choate Rosemary Hall. Their contingent matched Exeter's volume, matched their fervor, their voices rising in a wall of sound that pressed against the barrier wards surrounding the Flying Aces Field.

  Leo heard none of it.

  In third person perspective, the crowd existed outside his range.

  His focus was locked on Mateo.

  The divine child held his greatspear loose in his left hand. The weapon stretched nearly three meters long, thick as a young tree, yet Mateo balanced it like a willow switch.

  Mateo's right hand ignited. Orange flames crawled up his fingers, licking at his wrist.

  The Exeter stands erupted loudly. A counter-chant rose from Choate. The two schools hurled sound at each other across the field.

  Leo felt it then. A hollowing sensation in his left wristguard. His connection to his lifebound flying sword went dead. The red flame glow flickered once and vanished.

  Greyed out.

  Leo had prepared for this. Arthur's voice echoed through memory.

  "Combat is the culmination of preparation and experience." He spent his night in the Game World trying out various tactics.

  After he woke, the instructors had drilled him for six hours today. His shoulders still throbbed from deliberate dislocation, from learning to fight through divine sense manipulation alone. His body was just a ragdoll to be protected.

  He had three treasures clipped to himself. The now useless Eclipse on his left wrist. The silver lightsaber humming on his right. The formation pivot on his belt, ready to hurl his body through the air.

  Mateo moved first.

  He launched upward, legs driving him five meters into the sky.

  At the apex he hung suspended, greatspear rising overhead. Red light gathered along the blade's edge. Fire qi condensed, thickened, blazed white at the core.

  Then he dropped.

  Twenty meters. Leo's divine sense tracked the plummeting figure from above. Fifteen meters. Ten.

  The greatspear thrust forward, like a blazing comet.

  Leo triggered his formation pivot.

  His body rocketed sideways and up, a leaping diagonal that carried him clear of the impact zone.

  Below him, Mateo's spear punched into the field.

  The explosion hit like a physical wall. Stone shrapnel sprayed outward. A pressure wave of superheated air rolled across the field.

  Leo descended through it.

  His divine sense changed his perspective to one of detachment. The flames and pressure just buffeted the piece that was his body.

  The formation pivot pulled him down through the blast wave, through the smoke and debris, lightsaber angled for Mateo's exposed back.

  Mateo spun.

  Fire qi erupted from his left palm. The concussive blast caught Leo's lightsaber mid-thrust, deflected the silver blade two degrees left. The tip carved a furrow across Mateo's shoulder guard instead of piercing his spine.

  Leo threw himself backward. The formation pivot yanked him three meters clear.

  Mateo followed.

  The greatspear swept in a horizontal arc, flames trailing from the edge. Leo's divine sense screamed the trajectory half a second before impact. He dropped, formation pivot pulling him under the burning blade.

  Mateo reversed. Vertical chop.

  Leo rolled right. The spear cratered stone where his chest had been.

  Mateo's left hand came up. Flame slash. A crescent of fire ripped through the air.

  Leo was already moving, formation pivot hurling him in a tight orbit around Mateo's flank. The flame slash scorched air behind him.

  Close. He had to stay close.

  His divine sense calculated the distances with cold precision. The Grey Out had a range. Maybe thirty five meters. If Leo retreated beyond it, his Eclipse would reactivate. He could fly away with superior mobility.

  But Mateo had reach. Three meters of flame-wrapped steel. And spell arts that could cross the field in heartbeats. If Leo ran, Mateo would control the engagement. Stall. Wait. Let Leo's third person perspective burn itself out.

  Five minutes. Maybe six. That was all he had before the divine sense exhausted itself.

  He had to end this up close.

  Mateo thrust. The greatspear lanced toward Leo's chest, fire qi screaming along the shaft.

  Leo threw himself left. The blade passed close enough to scorch his uniform. He triggered the formation pivot again, pulling himself forward, inside Mateo's guard.

  Mateo was already rotating. The spear swept around in a full circle, edge dragging through the air.

  Leo pulled his lightsaber.

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  His divine sense seized the weapon's momentum, used it as an anchor point. His body whipped in a half-circle around Mateo, staying ahead of the sweeping spear, riding the curve of the attack. His left shoulder popped. The joint separated with a wet crunch.

  He ignored it.

  He had trained for this. Six hours today with dislocated shoulders, learning to fight through the grinding wrongness of displaced bone. The pain registered as information. Nothing more.

  Leo slashed. Once. Twice. Three times. His lightsaber carved lines across Mateo's torso armor.

  Mateo barely acknowledged the hits. He straightened, planted his feet, threw a casual trio of flame slashes from his left hand.

  Leo retreated. Formation pivot sending him three meters back.

  Mateo lunged. Thrust, sweep, thrust. The greatspear became a blur of steel and fire, each strike flowing into the next.

  Leo gave ground. Four meters. Five. His divine sense tracked every attack, mapped the trajectories, calculated the windows.

  Mateo leaped.

  He soared five meters up, left hand blazing, right hand spinning the greatspear in tight circles. Fire spell arts rained down. Flame-enhanced jabs probed at Leo's guard, the spear's reach turning the vertical distance into an advantage.

  Leo retreated. He was pushed back over and over.

  Mateo hit the ground running.

  His right hand slammed into the stone. Fire qi detonated through his palm. The explosion launched him into a spinning leap, body rotating, greatspear extended like a saw blade.

  He came down in an eruption of flame.

  The crater spread three meters wide. Scorched grass and blackened soil sprayed outward. A shockwave of fire and debris rolled across the field.

  Leo was already circling back.

  His formation pivot hurled him into the dissipating smoke, inside Mateo's recovery window. His lightsaber flashed. One slash across the ribs. One thrust toward the exposed armpit.

  Mateo swept his spear low. The edge carved a circle through the stone around his feet, forcing Leo to jump.

  Leo jumped.

  He was above Mateo now, lightsaber raised for a descending impale.

  Mateo's left hand came up. Crossing flame slashes forced Leo back.

  Then Mateo leaped again.

  This time he somersaulted. His body rotated forward, greatspear spinning, flames trailing in a spiral pattern. He positioned himself at the exact edge of his weapon's reach, the tip tracking Leo through the rotation.

  A whirlwind of fire and steel.

  Leo's divine sense mapped the attack from above. He saw the pattern. The gaps. The moments between rotations where the spear's arc left openings.

  He rolled through.

  His formation pivot pulled him in a tight spiral, threading between the spinning strikes. His body passed close enough to feel the heat of the flames, close enough to smell burning turf. His lightsaber flicked out. Uppercut slash across Mateo's thigh. Diagonal cut across the shoulder.

  They separated.

  Mateo slammed down in another flame-enhanced impact. The field shook. Stone cracked.

  Leo used his divine sense to pull his lightsaber in a short diagonal arc. His body followed the weapon's momentum, rising over the blast wave, then descending in a vicious overhead slam.

  Mateo switched targets.

  Leo felt it instantly. The hollowing sensation jumped from his left wrist to his right. His lightsaber went dead in his grip. Grey. Lifeless.

  But his Eclipse blazed back to life.

  The red flame glow erupted from his left wristguard. Leo seized the connection, pulled the flying sword free, whipped it around in a vicious backslash.

  His right shoulder dislocated. The joint separated with a sound like tearing leather.

  He ignored it.

  The Eclipse carved into Mateo's side. The divine child tumbled sideways, armor smoking, caught completely off-guard by the instant, inhumanly fast weapon switch.

  Mateo scrambled to recover. He switch his Grey Out ability back to Leo's Eclipse.

  The red glow died.

  Leo's lightsaber hummed back to life.

  He lunged. Thrust toward Mateo's center mass.

  Mateo parried. Sweeping strikes combined with lunging footwork. The greatspear became a wall of fire and steel, keeping Leo at distance, buying time to recover his composure.

  Leo circled. Dodged. Waited for the opening.

  Mateo dragged his spear through the ground, edge carving stone, then ripped upward in a rising slash.

  Leo punished the telegraphed attack.

  His formation pivot hurled him inside the arc of the strike. His divine sense, watching from above, guided his lightsaber into a perfect parry. The impact dragged his body up and over Mateo's guard.

  He descended.

  His lightsaber punched toward Mateo's helmet. The divine child flinched backward. The blade caught only the front plate, dragged down across the visor, carved a furrow through the chest armor.

  Leo slashed again. One more line across Mateo's torso.

  Mateo retreated.

  Then came back.

  A somersaulting leap carried him over Leo's head. The greatspear spun in full circles, trailing wheels of flame, wild slashes tracking Leo through three hundred sixty degrees of rotation.

  Leo threw himself back and forth. Formation pivot. Dodge. Dodge. Every fraction of a second consumed by survival.

  No time to counter. No time to attack.

  Mateo slammed down.

  Leo dodged the impact. Barely. The explosion caught him anyway. Flames and stone debris hammered into his armored uniform. The shockwave threw him backward, tumbling, momentarily disoriented.

  Mateo was already closing. Greatspear rising for a finishing slash.

  But Leo had seen this from above.

  His divine sense had tracked Mateo's trajectory through the explosion. Had calculated the timing. Had positioned his body above the one place Mateo would commit to attacking.

  Leo was already airborne.

  His formation pivot had launched him straight up, through the smoke and debris, while Mateo's slash carved empty air below. His lightsaber descended in a vicious overhead cut, using Mateo's own forward momentum to amplify the impact.

  The silver blade bit deep.

  Mateo sprawled forward, driven into the stone by the force of the blow.

  Leo landed on his back.

  His lightsaber punched through armor. Through flesh. Through the space where Mateo's heart beat.

  Leo felt the resistance give way. Felt the blade slide through. Felt the fight end.

  Then he understood.

  The armor had let the strike through. The enchantments designed to protect cultivators from all wounds had allowed this. Which meant the wound wasn't just survivable. Which meant...

  Mateo's head turned.

  Grey eyes blazed through the cracked visor. Divine blood, the color of storm clouds, welled up around the lightsaber's entry wound. It bubbled. Boiled.

  Leo's divine sense screamed.

  He saw it materialize beneath his feet. A mouth. Grey and vast.

  He activated his now usable lifebound sword and flew back, yanking him clear just as the playing field exploded upward.

  A serpent.

  Grey scales. A triangular head lined with fangs the length of swords. It erupted from the stone where Leo had stood, engulfing the space, engulfing Mateo, rising three meters, five meters, ten meters into the air.

  Leo landed twenty meters away. Watched.

  The serpent's body pulsed. Grey qi gathered at its core, condensing into a sphere of roiling energy. The creature's maw oriented on Leo.

  It struck.

  It slammed at Leo at blistering speed, detonating against the field. A giant cloud of dirt and debris. A crater ten meters wide opened where Leo had been standing.

  He was already gone. His Eclipse pulling him sideways, a red lighting bold streaking across the ruined field.

  A gasp rippled through the stands. The sound spread like a wave, one hundred fifty thousand people drawing breath at once, trying to process what their eyes reported.

  These were Qi Refining students. Freshmen. The fight should have been fast, yes. Impressive by mortal standards. A showcase of potential, nothing more.

  But the fight had long demonstrated power beyond their realm. Even some Gold Core Superiors clenched their hands in fear.

  Grey qi billowed across the stadium. A cloud of divine power, thick as fog, obscuring everything. The barrier wards flickered.

  Leo's divine sense pierced through.

  He saw Mateo rise from the cloud. Reforming. His armored uniform had changed. Grey traceries ran through the fabric now, pulsing with divine blood. The wound in his chest had sealed. His eyes blazed brighter than before.

  And from that wound, something emerged.

  A serpent, half there and half elsewhere, its form flickering between solid grey scales and grey mist. It slithered out of Mateo's chest, coiling up through the hole in his back, rising over his shoulder. Its eyeless head swayed beside Mateo's cracked visor.

  Two faces now. Human and serpent. Both watching Leo with the same burning grey intensity.

  The serpent's forked tongue tasted the air. Grey qi rippled outward from its phantom body.

  In the stands, students gripped the railings. They had come to cheer for their champion, to watch a school rivalry play out in sanctioned combat. They had expected to learn something, to benchmark themselves against their peers.

  Instead they received a glimpse of something inhuman. Something that taught them the greatness of the divine.

  Somewhere in the VIP section, tournament officials exchanged urgent glances. Hands moved toward their walkie talkies.

  Specialists read data transmitted from the uniforms on their computer screens.

  Nascent Souls on the sidelines readied to intervene at a moment's notice.

  On the playing field, Leo stood, facing Mateo across twenty meters of dissipating grey fog. The divine child stood flanked by his phantom guardian, two heads tilting in unison, tracking Leo's every breath.