"Zoom, Scylla—rotate formation!"

Tristan's command boomed across the arena. The Infernal Fang Cheetah dashed sideways, circling like living fire, while the Wavecrasher Serpent slithered low through the haze, steam rising from its scales.

Aston reacted instantly. "Marcellus, intercept the serpent! Gray, on Zoom's flank! Mirage—keep their falcon pinned!"

"On it!" Marcellus shouted, his Warhound lunging forward, claws striking sparks as it collided with the serpent's coil. Mirage soared upward, her frost-laced feathers glinting as she fired another Icy Gale that shredded the falcon's trajectory.

For a few moments, the field returned to balance—attack and counterattack, perfectly matched.

"Brennar—reinforce the left ridge! Trap sequence three!"

"R-right!"

Brennar's hand twitched as he reached for his mechanical construct. The orb-shaped device extended its legs, anchoring itself into the ground—but the timing was off. The traps activated half a second too late.

Zoom darted through the safe window and tackled Gray aside before the barrier could rise. Sparks exploded across the sand.

Aston's brow tightened. Late. Brennar's never late.

"Gray, recover! Mirage—cover with Fractured Halo!"

The owl shrieked, releasing five frost sigils into the air, but the gap allowed Tristan's serpent to reposition. Scylla opened its maw and fired a Hydro Laser straight through the blizzard of light.

It struck the ground in front of Aston, exploding into a wall of vapor that threw him off balance.

"Marcellus—push the serpent back!"

"Trying!"

The wolfhound lunged again, tearing through steam, but was intercepted by the Gearback Gorilla, its iron-plated arms swinging like wrecking balls. The two collided, metal clanging, shockwaves cracking the earth.

"Selene!" Aston barked. "Barrier on Marcellus!"

"I'm on it!" she cried, her dove's radiance expanding to heal the frontline.

The battle was still even—but the tempo had changed.

Ivy's hands moved slower, her glyphs sluggish and faint. When Aston ordered a counter-enchantment, it came three seconds too late, just enough for the tortoise's Rune Barrier to absorb their retaliation.

Tristan seized the window.

"Cassian—Basilisk, Venom Spit! Liora—channel the runes!"

Flame and poison converged. The basilisk's ember-glow venom struck Marcellus's Warhound across the chest, corroding its armor. Liora's tortoise stomped again, sending earthen spikes along the same line.

"Marcellus—retreat, flank right!" Aston shouted.

"Ivy, give him cover—rune walls, now!"

But Ivy's gaze flickered. For an instant, she wasn't looking at the battlefield. Her hand hovered uncertainly over her charm. "I—I can't. The flow's unstable."

"Then stabilize it!" Aston snapped.

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Her lips parted to respond—but the moment was gone. The earthen spikes struck, and the wolfhound was hurled backward, tumbling through smoke and dust.

Aston's pulse pounded in his ears. Something was wrong. Ivy and Brennar were competent—disciplined even—but both of them looked… off. Hesitant. They only displayed this hesitance during the finals.

Tristan noticed too. His smirk sharpened.

"Hoh, they're distracted." He backed off and whispered to one of his teammates. Then he shouted commands. Zoom and Scylla crossed paths, fire and water swirling together in a sudden spiral of steam. The condensed energy burst outward in a ring of pressure that forced Aston's group to pull back.

"Mirage, Glass Cloak—Rainbow Flarel!"

The Glasswing Owl spread her wings, light bending into refractive arcs that blinded Tristan's beast for a while. Still, the impact tore furrows through the arena floor, scattering dust and shards of molten glass.

Aston steadied himself. They're testing our coordination.

"Selene, Marcellus—defend the center line. Gray—cut left and distract the cheetah. Mirage—stay high and slow their serpent."

Orders snapped into motion. The wolfhound charged, fangs bared. Gray moved as instructed, shadow to fire, claws leaving silver scars in the ground. Mirage's feathers glowed faintly blue as she summoned a localized frost storm, slowing Scylla's movements to a crawl.

And still—Brennar and Ivy lingered behind.

They moved, yes—but their timing lacked conviction, their output lower than usual. The trap network that should've constrained Tristan's front line was incomplete, and the enchantment boosts barely shimmered.

Aston ground his teeth. "Brennar—double check your calibrations. Ivy, boost Selene's dove! That's an order!"

Both flinched at his tone. Brennar nodded weakly. "Y-yes, sir."

He adjusted his dials—too slowly.

"Mirage—Halo burst, now!"

The owl's sigils flared again, releasing a ring of freezing mist that blanketed the arena. Zoom's speed faltered, Scylla hissed under frostbite, and even the falcon above struggled to maintain altitude.

It was the perfect opening.

"Now! Press!" Aston shouted. "Marcellus, left! Gray—right! Ivy—reinforce the line with runes—!"

But Ivy hesitated again.

Her barrier rune flickered once—then fizzled.

The opportunity vanished.

Tristan's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Too slow."

"Zoom—Flame Orbs! Scylla—the dove!"

The battlefield erupted anew. Fireballs spiraled from the cheetah as Scylla's tail lashed, releasing a blast of scalding water that shattered what was left of the frost field. Marcellus's wolfhound managed to block one orb but was caught by another, flame detonating across its flank. Selene screamed, rushing to heal him, but the serpent's tail slammed down again, throwing her off her feet.

"Selene!" Aston moved instantly, Gray intercepting another strike meant for her. The tiger cub hissed, claws sparking, slicing through the serpent's scales and forcing it back.

But by then, the rhythm had shifted entirely.

Aston's commands still came sharp and fast—but without Ivy's barriers and Brennar's traps functioning properly, every maneuver cost them more than it should.

Marcellus's breaths came ragged. "Aston—we're losing formation!"

"I know," Aston muttered. His eyes darted to his rear flank where Brennar knelt behind his device, adjusting dials that weren't broken. They're not sabotaging outright, he realized grimly. Just slow enough to hurt us.

Tristan's laughter echoed faintly through the smoke. "You feel it yet? That weight? That doubt?"

Aston clenched his jaw. "We're not done."

"Neither are we."

Both leaders locked eyes again—one burning with arrogance, the other with focus—and raised their hands simultaneously.

"Full release!"

A chorus of roars, shrieks, and elemental detonations followed, the two teams crashing together in a storm that erased all sense of direction.

When the dust cleared, half the arena was molten glass and frost-slick stone.

Neither side had fallen.

But the rhythm— was no longer even.

Aston stood amid the smoke, chest heaving, realization dawning like a weight across his shoulders.

There's something wrong with the two… but I can't pinpoint it out…

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