The halberd burned in Tysone's hands without burning them.
That was the strangest part. The fire wrapped the shaft like a second skin, and he could feel it. Not pain exactly, more like pressure, a firm handshake between him and the element itself.
Hayashi felt it too. He saw the fire and his expression flickered, just once, into something that wasn't quite respect and wasn't quite fear but lived in the neighborhood between both.
"How?" The older man said.
"Same way you did." Tysone shrugged. "Got lucky with the right core."
His relationship with the fire ability was still new, still uncertain, still prone to fading at the worst moments. He'd managed to hold a flame for a few seconds at a time. A few times he'd pushed it into the steel of his halberd, like now, and it had worked. He didn't fully understand the mechanics of it yet.
Hayashi came forward at an angle, not a straight charge. He was smarter than that.
He came in low, blade at his hip, and the heat shimmering off his katana warped the air around it enough that tracking the edge was genuinely difficult. A man who'd trained before the world ended. The yakuza had been producing exactly that type for decades.
Tysone didn't try to match the angle. He stepped left, pivoted, brought the halberd across in a horizontal sweep that was more about forcing Hayashi to commit than actually connecting. Hayashi ducked under it cleanly. The katana came up on the recovery.
Metal met metal.
The impact was solid. Tysone felt it in his shoulders. Hayashi's blade was hot enough to leave a faint scorch mark on the halberd's shaft where they'd crossed, and the contact sent a pulse of dry heat up toward Tysone's face.
He stepped back. Hayashi pressed.
The second exchange was faster, both of them moving with the kind of economy of movement that came from training or combat instincts. Blades coming across in a blur. More about momentum and positioning. An unlucky hit with that kind of element coating their blade could easily go through someone's ribs like wet tissue paper.
Tysone caught one on the forearm guard of his jacket and the leather scorched immediately, blistering underneath. He yanked his arm back before it could go deeper. "Tch." Damn it.
"Just fall down quietly already." Hayashi's teeth were clenched in concentration. "If you do, I'll give your friends a quick death. If you don't, then I'm really going to enjoy carving those breasts of hers."
"That ain't gonna happen." Tysone answered coldly.
Hayashi's eyes widened with a twinkle of manic laughter and the muscles of his shoulder tensed.
The sword in his hand whipped down from overhead at an impossible speed, bringing the flames crashing onto the floor where Tysone had been standing just a split-second ago. Hayashi had become even stronger than expected.
Springing forth, Tysone launched into a crouch in front of Hayashi's knees, just outside of reach. One sweep of his burning weapon was narrowly dodged by Tysone's receding hazy shape, and Tysone's own swing hit the concrete ground instead with another burst of heat that spattered the air.
Both backed off again, dancing around each other.
Tysone stopped trying to match the blade work and started using his size, pushing inside Hayashi's comfortable range where the katana's length became a liability. He ate a shallow cut across the ribs doing it—the blade traced a thin, singing line through his jacket and the skin below, and the heat sealed it as quickly as it opened, which was both a mercy and extremely unpleasant.
But he got his left hand around Hayashi's sword arm, just above the wrist.
Hayashi strained. He was strong, Rank 2 strong, and the fire jumped from the blade to his skin in response, crawling up his arm toward Tysone's grip. A threat and a reflex at the same time.
Tysone promptly headbutted him. And if there was one thing he was more proud than anything else, it was his damn thick skull.
"Fucking bastard...!!"
Hayashi stumbled back, blood running freely down his upper lip. The katana came up on instinct and Tysone stepped sideways instead of into it, letting the blade pass, bringing the halberd around in a tight arc that connected with Hayashi's shoulder.
Not the blade. The shaft.
Hayashi's arm went numb from the impact. Not a bone break, probably, but close enough that his grip on the katana faltered.
Hayashi threw himself backward to create distance.
It saved his life.
The halberd stabbed where his torso had just been with the speed of a snake's bite, catching the thin jacket and charring a good portion of it into flickering embers of fabric. Tysone's hand lashed out, yanking hard on it as he followed. The entire piece of clothing came apart from the strength of the tug, leaving the leader's top half completely bare.
The halberd, coated in fire, spun briefly as it rode on the residual momentum and came back at Hayashi a split second later with the curved blade striking true at his chest with a precision strike.
The air came out of Hayashi's mouth. It wasn't quite a scream but the sound was much, much worse. Blood flew in a small torrent, spattering down across Tysone's already-ruined jacket. Not quite a deep wound, but certainly very, very painful.
The katana bit back in retaliation, going right for the stomach. Tysone slid back, but the tip hit, tore through the shirt and the skin beneath, leaving an inch deep slice of its own before pulling free.
Blood was already mixing with the flames.
This wasn't the most pleasant sensation. Even less pleasant when it mixed in with the wound across his ribs. It was like adding more fuel to the fire and then turning that fuel into his bloodstream. It did have one advantage. As his adrenaline rose, the heat followed.
With a snarl and an insult Tysone could barely make out, Hayashi charged again, this time sacrificing finesse for speed and force.
Tysone fell into the flow, his feet shuffling back and forth against the uneven, cracked ground as the blades connected time and time again, with each strike setting off a blast of energy that made everyone watching cringe.
The yakuza's katana was going so fast that if Tysone's concentration broke for even a single instant, his eyes would likely see multiple blades coming his way.
A storm of needles. Each one searching for a tiny crack in his guard to pierce through. The bleeding fire from each thrust coalesced around them, joining with Tysone's own, before swirling into a mini blazing vortex that could actually cause self-harm to both fighters.
The blasts of wind from the connecting blades sent bursts of embers and specks of fire throughout the air.
The audience had backed away from the storm of cinders.
Takashi's sweaty, focused face was being illuminated by the light from their surging element. He watched it all happen with bated breath; this was his first time seeing a human fight of this absurd scale.
Each time their weapons connected, it was like the flames of hell would spring up, trying to devour the other.
"One minute." Hayashi hissed in his labored breath, a fine line of blood falling off his lip before evaporating into mist. "That's how long you'll last, with the way you're depleting your power like that."
Tysone's face was grave. He wasn't exactly holding back, and it was natural to wonder if the man in front of him was doing the same.
After all, wielding fire wasn't something he could do so freely. An incoming headache was already coming, and he had no doubt that if he truly squeezed every drop dry, he'd likely pass out at a crucial moment. So, either he found a way to finish this fast, or it'd become a battle of endurance.
"You're right." Tysone admitted lightly. "In that case, I'd better not keep you waiting. That would be bad hospitality."
He flicked the halberd to knock aside a blow aimed to the side of his neck, spun the weapon, and swung it upward from below.
Hayashi's response was quick. He threw his leg over and kicked Tysone's backward. That reflexive response was insane. The halberd's head missed him by a hairsbreadth. He struck with his blade, carving a glowing path through Tysone's left cheek, nicking his ear as well on its way.
The wound scorched shut before blood could seep out.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at [email protected]/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.