The arena was still smoldering. The great gouge from Kurai's attack cut the stage nearly in half, the stone floor cracked and bleeding shadow that still refused to fade. Smoke curled upward, staining the dusk sky where Sephiroth had carved the Abyssal Cataclysm away. The crowd hadn't recovered. Their voices were a confused jumble of awe, fear, and outrage, and none of them could look away from the ruins at the center of the Colosseum.
Helios lay sprawled across the broken ground. His chest rose shallowly, every breath ragged. One eye stared up at the darkening sky, the other squeezed shut as blood ran freely down the side of his face. His side wound had deepened; blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the cracks of the stone. His spear had fallen from his grip, lying just out of reach, its silver glow dimmed.
Bootsteps echoed. Slow, steady. Kurai approached, Erebus Fang resting on her shoulder. Her breathing was rough, her body trembling faintly with the aftershock of the power she'd unleashed, but her eyes were cold and steady. She came to stand over Helios, looking down on him as if he were some curiosity that had survived longer than expected.
"I'm surprised you survived that," she said flatly, her voice carrying easily in the silence. "I didn't know how strong the technique would be. I only used a fragment of my power."
Helios coughed, blood staining his lips, then gave a short, pained laugh. His eye flicked up to her, sharp even through the haze of agony. "I'm a survivor. You should know that best."
For the first time, her gaze shifted, just slightly. A flicker of memory in her cold eyes.
She lowered the glaive, the point aimed casually toward him. "So… do you give up? Or shall we continue?"
Helios grimaced, then smiled faintly, the expression at once mocking and weary. He raised a trembling hand just enough to beckon her closer. "Come here."
Kurai tilted her head but leaned down all the same, her eyes narrowing. Helios whispered something, words too low for anyone else to hear.
Her expression didn't change—still the cold mask she always wore—but her eyes lingered on him for a heartbeat longer. Then she straightened, spun her glaive once, and rested it against her shoulder. Without another word, she turned and began walking away.
Phil's voice broke, confused. "H-Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"
Kurai didn't even glance back. "I'm giving up."
The Colosseum erupted into chaos.
"What?!"
"She was winning! No, she straight up won!"
"She threw it!"
"Unbelievable—my purse—!"
Bets had been placed heavily against Helios once it became clear he was being overwhelmed. Now the gamblers who had stacked everything on Kurai's certain victory were howling in outrage, clutching at coin purses and tearing at their hair. Meanwhile, the minority who had stubbornly held onto Helios exploded with joy, their winnings more than they could carry. The air was filled with cheers, curses, laughter, and screams all at once.
Helios forced himself to sit up, teeth gritted, blood slicking his arm as he braced on the ground. Priestesses rushed onto the stage, three dropping to their knees beside him. Light flared from their hands as they began round of healing aided by Helios' own Curaga spell. The spell soaked into him, closing gashes, sealing torn muscle, but his body convulsed under the strain of repair.
"Another," one priestess ordered, and they layered the healing again. Then a third. Then a fourth. Only after the fourth did Helios manage to draw himself shakily to his feet, still pale and bleeding beneath the skin, but alive enough to stand.
Phil swallowed hard, rubbing his forehead. "W-Well, uh… I guess that settles it! The winner—by forfeit—Helios!"
The crowd was divided between ecstatic screams and bitter outrage. The sound of fists slamming into the stone seats, of curses spat, of gamblers either celebrating or rioting, filled the Colosseum.
Helios staggered toward the waiting room. Kurai was already there, leaning against the entrance wall, glaive beside her vanishing in a beam of electrified black light, her arms folded.
"You should hurry up," she said coldly as he passed, her eyes flicking to his wounds still knitting themselves together. "Keep your promise. Soon."
Helios gave a tired smile, one eye still bloodied shut. "When we're home. Then we'll do it."
For the first time, something flickered across her face. Not warmth, not softness—but a recognition. Then she looked away.
Helios passed through the arch into the waiting room, each step a test of balance. His companions were waiting, some wide-eyed, some grim, but he waved them off, too drained to bother with words.
Outside, Phil climbed the stage again, his voice straining to command attention. "All right, all right, settle down! You all saw what happened—Helios advances to the finals!"
The crowd's roar was deafening.
"And now, for the second semifinal match!" Phil bellowed, forcing cheer into his tone though sweat ran down his temples. "Sephiroth—against Atalanta!"
The Colosseum erupted again, the very name Sephiroth drawing shouts, curses, and prayers.
At the edge of the arena, Sephiroth rose from his seat. His hand brushed his lips, wiping away the faint trace of blood left from diverting Kurai's cataclysm. He had not sought the priestesses' healing. He had not even acknowledged his injury. His long blade shimmered faintly as he stepped forward, his face unreadable.
Across the stage, Atalanta stepped out, her bow in hand, her dagger at her hip. The huntress's expression was sharp, but her steps betrayed the confident exertion she projected.
The sun dipped toward the horizon, bleeding the sky in shades of orange and crimson as the two warriors approached the battlefield.