The buzzer hit and the arena became a single body of motion.
Moto picked his target immediately — a girl near the edge of the scrum clutching a T cylinder, trying not to look like she was clutching anything valuable. He went for her.
A fist came at his head. He ducked. A boot aimed for his ribs — he caught it on the cylinder and rolled through, coming up at a sprint. He wove between two grappling fighters, kept low, and—
Talons.
Hawk snatched him clean out of his sprint, wings hammering hard, carrying him upward while he watched the arena floor shrink below his boots.
"I need that A, Moto!" she yelled over the wind. Her free hand was already working at his cylinder. "Spelling H-A-W-K isn't cheap!"
"This is not ideal," Moto muttered.
She read his resistance and shrugged. Her talons opened.
The ground came up fast. Very fast.
"Catch me," he shouted upward, "and I'll give you the A!"
Hawk tucked her wings and dove. She hooked him by the collar a metre from the dirt and hauled upward, depositing him on the ground with something approaching care. "Pay up."
He unsealed his cylinder, slid out a single A slip, and flicked it to her. She snatched it and was gone, already heading for the scoreboard. One fewer enemy. He sealed the cylinder.
He turned back to the field. The girl with the T had moved to the far end. Between him and her: a wall of people trying to hit each other.
He thought of Mukai's cylinder drill. Don't focus on the obstacles. Reach the end without getting wet.
He moved.
He slid under a swinging mace. Vaulted a grappling pair. Sidestepped a tackle without breaking stride. He reached the girl, who flinched and braced. He didn't swing — he slammed a compressed ball of smoke into the ground at her feet. It burst, a thick grey cloud rising fast, disorienting without hurting. He stepped into it, swept her feet, lifted the T from her loosened grip, and was out of the smoke before it had finished expanding.
He looked at the scoreboard. M-O-T-O. Both O's already glowing green — Lilly had moved fast.
He needed M and T. He had T.
He spotted an M cylinder in the hands of a small, thin boy trying to be invisible behind a pillar. Moto started toward him.
Hangaika arrived first. The massive man's shadow fell over the boy, who handed over the letter before the demand was fully formed. Hangaika turned to Moto and cracked his knuckles.
"No more running, boy."
He had the M. He wanted the A's. And the mob that had been watching the most-wanted letter in the arena saw the situation clarify and moved.
The field descended into something that had stopped being a tournament and become a problem.
Moto ran. He vaulted Hangaika's lunge, boots skidding across the massive man's shoulders before pushing off. Hands grabbed from every direction. He twisted, sprinted harder, cylinder against his chest.
A blur in green matched his pace. Silk combat kimono, a translucent leaf-blade extending from her sleeve — AJ, the Flora fighter. She swung without introduction. The blade cut the air where Moto's neck had been, burying itself in the ground.
In the VIP area, a boy Najo didn't recognise settled into a seat next to him with a sneer already loaded. "You Fauna fighters couldn't beat my sister on her worst day. She only needs one letter."
Najo looked at him. Said nothing. Watched the field.
Below, the pack closed around Moto and drove him down. A tackle from behind, a knee in his back, weight compressing from three directions. The cylinder was still in his hands.
He focused.
Boom.
Smoke erupted from his skin in a pressurised burst, a wall of black fog swallowing the sector whole. Coughing, shouting, the grip loosening as the fighters around him couldn't breathe and he could. He dragged himself to the cloud's edge, dropped to a crouch.
Then the voice came. Calm. Flat.
"Photosynthesis."
The smoke stopped moving. It began to bend — drawn inward, funnelling toward a point. When it cleared, AJ stood with one hand raised, the black fog absorbed into her palm, golden light building in the other hand until it was a physical thing.
"Oh, come on," Moto said.
The beam fired. He dove. It tore past him and took out six fighters behind him, their cylinders bursting open, letters scattering in the air — H, B, L, S, tumbling, available, suddenly the most important things in the arena.
Everyone still standing broke formation and scrambled for the loose slips. Moto's eyes hardened. If those slots filled while he was pinned—
He drew his obsidian sword and moved, slashing the air in fast arcs. The blade shredded the loose slips into confetti before anyone could catch them. In the stands, Najo watched this and felt something close to recognition.
"He learned that from me," he said.
Tanaka glanced at him.
"Destroying resources to force a stalemate," Najo said. "Same principle as ripping the arena apart."
AJ turned back to Moto, light already gathering in her palm for a second shot. Then — clack — a wooden sword struck her wrist and dropped her aim. The beam scorched earth harmlessly to Moto's left.
Lilly stood behind AJ, bokken at rest, expression easy. "I gave him the O's," she said. "I intend to see him use them."
AJ sneered. "A wooden toy against Flora technique?" She swung the leaf-blade. Lilly parried without drama, wood meeting energy with a sharp, flat sound. They engaged, and AJ was fully occupied.
In the VIP seats, the boy shot to his feet. "How is a Fauna fighter keeping pace with that?!"
Will, sitting three seats down, didn't look up. "Lilly's bladework is unmatched. Stick or steel."
"Two minutes! Seven names completed! Three spots remain!"
With AJ contained, it was just Hangaika. The man charged. Moto parried, the impact grinding through his arms, the obsidian blade holding. He needed the M.
He planted the sword's hilt in the ground. The volcanic glass caught the friction, internal pressure climbing, the blade beginning to glow at the edges with something unstable and violet.
"Alright." Moto's voice rose over the chaos. "Now I'm serious." He looked at the crowd of fighters still watching. "You've seen what I do without a weapon. Now — Fire Lily!"
Violet flame ran up the blade. The obsidian radiated dangerous heat. Several fighters nearest him backed up without deciding to.
Moto charged Hangaika.
Three bodies hit him simultaneously, driving him into the ground metres short of the M. He struggled, weight on his back and arms, the cylinder still in his grip by will alone.
"Twenty seconds!"
He could not lift them. He could not push them off.
He let go of everything else and released the smoke.
It poured from him in torrents — dense, pressurised, carbon-black, swallowing the immediate area. With AJ occupied, there was nobody to absorb it. The fighters on top of him coughed, grips loosening as they lost air. Moto breathed. His lungs knew this.
"Five!"
He grabbed the glowing sword.
"Four — three—"
He swung the superheated blade through the cloud of pressurised carbon gas.
"Two — one—"
BOOM.
The explosion swallowed the sector.