Galatea attacked and there was no more testing left in her, no more careful rationing of strength, only pure, desperate speed, a blur of violet that closed the distance between them in less time than it took to blink, both hands closing around Doom before he could fully register the change in her rhythm. She lifted himcarrying his massive body skyward with a burst of raw acceleration that tore a sound barrier, cracking the sky itself as she dragged him higher, and higher, until the arena below shrank to a distant place.
At the very peak of that climb, she twisted, both fists driving into his chest in rapid succession, and then, without pause, without mercy, her eyes ignited red and a full, sustained blast of heat vision tore into him at point-blank range, the beam boring deep, cooking the air around them.
The scream that tore out of her throat as she unleashed everything she had left was heard across the entire realm a raw, furious, all-consuming sound that rolled out over the spires and streets below, drawing the eyes of every shadow soldier still going about their tasks, drawing even Arthur's attention up toward the distant column of violence carved into the sky.
He watched, silently, and did not intervene. He already knew how this would end.
High above, Doom struggled, genuinely struggled, for the first time all day, his massive body wrenched off-balance by the sheer velocity Galatea had built. For one suspended, glorious instant, it looked as though it might actually be enough.
She went for his head with both hands but Doom didn't allow it, then Galatea shifted her grip, repositioning with a final, desperate burst of speed, and with a second scream this one edged with something closer to agony than fury, the sound of a body giving everything it had left she wrenched with both hands and tore one of Doom's arms free at the shoulder.
The effort cost her everything.
Her limbs went momentarily slack, her eyes dimming with the sheer, catastrophic expenditure of strength, and in that fractional window, Doom turned.
His remaining arm came around in a single, brutal thrust, fingers rigid, driving forward like a spear and it found her, punching clean through her abdomen with a force that stole whatever scream she might have had left. They hung there together in the open sky for a long moment, Doom's arm buried through her, both of them suspended against the violet twilight, and then his eyes flared crimson and a beam of heat vision tore into her face at point-blank range.
She fell.
Doom followed a moment later, landing hard amid the ruin of the arena floor in a crouch, missing an arm, breathing raggedly through a chest still smoking from her assault, but he was upright and victorious.
Galatea struck the ground several dozen feet away, the impact carving a shallow crater around her, and lay there on her back amid the wreckage, chest rising and falling in short, ragged gasps, one arm twitching as she tried, and failed, to push herself upright.
Arthur raised his hand, and the regeneration seal lifted from them both at once. Doom's severed arm surged back into being in a rush of shadow, bone and muscle knitting whole in seconds; across the arena, Galatea's wounds began to close as well, her body clearly having spent itself far closer to its limit than his had.
"The match," Arthur announced, his voice carrying clear and final across the silent arena, "goes to Doom."
A murmur of genuine, awed respect rippled through the gathered Marshals but none of them looked more affected than Igris, whose composed exterior had cracked, just slightly, into something unmistakably proud as he watched his former student finally manage to push herself upright.
Galatea sat amid the wreckage, fully healed now but far from unbothered, and drove one fist into the shattered stone beside her hard enough to crack it further.
"Damn it," she snarled, more at herself than at anyone else. "I'm weak."
Igris was beside her in a heartbeat, kneeling, his voice quiet. "No," he said. "You are not." He waited until her furious gaze actually met his before continuing. "You did better against him than I did. Far better. He was simply stronger, on this day, in this fight.. and still you fought with everything you had, to the very last breath of strength in you. That is not weakness, Galatea. That is exactly what I trained you to be."
From the platform above, Arthur's voice followed, warm and entirely sincere. "Indeed you did, Galatea. That was a fight worthy of respect."
Didi, watching the scene with open interest, let out a low, appreciative breath. "My," she said, "she's a wild one, isn't she." She glanced sideways at Arthur. "Once again, it seems you were right about your monster. He really is troublesome to defeat."
"Yes," Arthur agreed, his eyes lingering thoughtfully on Doom, still standing the center of the ruined arena floor. "Though he isn't impossible to defeat. They're simply going about it the wrong way." He watched Igris talk to Galatea below, his expression contemplative. "Going all-out against him only ever plays into his strength. They tire. He doesn't, not in any way that matters. Every exchange only makes him harder to touch the next time."
Didi tilted her head, considering that. "Ah. I see what you're saying."
"If even one of them could work out the answer," Arthur went on, "it would say a great deal about them. That, in itself, is a skill only a true Grand Marshal should possess.. the ability to see past the obvious answer, and find the one that actually works."
He rose, sweeping his hand once more across the ruined arena floor, and the wreckage answered him, shattered stone knitting itself whole again in a smooth, unbroken expanse of black glass-stone.
"Now," Arthur said, his gaze shifting to the two Marshals still waiting at the arena's edge, "for the match before the final. H'El. Bellion." His voice carried out, clear and expectant. "Get ready."
The two of them stepped forward and took their positions at the center of the restored floor, facing one another across a stretch of untouched black stone.
H'El stood composed as ever, fists loosely clenched at his sides, his expression unreadable, betraying nothing of whatever calculations were running behind his eyes.
Bellion, opposite him, was equally calm, his four wings folded neatly against his back, his blade held loosely in one hand, He inclined his head slightly toward his opponent.
"Good luck to you, H'El."
H'El returned the gesture. "And to you as well, Marshal."
Didi drifted closer to Arthur's side, her eyes still lingering on the two Marshals below settling into their final stances, a faint, satisfied smile playing at her lips.
"My bet still stands, you know," she said. "H'El. Don't think for a moment I've forgotten it, or that you're allowed to."
Arthur's mouth curved, warm and unbothered. "Of course I haven't forgotten." He glanced sideways at her, something quietly confident in his expression. "Though I still believe it will be Doom who claims the title in the end."
Didi laughed softly, a light, genuine sound, and turned her gaze back out over the arena, over the ruined and rebuilt battlefield, over the sea of watching shadows still murmuring from what they'd just witnessed. "This turned out to be a rather interesting event you organized," she admitted. "If life beside you is going to be this exciting, Monarch of Shadows, I should have agreed to spend it with you far sooner than I did."
"I'm afraid," Arthur said, "that everything is likely to seem exciting to you, considering how you spent the entirety of your existence before this as Death of the Endless."
Didi arched a brow, feigning offense. "Hey. I took a vacation, you know. Once every hundred years, I would spend one full day as a mortal, just to remember what it is like."
"Oh, that's right." Arthur's smile widened, a flicker of genuine amusement crossing his face. "I nearly forgot, only for you to turn around and claim that very same mortal's soul the moment the day ended."
"You still seem a little upset about that," Didi said, tilting her head, watching him with open curiosity.
"No," Arthur said, and he meant it. "Not at all. If anything, it was a good lesson, coming from you. I learned a great deal, about what it truly means to be an aspect of Death. The weight of it. The necessity of it, even when it isn't kind."
Didi's smile softened at that, something almost fond passing behind her ancient eyes as she studied him.
"And now," she said quietly, "you are Death itself. Not merely an aspect of it any longer." She let the words settle between them for a moment, watching the twilight catch in his violet eyes. "Monarch of Shadows."
Below, on the arena floor, H'El and Bellion stood motionless, waiting, and Arthur's hand rose at last toward the great shadow bell.
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