Malichi's breath scraped in his chest as he faced Elijah across the scuffed floor of the raised arena.
The noise of the mock battlefield faded at the edges of his hearing. Shouts, impacts, the scrape of feet and sudden cries of surrender blurred into a dull background hum. His two friends were no doubt handling the lackey's.
What mattered was the space between him and his cousin. Ten steps. Then eight. Then six.
Elijah smiled.
It was not a friendly smile, nor even a cruel one. It was calm. Confident. Certain.
This was a real fight now.
"You held out longer than I expected," Elijah said lightly, rolling his shoulders as if loosening stiff muscles.
Malichi did not answer. Talking wasted breath, and he had little to spare.
Elijah's eyes flicked over him, sharp and measuring. "Tired already?"
Malichi exhaled slowly through his nose. "You gathered twenty people to soften me up. If I were fresh, I would be disappointed in you."
Elijah laughed, short and sharp. "Still arrogant."
"And you are still afraid to lose in front of others," Malichi replied.
That struck closer to the truth.
Elijah's smile thinned. "Careful."
They moved at the same time.
Elijah vanished forward in a blur of motion. Not sloppy speed. Precise. His footwork was light, every step placed with intent. Malichi reacted instantly, shifting his weight and raising his guard.
Their first exchange was brief. Elijah's palm snapped toward Malichi's shoulder, then twisted mid motion into a knuckle strike aimed at his ribs. Malichi barely deflected it, feeling the force skim past his arm and rattle his balance.
Fast.
Malichi stepped back, eyes narrowed.
Celestial Roots Binding.
He did not need Elijah to confirm it. The rhythm of his movement gave it away. The roots of speed and precision, bound together. Each strike wasted nothing. No excess motion. No hesitation.
Elijah pressed again, chaining attacks smoothly. A feint to the head. A low kick. A sudden elbow that appeared from an angle Malichi had not fully anticipated.
Malichi blocked, retreated, adjusted.
He felt the drain immediately.
Each movement pulled at muscles already pushed hard. His breathing grew heavier, sweat cooling against his skin. The earlier fights weighed on him now. The numbers. The repeated bursts of Swift Root Mirage. The constant pressure.
Just like Elijah had planned. His eyes gleamed as he shifted gears.
Spiritual energy stirred around Elijah's frame, subtle but unmistakable. It gathered not in his limbs evenly, but in pulses. One moment concentrated near his shoulder. The next near his leg. Then gone entirely.
Malichi's heart sank.
Phantom Dance.
Elijah struck.
A punch flew toward Malichi's face. Malichi raised his guard, but the impact never came. Instead, a sharp pain exploded against his thigh. Elijah's kick landed from an impossible angle, precise and clean.
Malichi grunted and stumbled back.
That was the danger of Phantom Dance. The attack never came from where the energy gathered. The mind followed the wrong signal. The body reacted too late. No doubt one of the best combat techniques a Body Forging cultivator could be afforded.
Elijah flowed forward, mixing real strikes with feints that carried just enough intent to draw reactions. Malichi found himself blocking empty air while real blows slipped through.
A hit to the shoulder. A glancing strike to the ribs. A sharp knuckle against his forearm.
None of them crippling. All of them draining.
"You are slowing," Elijah said quietly. "I am not."
Malichi clenched his teeth.
He could not deny it. His arms felt heavy. His legs burned. His breath further uneven, chest tight with effort.
But there was something else beneath the fatigue.
A steadiness.
A deep sense of grounding.
Malichi lowered his stance deeper.
His feet planted firmly against the arena floor. He drew in spiritual energy in a controlled surge. It flowed into his arms, then deeper. Muscles tightened. Bones hummed.
Swift Root Mirage.
This time, he did not hold back.
The air around his arms distorted as his movement accelerated. His hands blurred, striking out in rapid succession. Controlled. Controlled and Anchored.
Elijah's eyes widened slightly as he retreated.
Malichi advanced.
Strike after strike lashed outward. From the front. From the side. From angles that overlapped and layered into one another. It was not a single blow but a storm of intent.
The technique came alive in his body.
This was what it had been made for.
Swift Root Mirage did not rely on constant movement of the feet. It rooted the user in place and transformed the upper body into a weapon of relentless pressure. Strength and speed woven together.
Elijah attempted to respond with Phantom Dance, shifting energy and throwing deceptive strikes. But the space to exploit narrowed rapidly.
Malichi's arms were everywhere.
A clash. A sharp crack as forearm met forearm. Elijah grunted and stepped back, his breathing no longer smooth.
Again Malichi pressed.
His arms moved faster.
The world seemed to fade even more. The sounds of the arena vanishing entirely. There was only the flow of movement, the burn in his muscles, the precise alignment of bone and breath.
He felt alive.
More alive than he ever had before.
Elijah tried to disengage, darting sideways. Malichi adjusted instantly, his arm snapping out to intercept. The blow grazed Elijah's shoulder, but the force behind it made him stagger.
Fear flickered across Elijah's face.
Real fear.
He had not expected this.
Elijah attempted one last feint, spiritual energy flaring near his left arm. Malichi did not react. He ignored the signal entirely and followed the motion of Elijah's body instead.
His hand struck Elijah's neck.
The impact was sharp and clean.
Elijah's eyes went wide as the air left his lungs in a strangled gasp. His body sagged forward.
A cultivation instructor appeared instantly, grasping Elijah and pulling him back. In the next heartbeat, they vanished from the arena floor.
Malichi dropped to one knee.
His vision swam. His chest heaved as he fought for breath. Every muscle screamed in protest. His arms felt like lead, trembling uncontrollably as the spiritual energy dispersed.
He pressed one hand against the floor to keep himself upright.
He had won.
The realization came slowly, sinking through layers of exhaustion.
He had beaten Elijah. Cleanly. In front of everyone.
A weak laugh escaped him, more breath than sound.
He did not have the strength to stand. He did not care.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel it.
The triumph. The relief. The deep satisfaction of knowing his path was real.
Then he sensed movement nearby.
Two familiar auras approached quickly.
Malichi lifted his head just enough to see them.
Will. Zareck.
Malichi smiled faintly despite himself.
He leaned back slightly, finally allowing himself to rest, knowing he was no longer standing alone.