The medics hadn't even finished dragging off the Umber Shield team when I stepped forward and raised my voice.
"Next clan!"
The crowd didn't react right away. Maybe they didn't hear me. Maybe they didn't believe it.
So I said it again—louder this time.
"NEXT!"
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was loaded. Like a fuse just got lit.
I didn't turn to check if the others were with me. I didn't need to. I heard Amir mutter "You're insane," right before he started checking his rifle.
Deya sheathed her dagger with a shaky breath and wiped her face. Nel rolled her shoulder, whip twitching at her side like it was stretching with her.
We were bruised, breathing hard—but we weren't broken.
I wasn't calling for another fight because we were fine. I called because I wanted every clan watching to know that we didn't need fine. We could still come at them battered, bloodied—and win.
Taurus stood near the judge platform now, arms folded, towering over most of the officials. He looked amused.
"He's got a cracked rib," Taurus said aloud, voice just loud enough for the judges and nearby elites to hear. "I know I landed that hit. Deep, left side. Every breath is costing him."
He nodded once, more to himself than anyone.
"And he's still asking for another."
Zach watched from the sidelines, leaning near the Breaker elders. His face didn't show surprise, but his arms were crossed tightly. Smiling like a manic. He knew what was coming, and he loved it.
Adeya, his mother, didn't blink. Didn't even glance at her son. Her eyes stayed locked on us.
The announcer shuffled awkwardly on their platform. "Uh… Team One has requested no intermission. The next exhibition match will begin now. Representing the Shattered Fang Clan—Team Gorrin!"
Three figures emerged. Not armored. Not flashy.
One carried a massive spear. Another a heavy chain around both arms. The last held no weapon at all—just sharpened nails and bare feet, breathing with a rhythm that made the dust around her ankles swirl.
I didn't recognize any of them. OK so no recon. But there essence readings made my neck itch.
We lined up.
There was no formation this time.
We didn't have pre-planned formations.
After all we are powerhouse of a team thrown together recently. We thrive under pressure. Zach and Amir? I knew how they moved. Nel could read battle like scripture. Deya was raw, but dangerous.
And as a unit?
We were learning in real time.
"Keep distance," I said. "Figure out their patterns."
Nel nodded. "Left side's mine."
"Deya—watch the chain user. For some reason lower clans love those."
"Got it," she muttered, flicking her dagger.
"Amir—poke until something breaks."
"Poking things is what I do."
The match began without flair.
The chain user went first, hurling a coil of weighted links toward Nel. She ducked sideways and cracked her whip at it, the sound like a gunshot. Sparks flared where essence met steel.
The spear fighter charged me. I stepped forward to meet him, swords already in hand—just two for now.
We clashed mid-step. Blade met shaft. The shock hit my ribs like a lightning bolt, but I pushed through, switching swords in a blur, flicking one out to force space.
Deya rushed behind me, slipping past like smoke. She lunged at the chain user's flank—but too early.
He caught her wrist in mid-swing, then slammed her down into the dirt.
"Deya!" I shouted.
Amir fired.
The sniper round hit the chain man in the back of the shoulder, staggering him.
Nel swept in fast, whip lashing out and wrapping his other arm before he could recover. She yanked—and he fell sideways, his balance ruined.
The barefoot woman hadn't moved yet.
She just watched.
Then she smiled.
And vanished.
Not cloaking. Not speed.
Just… gone.
"Eyes up!" I barked. "We're missing one!"
Amir pivoted, switching to closer range. I heard him mutter, "Where did she—"
She reappeared right in front of him. Elbow to the chest. He folded, gasping, and dropped low.
I ran in.
We didn't coordinate.
We swarmed.
I slashed high. Nel came in low. Amir stayed down, rolled, and aimed upward from the ground.
The woman dodged the blade, caught Nel's whip, and prepared to twist—just as Amir fired a compressed round directly at her knee.
She cried out and stumbled. Not down—but disrupted.
Deya recovered from the earlier slam and reentered like a ghost, slicing shallow across the chain user's leg.
He went still.
Not dead. Not even fully beaten. But stopped.
He raised his arm. "Yield."
The spear wielder cursed, still locked with me in a test of force. I broke contact, faked a slash, then kicked his knee. He buckled.
My sword was at his throat before he hit the dirt.
The barefoot woman was the last. Still standing. Breathing heavily.
She looked at her two teammates, then at us—bloody, tired, and closing in around her again.
She didn't say a word.
She just nodded and lowered her hands.
"Match over!" the announcer called.
Another silence.
Then applause. More than last time.
Not wild. Not overwhelming.
But real.
We didn't celebrate.
We regrouped. Deya wiped her mouth. Amir leaned on his sniper. Nel coiled her whip. I stood still—barely breathing without wincing.