The air was thick with sweat, sand, and the ringing echoes of distant spells clashing like blades.
All around the ring, mages were locked in their own battles, flashes of light, eruptions of dust, and bodies weaving, stumbling, falling.
But here, in his narrow corner of the warped battlefield, Gon moved with quiet deliberation. Every motion was controlled. Every breath, measured.
He faced the boy, the one he'd fought blow for blow only moments ago.
The ground beneath them sloped precariously, uneven with ridges and dips as though the arena itself were a living creature, restless and spiteful. Neither spoke.
Their eyes locked, both of them coiled like springs, waiting, just waiting, for the other to make the first fatal move.
Then something snagged Gon's attention, sharp and sudden, like a flash of motion in his peripheral vision.
He turned his head just slightly, instincts kicking in, and there it was.
